Karinaland River

  “I Wanted All Of Society To Be A Witness.” These days, when tears spring up in the eye so quickly, so readily like tiny wild strawberries, each time I know the heart is touched whether I want it or not – the silvery breathy voice of the young science writer, the shy bowing of the singer receiving her applause, the sweet smile of Cecile after an exquisite concert, the fiercely angry voices of French admirers of Gisèle Pelicot. And then of course: the grandson, one arm around his 72-year-old grandmother’s shoulder as she gives her brief speech to the press after a grueling months-long public trial of rape. He admiringly glances at her, with utter calm, concentration and confidence, soft support in his face and body language, nothing restless, over bearing, pitying – only admiration, respect and love. And I burst into tears! This rape story is not about a celebrity, starlet, beauty queen, but about a retired manager, married mother and grandmother, having been drugged unconscious an...

  Beavers are Back On rare Sundays when he was not working, or sick, or out of town, our father would take us to the wild woods, the meadows – empty of people – the forests, rivers and hidden lakes. It is just our small family in nature, no crowds. Back in 1959, there were no man-made paths, nature areas, or visitor centers, signs to explain the natural wonders. It was utter freedom and beauty, nature organizing itself in the relaxed harmony that eludes humans. I still remember the first time he shows us beavers and their landscaping skills – I am in awe and in love! What superb architects, artists, and engineers the beavers are. Humans can’t do what they do. At age five, I have already decided that I want to become an architect. Papa explains to us the work and construction skills of the beavers. It strikes me that the beavers’ minds seem to contain an overview of big stretches of land. They know collectively where to fell trees with their sharp teeth, build dams and homes, make s...

  War and Peace   The endless experiment of humans trying to become real human beings here on Earth. It is difficult, a mystery. So much peeling-away is needed, first of all. Pain, fear, anger, sorrow, hate. And so much inconvenient truth would need to be faced. Ignorance, greed, envy, cruelty, hubris. When “ all we are saying is give peace a chance ” ends with a murder eleven years later, we must embrace that too. December 8 – forty-four years ago. When innocence gets punctured, we must learn what is offered. “I just shot John Lennon.” In that moment we could have learned that the world of stardom, celebrity, fame is inherently violent. Do we understand? We all are “ walking on thin ice ” when we think just ONE thing will save us, or the world. But simplicity is full of complexity, waiting to be understood. The paradoxes always belong together – ­this I love about the ancient wisdom and the Art of T’ai Chi Ch’uan. Yin and Yang are forming one reality, not two. Dividing into g...

  Love of the World It is not about good or bad, convenient or sorrowful, terrifying or relaxing. It is about being alive to secret languages, to the silence amidst the noise. It is about including all. My love of the world is roused by the smallest things, by minute experiences. Witnessing the crow across the street swoop from the neighbor’s live oak down to the asphalt close to the curb – she takes a bath in the rushing stream created by the atmospheric river. This morning, storming and raining, the world densely grey and mysterious, unseen activities escape the human eye. From my living room, I can sense the crow’s movements echoing in my own body. Dunking the head into the stream, wiggling, coming up and shaking, taking a whole-body plunge, beating wings rapidly, coming up, shaking off, doing this a few more times, then swooping up back into tree.   It does not get any better.  Delicious. Secret bathing. I have done so in woods. Here nobody was watching or interr...

  Lachen oder Weinen? Yet another November, this one like none. Harvesting my sparse pomegranates before last night’s rain, I am leaving two on the tree. This brings me comfort and delight. The taking and the leaving, both. Yesterday overnight, these two pomegranates split open, greeting me exuberantly on my morning round. Are they laughing or crying, lamenting or smiling? Hidden new moon energy infuses our shortened days. The gentle rain washes my garden clean, makes it bright, sparkling with promise – fragrances of deep hidden growth, of composting and restoring. Soon we will face darkness and the poignant starkness of winter. Trees bare, energies pulled into the root system. All beings must store food, remember ancestors, be brave. Keep the heart warm. Renew the commitment to living with goodness, nourishment, sharing. Embracing our brothers and sisters who are suffering, listening to their plight. The squirrels are busier than ever, racing up and down the highways on the lichen...

  Tikkun Olam Pledges Saturday, I start lining the patio with chairs, Afghani stools, and benches, to create a big oval space. Around the perimeter I pin fabric from all over the world. This funky outdoor living room will be holding together the circle of guests and food, memories and hope. For four decades, I collected them: keffiyehs from Syria and Palestine, embroidered fabric from Mexico, Guatemala and India, woven cloth from Berber nomads in Sinai. I envisage these weavings to embrace all of us so we can become courageous, caring world citizens.  It just so happens that no photos are taken at my Citizenship Celebration on  Sunday October 20  here in Karinaland . Is it divine direction?    War, chaos, disaster – it has happened before, it is happening right now all over the world. I myself was born into moral and literal physical rubble of post-war Germany. Till age 27, I grew up in an era of slow collective reckoning with a horrific unimaginable past. ...