Karinaland River

Language as Vehicle and Vessel   Sunday late morning – still so much fog wafting, mystical and mysterious – engulfed in shades of grey. What will the future bring us? Where will it go? How will it look like? Unknown. Seeking anchor, I am reflecting on the last few days, my encounters with German and Jewish friends. All week, history has been visiting me, triggering vivid memories. Opening internal space, where I am free to roam. Vast time spans and continents interweave their landscapes as I am preparing my late breakfast. Come on a ride with me.   Surprisingly, I am in a really good mood. Splurging on a home-made espresso, a rare occasion these days. Getting out my old Bialetti stovetop Moka pot. The fresh coffee beans are called “Grounds for Innocence,” a blend by Bongo Roasting Company in Tennessee, created as a fundraiser for the Innocence Project . This organization has been fighting since 1992 to free the innocently incarcerated, prevent wrongful convictions, and reform ...

  Mellow Lemonbalm und Zärtlichkeit in my garden so much tenderness– so viel Zärtlichkeit  – and medicine   We all need allies. Mine are my wild friends growing on Karinaland ’s hill. Especially three of them. A sprawling meadow of beautiful   Plantain plants (considered a weed by many), now spread out all over the garden, bushy, high, with delicate blooms. From their leaves, stems and flowers, I make a skin-healing oil. The milky seeds of my Wild Oats , harvested at the right time, infused in cognac for my Milky Oats tincture, becomes a gentle nervous system soother. And under the old plum tree my small meadow of Lemon Balm . All three are my tender allies, beloved balms. As oil, tincture and tea, they calm, nourish and soothe skin, nerves, mood and mind. In Germany exists  Klosterfrau Melissengeist , an old classic remedy for all kinds of un-wellbeing – Unwohlsein . Each year, I used to bring a small bottle back to America. Nuns in monasteries knew how to pr...

  Getragensein Seemingly unrelated sequences, wild memories of old times arising from my belly, befitting our churning times. Two weeks ago, I have the urge to find those old paper stills of me standing on my sister-in-law’s horse. My brother Matthias and his wife Ingeborg live in on old farm house in a tiny village called Königshagen, in the middle of Germany. The thin booklet with photos he sent me back then – where is it? For so long it’s been atop my small old wooden desk. Second-hand, the first piece of furniture I ever owned in America. Acquired for $10 from one of the several very good second-hand stores in the Mission on Valencia Street. 43 years ago, I lived in San Francisco, sharing a flat on near-by Capp Street. Life was simple, walkable, affordable. Nowadays whenever I clean up, things disappear – where is the photo booklet? Here, alas, I am relieved to find it. Looking at Bill, the quarter horse, and me standing atop of him, a soft silence opens up in me. An inner stre...