-
Even If We Are Afraid

At age nine, we know what we want. We roam in the fields, climb trees, steal a few cherries, or apricots when ripe. We love the sky. We draw houses, trees. We know that we want to be ourselves when grown, or an architect, a dancers or singer. We outrun the boys. We know what it is to be free. We bold – protect the weak, adore those ignored, othered, invisible…

we grow winged….


Then comes life with all its struggles, storms, temptations, learning, waves, guides, wonders, good-byes, celebrations, loneliness, transformations. When old, suddenly we know we’ve lived a very full – truly wonder-full – life. Surprise. We belong to ourselves again. Awe. Together with the young girl, still agile we dance on tree limbs, swing high into the canopy…

stretch our limbs….


Many-armed we bend the bow, sow the seeds, teach, prune, write, cook, pray, embrace. We know that our scars and wrinkles attract hummingbirds, butterflies, owls, hawks, moths. With every word and every step, our deepened voice and lithe feet are leaving behind feathers… to be picked up by lost grateful strangers…

in search of guidance and rooted gold dust beingness….

Today in remembrance – exactly two years ago, 
the majestic old Live Oak, leaning, deep cracks in trunk, was ready to leave….


See more stills of me dancing at age 70 for a last time in Uncle Oak's arms:


Comments

Alex K said…
I wonder at that level of surrender and sense my own fear and yearning. That image of the core of Uncle Oak resonates with the last photo of you...uncanny!
September 6, 2026 at 9:35 PM
Karina said…
My brother Matthias in Germany writes:

Yesterday Lilith and Theo in our cherry tree. How beautiful your Ode to the Oak, dear Karina

Lilith und Theo gestern auf unserem Kirschbaum. Wie schön deine Ode für die Eiche, liebe Karina.

[Lilith and Theo are his grandchildren]
September 7, 2026 at 9:28 AM
Karina said…
My 87-year-old friend and artist, Antonie in Ramona, Southern California, writes:

My dear Karina, thank you for the description of your tree’s good-bye. My Oak, which I planted 47 years ago (1 foot high), needed to be taken down recently. A big branch fell onto the house (hardly any damage), but strange black substances in the tree made it clear that the dear tree needed to be cut. Down to a 4’11’’ high stump, a place for one of my sculptures which is right now at the gallery. It will sit right on top, below around it is a grave of succulents and stones. And friends planted for me a 6’6’’ high deciduous tree. Everything is doing its thing. Exhibition is good. Last Saturday I had my appendix taken out. All is healing very well… Big hug from your Antonie

And I respond:
“Yes, Antonie, big goodbyes from tree companions – my tree was more like 140 years old, but any older tree is such a loss for us humans. And you are most amazing!”
September 18, 2026 at 8:01 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

-
Image
  Flows, Sings In the early hour peeing later morning   surprises on tongue tasting tea teeth chewing lips   listening with feet on curious soles   another day steps into my humming orb with honest clarity   midday overflows into afternoon filled with silken chords multiple voices ring echoing through ears, flesh, bones   misty waves of sound weaving droplets into dusky desire for rest, drifting, winter five o’clock sun’s gone already, structures, roofs, walls, fences, blurred, melted, faint – how could the day glide so effortlessly Open is the garden: Licht   fading to shades of grey evening sprouts questions   darkness delicately explores night star-studded with dreams Here a fugue entices centuries converge music by J.S. Bach reaches consoles, flows, sings, strings shimmer Tröstet das Herz, wir sehnen uns nach dieser Berührung der Seele   Es regnet… Auch heute noch In der kleinen Kathedrale klingt der Gesang  Violoncello Stimme Orgel ...
Read more
-
Image
  Immigration On Friday morning of September 20, I am spending a couple of hours for my naturalization interview in the federal building  on 630 Sansome Street in San Francisco  that houses the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. Then later at 1 pm, in the oath ceremony, I am reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Standing, holding up my right hand like everyone else, repeating the words after our master of ceremonies, I am engulfed in a chorus of immigrants’ voices from all over the world. Out of maybe 80, only two are Caucasian. The man leading us through the 20 minutes ceremony, is most likely a judge, but without his robe. He is an elegant, kind, and personable elder. We can hear the genuineness in his voice, and we are genuine, too. As we pledge allegiance to this country, the English sentences might ring slightly different for each of us. In another minute we will be citizens of the United States. Something in me is expanding. I am swearing to be a responsible an...
Read more
-
Image
  Love Poems of Life The summer of 1991, I am hired to take care of Lowell. Barbara, his wife of only one year, asks me to also cook. There is a steady stream of visitors which Lowell delights in. His best friend is Bob, a writer and sociologist, visiting often. After dinner, everyone enjoys listening to Bob as he reads out loud from his writing-in-progress about his Jewish family and upbringing in Chicago. Balmy evenings. Lowell’s progressing bladder cancer. He and I have a secret code when things need to calm down: doucement – gently. Three weeks later, the hospital bed arrives, making things a little easier. Lowell needs stronger painkillers. Together we discern who is “comfortable” visiting their bedridden friend, now by looking gaunt. I am laser focused on Lowell’s well-being, all else is just part of the colorful, at times thorny, setting. To me new, unknown. Doucement. The home is light filled, birds chirping outside the window, a warm breeze. On this quiet Sunday afternoon,...
Read more