Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

returning to the sweetness of butter cookies baking, music from lands I've never stepped upon monstrous choices, left on the foothills of the Himalayas the time has come to believe my own starry visions, and dare to dance my dreams in earth tones wrapped in a warm fabric, woven with the magic of my earliest teachers now vanished from bodies, still smiling, helping me to align my crystal rivered visions with the keen eyes of  wolves, owls hawks, and cardinals flying through obstacles..... returning to be nothing more than a self- loving human- being, at peace with the querying.... kjl '18

"I have fallen in love with the imagination. And if you fall in love with the imagination, you understand that it is a free spirit. It will go anywhere, and it can do anything." ~ Alice Walker we cannot choose the falling of the rain, nor the timbre of the music--how it keeps playing voices of ancestors deep within the cloistered forest letting soul's beauty to keep rain sticks, french horn, crickets, church bells a ringing through thickets stirring naked feet to dance- rain soaked clover to summer sky, romance earth bound we ground knowing our roots we gaze up to what shall be braiding all of eternity in one song we hear-- steering clear of lies, our life can be pure lullaby words/photo~ kate lamberg (c) '17

the whispered phrases of speech faded into a smokey gray morning sky they were heard by the first bird-- at five am soon she realized  how little she needed.............to take up such a small space on the globe she-shape shifter, sprouted wings shape shifted, skittered- scattered, scratched in a low berried thicket momentum built to lift off-- without those hesitation blues to fly from the frozen tundra, and raise the bar of any expectations left on hold by the water falls, and through-- cold orange clay mountains bending to her whim-- like mouths open at a candy shop the falling-- the most natural excusable response-- when fly too high in the pi sky forces a homesickness for a blue green earth its acceptance, paramount to dreams' continuance its music, sung in low tones-- that would once tear her heart out now, the ancestral songs of her grandmother setting the tone for further flight deep into the night-- visages of peach and mocha cli...

For Jimi Hendrix-  a strange brew that makes sense  joy leaps through the sadness,  peace outlives the rage      babies, cats, and trees waving holy pomegranates, and gifts of greens growing through the barn wood fence  hold on baby, the best part is  now-- is nearing-- is you  sweet rainbow stream sweeps us up into a stain glassed gavotte'...   eagle touching sands and lifting--  to kiss a mottled gray sky- oh my,  oh my!  madness has dissipated-  drunk on love  has us surrounded  by its warmth, and crazy  shine of rain on the corn stalks--  and we dance..... kjl '18  'Dancers', by Matisse 

"No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself." - Virginia Woolf  the tinny guitar in the corner  keeps collecting dust  how the melody gets played out is heard without a single pluck of the strings her focus is on writing until each word shines on its own not caring what bird tiger or lion breathes inside the scene of her own creation  she writes, not caring who cares how she spends her time, she lets go of the anger, spouted  from having to please people to no end   when their part of the friendship equation yields a single goose egg, equaling zero reciprocity allows  genuine  ease in the back and forth banter,  'suzanne the plans  they made..'  ..on its heavy head she writes because that is the only way to seize the day, to harness the cloud- to discover the hurt that had slept a very long sleep--- beneath the growing sun to know the sun and the moon are alone in the ...

the unending pulse  of the almighty sea-- plunges and rises for willing ears to hear, wide eyes to see the constant moan of the wind, the scratching of newly planted pines in the southern garden frost, attached to trees, shrubs, cars, and cement -- making cold a kind of tough love we have learned to more than endure some things, beyond our control- force us to listen even more intently to give up all the drama of "whose fault it is", and to  get on with the story of healing our own lives freedoms found through a walk in the woods-- echoing the sounds of breath, woods, and sea- pooling as one wild and free entity   ~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

winding paths in the brain remain open, breathing, become even braver no longer pretending nothing happened carrying the weight of woe on backs, letting hearts droop to receive endless tears from all the losses as in a full pond of mariner green, sunflower yellow, cordovan brown earth grounding the heights of holy terrors-- mamma earth  hears our cries she lets us sob deeply into her grassy chest-- soothing for awhile- the deadened breath the healing for all beings begins in the silent darkness of each soul renewing faith festooning a song with major warm chords--changing the corners of hearts into roundness in time, connecting-- all points of the globe in spherical celebration - kate lamberg (c)'18

