Author: Karina Batres

This blog is my space for exploration, a call from my higher self, and possibly my ancestors. A place to word out, disentangle to a degree, maybe, the root system that lives within our family tree, deep inside. The two voices of duality, untold stories, questions unanswered, emotion still waiting for acknowledgement, all this is still vague, yet I hope, this experiment with prose brings it to the surface as metaphor or a particular kind of allegory. May you get something out of it also, and receive my warmest regards for your time. This work is dedicated to my three daughters: Michelle, Diane and Hermione, let it serve as testimony of an inner voyage your mother took in the unseen, during many years, even before you were born.

Piro and Roses

Writing prose, remembrance of our past selves, siblings growing up, growing apart, special moments in youth, the fire of hope and youth.

Ancient Stag

Written prose, referring back to our natural selves, seeking safety in the natural world, keeping it real, authenticity, spirits in nature.

Confessions

Memories, decor at the old country house, objects speak, they tell the story.

Omens on the AM

Synchronicities, finding meaning in the everyday, giving meaning to, reverie, realization, family curses.

Stripping Down

Writing prose, the new role of a middle aged woman, going back to simplicity, realness, back to herself.

Paradoxical Karma

Writing though it seems almost impossible at times; writing to find clarity, finding meaning amidst chaotic circumstances, connecting with ancestral karma.

Disillusion

Written prose on family, nostalgia, polaroid moments, getting real, what never was, what didn’t come.

Vulture

Vulture as a totem, a powerful sign, reminder of an alternative view of the world today, a way of releasing, of finding peace; the art of personal power and detachment.

Slither

Year of the wooden snake, preparation, clearing up the old, finishing up, witnessing change, what has is not yet manifest, still not formed.

Rite of Passage

Written prose, short piece. A simple walk to the local convenience shop, midday in winter, and the whisper from the wind: it’s more than it appears to be.