Together We Sup

Two bowls hot and fresh  
Chicken soup, salad green red and feta
Tandoori, basil, and spice of savory love
Simple. Satisfaction. Complete.
For you I am grateful,
My love.

(Last night's dinner was late, but worth the wait. And so much more.)
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© 2013 Ardi Keim, 12/14/13

The Portrait

Seasons. Holidays. Work and Play. Life together. Love.

The Portrait

Picture six souls
One journey and call
Yet a lonely path and long
Marked by each -- a diamond
The harvest, the battle, and school
Family portrait living Light and Song.

© 2013 Ardi Keim, 9/21/13

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A Prayer, A Meditation

Smile. Laugh. Say my name.
.    Glance. I gaze.
.    You open my heart.
Your face. Your words.
.    Your gaze. Your voice.
.    You open my heart
.    and lead me to God.
Your Song. Your Light.
.    Your Love.

© 2013 Ardi Keim, 9/7/13

Why Three?

A very good article in Business Insider is Marketers Must Understand The Power Of Three. An excerpt from The Urban Dictionary also addresses the subject. And there is much in the metaphysical realm on the power of three as well.  

My own thoughts on why there is power in three are:

1. Outward, mental, intent, structure:
2. Within, heartfelt, emotional involvement; and
3. Completion.
   a. Spiritual and material united in action. Service. Actuality.
   b. Ultimate. Conclusive. Soul connection.
   c. The seat of truth. Eternal being.

 © 2013 Ardi Keim, 8/4/13 

Survival -- The Bombing

Lest I forget. Or should I? A man then, and now. How can I? Reach back to that lifetime. But now. It is in my bones. In my blood. It’s in my cloud atlas.

Survival -- The Bombing

The feeling -- response of emotion

sudden recall the last flight.

Two bombers above, but slower now.

I feel it. Excitement. The power -- that flight.

Four engines, doubled. Sensation.

See. Feel. Hear. How it affects me

almost to tears so full.

So deep the response in my body

beyond the reason of mind

responding in every organ

from eyes and ears

heart and gut

to testicles.

Full, the drumbeat

somehow void of rationale.

Reason. No. Why. But sure.

There for the love of shear power.

Raw power. To fully experience the realization

of potential. In danger. Of death. Repeated.

Continues to pull. To pound at the floor

of my trunk. My gut. And pumping

blood. Oh, Soul. I am.

How could I?

It seems.

It is.

So real.

Unending -- the repetition.

The revolving. The engines. The thunder. The bombs.

Released now. On course and inevitable.

Percussion. Percussion. Percussion

of certain and sudden change.

Soul survival. After the final

bombing.

Summer is airshow season.  Whenever I hear a WWII bomber fly over, it is the drone of their engines that evoke the powerful emotion that begs release. I love it.

© 2013 Ardi Keim 7/14/13

Dance Lessons

(It is a process: understanding life. We do it in family. In dreams.

In thought and writing.

Even dancing.)

Try to see beyond my blindness.

Say it's all good.

What eyes now blind me?

Oh listen! It's ticking.

Tapping. Clicking

So much to write

Caution to the wind.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

In gusts of hot air

and white-wood fuzz.

Nothing that words will fit.

Membership in the life club: Savants.

One word, idiot, comes to mind.

But I love me anyway.

In my impatience.

Fingers dance in broken steps.

Mind penetrates the dance floor

of plastic and glass.

Not good -- till sunset.

Oh magic.

But I can feel it now

like Mom's silent prayers,

so loud, nothing else sounds,

but the absence of Dad.

Payday. And The Outrigger.

He's home other nights.

Dinner. Chores. News in black and white.

All is good, not thinking about it.

So it is a dance of dreams.

Commencement and light.

If I made this, I made it with he

who was my brother.

Father, Mother.

Two step. Or square dance.

To penetrate the dance floor.

Or is it the ceiling? Translucent.

Light breeze. White curtain.

They are both there now.

A visit after sunset.

In prayer and The Outrigger.

The music we wrote

and learning to dance.

Not easy but sweet.

These lessons of love.