she is working on a manuscript, from spring to fall- that is all poems,  edited like tilling the soil in spring--trying to multi-task....paying attention to everything green removing the fluff of dandelions, leaving the roots of words intact--  lessening the clutter of extraneous beauty excising the useless pretty temporary blurts... for sharper clearer stars, seen inside the peripheries--the depths of willful dark nights and in late fall, the poems  stand like leafless leathery trees--ready to fall lightly on the pages the stark silhouette of terraced words pressed to vanilla sheets leaving the laundered poems to stand by themselves the poet, just the launderer as poems pelt like a chilly october rain-  authored by both- joy and pain what winged beast, being herself could bring creation better than the gentle willow, whose wood constructs the shelf all the dead poets' books line  ......simply divine ~kate lamberg (c) '18

being alone in the dark space of morning- rain sashaying so lightly that she had to open all the windows without worry, the thoughts of excess spill in spirals-- akin to the invisible stars sighing beyond the tangible soak of saturday rain-how could any one disdain the words giddyap on and on  like drunken sailors, singing songs for circe vessel going nowhere....awash with wind, salty fish flapping  on fine teak planking 'Thirsty boots', and 'Norwegian wood' heard by an enchanted mermaid, becomes a classic surrendering serenade for the mermaid moaning,  'groove me, move me baby,' now it's simply, sit by my side,  'in the sunshine of your love'* words/photo- kate lamberg '18

Funny how years fly by, yet minutes take their sweet time! when the still harvest moon sets behind the line of aspens we look in reverence- no one ever tries  to change the shape, color, presence that falls from view- yet lasts as long as we breathe hope-- for hearts on fire inspire the wind to slap us happy, and get us up to stand for what is most important- to remember anyone's presence--those dead, and those still alive  weeds are there to pull gently after it's been rainy and cool--then we can observe the jewels that hang on in the garden true friends are not impressed with honors, just holy presence performed in the dark, in the light, and the seamless changing of the guard, found at dusk and dawn- when promises flourish across the ruby fields of chrysanthemums, the golden sunflowers standing for their truth, before bending down in humbleness, kissing their heads to the ground-- seeds scattered for another go-round next summer--when the end of august give...

hearts manage not to get crushed when not taking actions of another personally--- it's either everything is personal, or nothing is; she chooses the latter, and suffers less she climbs the ladder, scales the heights- yet finds herself more often than not seeking the ground level of pink clover and red sumac-smelling like the sweet and tart lemonade they shared the promise that was placed in the crook of the oak-- in the heart of the meadow, on a warm garnet afternoon in june-  when the promise of love and togetherness ended up being heard by the sky above a single black bird, the intervening moon, the poem scribbled on the nearest oak, the unfinished tune ~kate lamberg (c) '18

if all of us in the usa were a priority...(options are relegated to what to wear, and what ice cream flavor to taste) the whole nation would not be in so much  despair call it denial (I don't care)... I am closing the curtain  on the horror show for just a little while going to do my art, so I can garner up some positive energy, JOY within, between me and my friends, and me and my beloved earth turning away from the news, the paper, the tv--going to find my self some lasting harmony by the river, climbing trees,  being me

boundary-less the riches we seek are deep within the structure of our own flowered souls spilling past the boundaries (between each other) that would have us be defined as separate rain falls on the roof waking from a dream- amazed how forgiving, truth how exhausting, lies we release them like butterflies beyond our grasp  wind again reminds us how very light and clear are souls who see themselves in all things ~kate lamberg (c) '18

rain wakes  sleeping beauty out of a dream state  to one of sighs, cries for those whose stories won't be taken seriously for those egomaniacs wielding lies--like body parts-- in the dark night of evil doing how corrupt souls can be-- swimming upstream, trying to seem pure, untainted, like a little innocent minnow born shining boggles my buddha brain, who lives around my belly- reminding me to step away from drama-- just breathe--just listen to the cleansing rain purifying the air of the stink and sting of dishonesty kate lamberg (c)  '18

