Karinaland River

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  dancer s 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 a...

Seeds for the Future   Karinaland & Bay Area Community Land Trust Gathering and Celebration on Sunday August 16, 2026   Here a kaleidoscope of our afternoon, so deeply meaningful for me. Long planned and envisioned – in collaboration. On Saturday, mild summer weather, setting up the back patio with 22 chairs in oval formation. Decorating the perimeter with colorful fabrics. Transforming the space into an open “tent” which is able to hold several worlds. Aysha and Alejandro help to put up a shade cloth, tables for food and drink, cleaning the chairs.  On Sunday, Rebecca joins us early with utensils. At 3 pm, friends start arriving, bringing delicious food to share, mingling with BALCT’s staff, guests, and board members.   We eat and converse. Then I ask people to sit in the circle, or rather oval. Welcoming everyone, I start with sharing in broad strokes Karinaland’ s history of 35 years, weaving together the threads of my life and work as artist and teacher. Vi...

  Piercing   evening sun, fog is cooling, tempering august intensity delicate fragrance of quince seeps under skin gently… subtly… slowly… kindly just like that   a woman’s voice on the radio sharply defensive, anxious, fast, with urgency interviewer  quickly  tries to puncture her he a fervent sledge hammer just like that   we perceive perfectly polarized propaganda piercing us from all sides, I am right you are wrong, it works just like that   tempering our mood is a delicate affair, requires skill, patience – long view lowers the heat, no quelching but steadily relieving tension radical like that   really? releasing? letting go? when really, we need need need need need need all that speed might not otherwise all collapse? like that   messages of quince bring me back to earth, hands picking yellow fruit crawling into gnarly tree, imperfect shapes, beholden & beholding just as is   fingers on velvet fuzz, sensing golden goodness, in...

  Steady and Smooth   Another meditation on qualities which we have  most likely  not explored enough. Our times are fast, rough, and ruthless. After Slow and Sweet here comes Steady and Smooth . Sounds boring, right? Who needs it, when we can successfully act rash, forcefully, flashy, edgy, getting attention quickly – succeeding in the short run. Increasing quick spikes of addictive highs, followed by devastating lows. Dullness that craves fantasies and passive hope. How to get into the groove of pleasurable active-ness? When you repeatedly sound the word “smooth” out loud, extending the vowel into an elongated cooing caress – mysteriously, soothing rivulets will start permeating your heart-body. Like a trance. Listen. Try. One long out-breath....   It feels good to sail smoooothly… all along refining sound and technique. Mindful, curious repetition, relaxing our nervous system, becoming reward, rather than achievement. In my teaching, I have noticed with old ...

Slow and Sweet   where to turn for true sweetness? slowly drink tender streams of nameless soothing? not related to fast rash harsh sugar stuff we buy, are addicted to, but rather singing swooning   flowing glowing snowing sowing   murmuring melodies, gentle waves quietly lapping at the shore of soul’s secret lake, deep inside, waiting breathing, listening with yearning ears, heart aches can we pacify the savage greed, more more more not enough?   going for the spectacular, advertised and sold as fun biggest, loudest, fastest – are we too dull, deaf, numb so insensitive, not even recognizing what is salty truth? Playful life offers  spontaneous  steady sparks,  small  sacred insights   creeping reaping weeping seeping   where can we taste slow and sweet? searching between split seconds, confounding gap amidst an in  and  out -breath, swaggering in sloppy slow-motion seeking to amaze us, sweeping our cheeks’ smooth skin snow ...

  Where Are We?   No-one knows Minute to minute Everyone has to adjust   No more mercy No more seasons Nothing to count on   Where is the middle Center of splendor Safe and calm   Truly precious Our smallness grows Dusty ashes in the wind   Splashed with pure curiosity We witness willows’ Salty sorrow   And first ginkgo petals Sweet green Young   Tango tunes leaping from Smiling moon above Our ears unfold   Everyone is blabbering on As if it is normal to be Disappeared alone   Terror and boots On the ground Without roots   Alive today Dead tomorrow Just one arm and leg   Whatever falls from heaven Tumbles back to source Stars sun metal rain Bathed in stream of tears Chiseled by wonder We are molded   Nestling in fertile lush dark We feel vulnerable Delicate old   Balancing deeper within Gratitude glows gaily Heart beats slow   Through vast unknown realms Silent stillness shimmers No need to control   Newborn...

  New Possibilities Starting end of February, the big old live oaks outside my bedroom cottage on the hill begin showing new growth. Really? The yearly miracle of renewal is happening seven weeks early. Making it even more of a wonder, normally I have to wait till April. So much rain in late fall, followed by a warm January and February. Each spring, I am helplessly stunned all over again, as if I never have experienced it before. Nestled beneath, upon waking my delight mingles with pure astonishment, awe, and contentment. Seeligkeit . Trees and bird song. Bliss. The big giants with their sturdy fat trunks and long limbs – covered in moss and all kind of lichen, reaching wide and far, deep and high – are my teachers and companions. The tender new leaves sing out to me, my heart hums along with joy. The trees’ life juice originates from the equally deep and wide roots, pushing through wood, hard branchlets, closed buds. Inner strength is unfolding, daring, trusting, growing, transfo...

The Beast with a Dream in its Belly   Not Necessary   Sometimes it is just not needed not necessary…   What? Well, the distractions… endlessly urgent Who needs to be diverted from plain simple life From life’s breath – in the belly – who needs it?   Rising and falling waves of aliveness, nourishing consoling, energizing, roaming, traversing, visiting meandering, questing, wandering, pondering the softening and comforting, if we ever would tune in get to know Breath, listen, linger, but we so so busy we can’t help it, we need really – really need to be absent, definitely…   sometimes, the deep cave of my throat fills up with soft happy feeling flaunting a certain fragrance like that of my mock orange bush against the house, unassuming white petals, yellow stamen resembling plum blossoms – sometimes, delicate taste of sweet out of nowhere lingers on my puzzled palate, humbled tongue infusing each belly breath with life, confident in ebb and flow till death will ta...