why she writes doesn't interest her as much as why some days she finds her being staring out into space..... letting the pen invite her in, without a filter, fresh word snow coddling some labor pains--  indifferent to whether or not it rains; healing the indifference, making each word count, round about it has never been this quiet during a storm--cats asleep, bird song muffled, secrets we do keep-- and still-- the sun returns-- in the distance a pick up truck carries bushels of apples, still dotted with last night's heavy rain words/photo- kate lamberg(c)'18

thin gray fog obscures the reliable rising sun; choices mask "no need to choose" joy sweeps us up into a farmhouse waltz barn wood walls ring, and do sing the very melody that became stuck on the roof of our mouths, resounding in the cupula ceiling- crystal beads growing brighter as the million eyes readjust to the dark, to the blatant incision of trust carved on wax, ice, yellow pine no time or interest in stoking the fire: friends come, hang out, and disappear-- it's the time of year to be clear with how we spend our free time our investments in our friends never end because the other is weathering an inner storm; no balances need be drawn- the drawing room is saved for spontaneous guests, as rocking chairs glide past the wrap around porch, take wing, do reach the furthest chagallian star left for the dreamers-- whose capillaries course clearly--a filigreed communication with room for spaces,  the holy breath: the listening room, enlarged for ...

wind in the maple tree helps to stir healing-- at dawn the gaze remains inward

Dried trees stand limp and lifeless. There has been no rain for almost two weeks, requiring gardener to hand water what is left of the summer garden flowers. They are ready to quit, to leave this earth on this late summer day.  Even the crickets and cicadas have lost their impetuous singing at dusk and at dawn. The stillness coupled with the damp heat forces the gardener up before the sun would rise. A tiny breeze at seven a.m. acts as a mini prayerful reprieve. So much has been lost, yet so much can be savored. Tomatoes and corn, show- stoppers at all the farm stands bring folks to buy locally, and to cook native vegetables and fruits. Harvest time is upon us. What dear friends are we harvesting in our soul--to keep the temperate sun of summer within our hearts-- throughout a long snowy winter? May integrity, compassion, and non-harming guide our choices, with fruitful outcomes of lasting inner peace and joy! -kate lamberg

1) her emotions feel pond-like, self- contained ---- she could spend an entire string of cool cloudy days like these--  a tightly strung string of green adventurine beads, cool against cheek bones grateful for the resources springing into little natural springs of believing self-- 2)  amidst the lies that have become a foundation-- this shaky political arena, some call democracy... proof unravels like a cheap trashy novel left out in the rain--  smutty parts ripped out, flung across the river-- confetti bits finally fall to the unconcerned ground gossipers take joy in painting caricatures 3) the honesty of a mother's love turns into rain clouds  daughter's need for space to create orchestrates one gala placid clear sky here, where seasons don't lie, they become a broken record-- 4)  the stupidity of the climate change deniers--  cleaving to their fancy time shares--there will be less time to share those ersatz dwellings...

what ever happened to the sounds of sincere humming, dangling waterfalls, seabirds,  and the gentle  swishing of the rushes by the bay.....hay stacked up to the ceiling in the barn scented in green tea and just picked apples--soon sliced for pie, high in the rockies without imagination, there becomes no declaration of freedom ida reds, macouns, golden delicious bunches of apples cooling in barrels jazzy mid-western film plays out  no chance for a single  breeze or sunshine-this whole afternoon kate lamberg 8-20-18

" Inside myself is a place where I live all alone, and that is where I renew my springs that never dry up." - Pearl Buck the evening's sky settled in like a toddler belly flopping in the shallow end of the pool..  the swimming teacher gave up on this wild child. -- whose resistance to learning how to swim made her prey to gazing at seagulls and butterflies... skimming over the blue chlorine scented pool--in a neighborhood where everyone had them floating on her back, she prayed for her turquoise stingray spinning on the dead-end black top block, and her ballet slippers sweeping  a hard wood floor-- sweet chopin playing waltzes-- as she would dance in threes--  never a care for pop up fires or leaks, leading to floods-- within the spooky rambling ballet studio she later learned to be a little guppy fish--in an ocean of stars, dancing on the surface of the wavering waters - kate lamberg (c)'18

clump of redness, sunrise moments later, gray sky not grasping, peace becomes  fine-tuned,  understood magically the truth of our being returns with wide open warm arms--  how we revel in the returning unraveling all the deceptions we have created for insulation- the soul paralysis of this collective nation  must turn to dust upon the swish of a daisy comes instant recall so abrupt- we stand up, take action - kate lamberg

a luminosity found where neighbors talk with each other, beyond the divided news, beyond the hated missiles, bombs, families broken to bits- not trying to reach an understanding at the peace talks, but purely living an understanding--being the peace, breathing the love! words/photos- kate lamberg (c)'18

sky at sunset offers a healing not seen in the material world as thinking clouds our vision, open hearts see pure unity diving into the heart of humanity, no one is left behind treating all as equally as how one does not play favorites with flowers or trees digging into the core of what it means to plainly be tethered to each other for eternity

Listen to your body: rest, hydrate often during these hot humid late summer days! August- October 2018 schedule Healing treatments: Barefoot Shiatsu, Polarity, Reflexology, Deep tissue,  Postural integration, One on one Gentle Yoga: Monday- Saturday 9-6pm Gentle Yoga classes: Monday, 4:30 pm Friday, 8 am First class free; 20 per drop in, 100. for 10 classes, to be used in 90 days. Healing Journey Retreat: Occasional Saturdays,  9:30 am- 12 noon One on one gentle yoga, Sound healing, Reiki hands on, Guided meditation, Deep relaxation. 30. donation With Yogi kate, Director of The Center for Natural Healing, healung facilitator, one on one hatha yoga/ meditation instructor. Registration, directions: healerkate77@gmail.com 631-334-2663 September 22, October 20th

cats insisted on waking her at 1:30- a bird sound ignited their curiosity  all momma wanted was to return to her dream of flying over canyons-- gazing at acres of mid-western farms,  in the classic rectangles of green, brown, orange, yellow...  from below her random temporary wings-- offering a  sweet tart taste  of realized freedom--  arteries, veins, muscle and bone, a homing pigeon steering closer to a classic vision of "welcome home"  for all who choose to wander beyond the bordered fiction--  a universal fellowship will always be-- our inalienable right..without a fight- bathed in the light, melting borders-- sea gulls fly freely katyajo (c)'18

cool breeze at dawn-  helps to move butterflies, bent on grazing on purple lacy flowers shaking late summer in the light of realization integrating dancing with stillness  as they both cannot help but heal restless minds  letting the centers  of mimosa blossoms  to become more prominent pressing the south west wind as she flies, blowing a kiss to seal the scene in pink and purple cellophane... kate lamberg(c)'18

deep watermelon sky at six am- encircling all beings with more than enough beauty to get us all back on track, returning to the natural beat of the ocean , the moon, the sun..oscillating stars surging-- creating a melange of families together- without boundaries-- dissonance hurled out of the galaxy- morphed into moon beams, we are all the same! -words/photo-kate lamberg (c)'18

sitar sounds, coffee  fill the morning air, while sparrows sing in the two story high maple--  so softly, she had to put the coffee down, and turn down the radio-- so she could hear the song that would lead her to knowing what is the most important thing-  to know, to be-- in all its simplicity-- to be an open field of wildflowers, being peace- opening locked doors through the continual observing: what sounds fill this poet's soul with what is unchanging- within a changing canvas of one sage green  meadow-- bird flutters, and sings from the top of her wings,  'summer' - kate lamberg (c)'18

I can motivate myself without the need for some  person claiming they can ignite a light in my soul. Note to self: resist demi-gods, at all costs. I have had gurus in my life. The genuine ones support my autonomy, my inner fire/truth and ability to grow/change/ flourish! All we can do is inspire each other amidst a world we are intimately tethered to. Love, like a healing river, finds its way to the parched places, nourishing all souls!

the mornings the birds "sleep in" until after sunrise are those special days when conception begins at home, in the native surrounding trees of maple, cherry, oak, aspen, poplar, and myrtle   the thin crease the thin crisp changeable crease between dawn, and sunrise delivers a stillness, not altogether quiet-- undetected in the busy vocal world viewing this edge of sunrise   seals the promise of showing up,   unguarded to this gentle music-- unparalleled to any other time- for worship is still for worship is still the celebration of all things greater than the "I" how the world is complicated when it charades as containing a million eyes--   there is just one there is just one maple tree outside this window, and only four cherry trees poised in a circle-- north and east of this window there is just one beating heart   witnessing a growing beauty, and two hazel eyes registering-- the fine details o...

 words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18      even a broken window,  and an unhinged door  bring the strength of trapezoids, and the light of triangles enough for spirit. to soar--- basking in the realization,  to pour miracles--through the arc of a porcelaine creamer-- settling the score.. .  

  being the way water moves, and just grooves.. unconcerned with the outcome- the calm settles in, warms the naked covering, heats up in shallow sandy shoreline, leaves the body of water loaded with salt, and blessed with current, lets out steam, enters the air,  fuses with the sky, as the wind wind becomes non-hurried, coursing both towards, and away from the shore--  how it whips around the great rock, without trepidation or fear, ultimately   enters stillness, as she ceases her mighty howl water, as wind-touches all points in between, and becomes touched on all points-- on earth, as in heaven words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

 soul dancing sweeps dancer off feet, out the door-there is so much serenity in the garden at 6 am... to turn around the far fetched idea of scarcity- bones encased with muscled grace -so very early, pearls on iris greens, flaunt their sheen, and trees spill watery essence-sensing--the presence of something greater growing from the center of one open heart, eyes softening in the sweet recognition of a slow waltzed change- fragrant with citrus, rosemary,& catmint--heaven sent!

“ it  was a riverside meadow, lush from before the harvest.”  milosz before the harvest, we were free before the harvest we were free to watch the corn shoot clearly through the low hanging clouds, neither proud nor meek, we heard the dying grasses speak a summer tongue-- translating a still hot summer into a more bearable, fragrant fall a  call to drop arms, guns, knives at the source of a drum drumming in the deep green of a late summer wood the middle of the harbor heaving its blue green, glistening in a tired summer sun ushering all of us in for a swim- how late august brings us to our knees, in gentle pleas to get on with the cooler, more easily breathable season we call autumn  words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

icarus dives into the sea after having his wings singed no one looked, no one seemed to care farmers till  the soil, with home made plows, and tirelessly walk in the plush fertile soil on a hillside somewhere in the netherlands,  back in the day--when they  truly reaped what they did sow when weddings were king; a dislodged door was used as a serving tray for local treats kicking up the saw dust,  within  an ancient barn-- carousing into song ~kate lamberg (c) '18

dancers dance through a rain soaked yard, gathering momentum-- their turned-in modern dancer feet point at the vast vagaries of a growing day in greeness, all is seen through the flick-flacking of rain pearls off of irises staying put for just a complete breath cycle- then leaping- to make sense of how the highest order of birds line up in the garden, their hidden bird song pushing the question mark, returning to an exclamation point...(!) onto a downy soft soil no matter what, we keep surging through just how previous dramas--pulled out by their roots dry in the sun flowers fading after the two week peak remain pensive, and do implore us to see the centuries of cycles repeating themselves turning towards another way of expediting a journey, neither jelled or running away-- a kind of herbal soup contained in an earthen bowl left out in the cool may rain words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

again,when she was sleeping the soft lacy aspen blossoms burst open, to the west, & now the circle of cherry trees seen from her living room  window  are in labor the anticipation of their fragrant dusty pink blossoms inhabit the poet's mind, while chants of buddhist monks sporting saffron gowns fill the cool air energized by a group of lemon scented irises taken hostage- inside a hand blown blue water glass, sitting in the healing room on the hand painted green and purple hutch, in the northeast corner- shared with the Jerusalem Cherry tree  words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

The irises would bloom in twos and threes, while I was sleeping. I returned home-- after being away, and discovered nine more buds opening. Many stems boast of two, three, or even four buds, weighing the stems down to bend in a graceful bowing to the sun, the wind, and the rain. Usually when they begin to bloom, I stay close to the house and garden, so as not to miss any new baby buds. irises awakening in a cool wet april night.. growing rapidly..... bursting into song- 'behold each and every flower'---- rising up to touch .. a partial sun, a light rain, a groaning wind from the northwest ---- their essence is what I love best ~words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

"The grateful heart sits at a continuous feast" Proverbs 15:15 turtle medicine shows up by the pond mid morning seemingly struggling for a safe spot in the sun wearing his years proudly he remembers the melody that hums in low tones- "hold onto the core of my limitless magnificence" as a tiny baby's breath becomes wind for a turtle lubbering from palatable pond to solid earth-- the exercise, flexing inherent mirth for another hundred years of gratitude--gardenias line the path of rebirth  kate lamberg (c) '18    egret photo~kate lamberg (c) '16

don't you love a grey day suiting a mood--like broken pencil points, smudged erasures, silver grey tap shoes in storage the gauzy grey mohair blanket folded, at the ready for a bone chill evening in april-- when the first of the hyacinths brighten the previous mood daffodils giving a temporary thrill a hendrix solo probing deeply in the darkness of a still saturday morning--freed from the predictable machinations settling into the cadence of her own design- dense with greens, pinks, whisps of unruly hair, spilled cold coffee, chilled ivories, plainly waiting for curved wintered fingers inner listening to her own beat, a water colored fellowship as santana, the beach boys, joni, judy, and miles warm the cold morning air-- rearranging her hair blessed rain removing- all the debris in the regions of a cluttered brain words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

rain pours into the flower bed, coaxing the beginnings of hyacinth, iris, cat mint & one darling dandelion pops   through the lavender phlox soon, the cherry trees will sigh   in a circle, purplish pink,   sonorous as silken sashes writhing- just north of here but now, the rain obscures, withholds any thought of blossoms becoming it is only faith, and science operating-- a cooperation of the highest order! words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

salsa riveting through  the living room of an un-escaped heart--  getting on with what is necessary to flow- live on  ones own fire  free falling through the amoeboed existence...   on high beams-- looking like a flowery fantasy--   flourishing before the  illusions set in flick- flacking through time zones of ballet studios--  navigating between new york and moscow ballancine where are you now? I feel the ballet was the major influence in molding my artistic sensibilities listening to bach or the bossa nova  never felt so  sensuous, sealing the wax of unusual proportions,  pedaling petals from a province I never lived in --provence foremost on my mind yellows and blues to decorate a kitchen--  designed to mimic in a respectful way-- that of monet, on a sunny sunday sundays he rested with wife--   after large exotic meals  he conceived, his helpers at the ready-  to cook for him   fish and fowl ...

  purple phlox peeks out in ancient kalimba tones, cradled by a cordovan earth, smelling like the good ground island soil she was raised on ... forsythia frolics first in a yellow line--- like a teenage cheerleader bravely boasting her first signs of womanliness-- while the beginnings of the sugar magnolia petals open into a mouthpiece for a saxophone, slightly moaning a funky new bossa nova..... as soon as night falls, cooler hard bebop sends thin sheets of blinding photosynthesis in leaves waking, growing, becoming-- as we sleep through the awakening birds below window at 5:15 am, signaling we are awake how the time is now-- is beside the point of unplugged upliftment hesitating no more through the floor of the meadow, she takes her plunge into both the unknown and the known escorted simply with one sacred heart glissade' ensemble', gran jete' chine', chine', chine' tambe', para boure' ' ~words/photo~kate...

the roof is almost completely covered with a heavy wet snow- catching the first rays of sunrise- burning eyes, softening snow-----we wake to find diamonds shining on the roof, and in the garden seeming to sigh--yet....no impatience found in the white frozen mush and soon, as flowers begin to pop on the ground, and way up   in the tips of trees we hold fast to believing, once again how hearts of human beings are quick to forgive, and to get on with it-- this precious stuff of life, leaning forward--as we catapult off the diving board of a hard cold winter into the soft fragrant earth   of an early spring--softening... the harshness of everything! ~words & photos~kate lamberg  

how we wonder if the stars and galaxies know better than ... the tiniest dew drop-- what makes for peaceful living   and then, a thought births a treasured book- some call it, 'leaves of grass', 'zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance', 'autobiography of a yogi', 'the way of the tao', or, 'the way of zen'    some skip the books, and attend to nature, listening patiently to their garden flowers, the greening trees, and the salty sea illustrating how we do not need a reason on earth to celebrate peace-- as peace is composed of love-- and love is all the molecules in the universe dancing birdsong at dawn, rain drops at dusk, the infinite light of stars, the blessing of sun light..... fully living, forever dancing  words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18