Still learning.

© 2013 Ardi Keim 6/28/13

Arbor Dancing

Father‘s Day 2013

I am a happy dad. Thank you M for your love. And for bearing and birthing our daughters, and supporting my practice of fatherhood. Thank you J and S for agreeing to life with us as your parents in entering this world, and for your love everyday since birth. Family love is everlasting. It reflects the gift of love divine.

Today started with the inspiration of beingness in the serenity of this good life.  

 

Arbor Dancing

Morning window-gate of light

Silver maple -- green-rich, the gold

A soaking and the memory

Of yesterday’s rain

Arbor dancing to a symphony

Of secret strings and cymbal play

Whirligig spins to its place among thousands

For squirrel life now or century-old maple

Decades following my morning.

 

 

© 2013 Ardi Keim 6/16/13

Occupation

There is a war of the worlds in progress.  Because these are the worlds of opposites.  There are but two sides.  They are often called good and evil.  But there is reality and illusion. There is confusion and certainty.  There is occupation and resistance.  Offence and defense.  Awareness and ignorance.  Freedom and enslavement.  We have been occupied by a force. Things will never be the same.  But the mirror still reflects a distortion to all but those who have seen both sides.  

Transparent.  Translucent.  Darkness and Light.  There are two ways to see it.  But only one solution: the Practice of Love.

© 2013 Ardi Keim 6/13/13

Birdsong and Window Lace

I like to write a preamble to my creative work. Usually done after writing the work itself and placed up front as an intro, this time -- a post-script instead.  Just to say here: I love the creative freedom of vacation, and this good life.

Window cover in off-white lace

with no hint of breeze to show it open 

to that possibility, this June day--still a.m. here. 

But traffic on Avenue H says so: It's open. It's morning. 

Birdsong only in my recall of yesterday a.m.  

And just a Robin and Sparrows collude. 

But better than today in that way. 

Where are they--that quartet? 

At home she has a Mourning Dove 

resting in joy and delight at her words of love 

in vines green, and color. The light. But here, not even 

a Crow.  Oh. Wait!  As if my thought brought it to my morning. 

A cooing.  Gently.  Lonely and afar.  With traffic  

and chatter of House Sparrows.  Perfectly 

rendered from a different yesterday. 

And mine. Not Crow, but 

a Mourning Dove. 

And a gentle wave of lace.

Postscript

Rest of vacation. Or from it. Never perfect, but full and rich. I rest and write to Marily’s breathing after reading and relaxing to sleep again. Another good day ahead. Hopefully not too much play. R-n-R is what we make it.

Recalling thoughts of days ago in stress and schedule, and post on Facebook, the dove... Now birdsong. Each note or orchestration is really just for me -- each of us.  I hear it differently than you or they. Direction. Deflection. Distance and ambient happening.  All sound and events, all images in light--adjusted by aspect and attributes of heart.

It’s all a song unique to each soul. And healing and stretching and growing. Can even delete the past and paint a new beginning. Color and light. The song and dance of this moment.  

She breathes. The traffic. Birdsong and window lace.

© 2013 Ardi Keim 6/10/13

Breath Code

.       Exercise. Of body, of mind, of spirit. We gain by practice. And then . . . Inspiration.

When it comes. The voice. The song.
Innovation. Inspiration.
In breath.
Inhale the Force.
Exhale the Word.
The word that calls. By secret code.
Repeated endlessly of heart.
To pause. Repeat.
Repeat.
The breath.
In. Out. In. And in
that pause does speak.
Without the ears knowing.
But listens. In silence.
The quiet. To listen.
A song. A voice.
Is mine if claimed.
But never tagged. Is free.
Of words. Of thought.
Is free.

© 2013 Ardi Keim 

The Presence

Listen.

It's better than advise or philosophy

for truth is not in the words,

but in the heart.

What I say

is little understood.

And usually wrong.

Speak only

from the practiced presence

of the Mahanta.

.       © 2013 Ardi Keim (concept and draft of 5/8/13)

Stone Soup

When almost awake it is so clear. But without some kind of hook or ladle, it's gone in a flash. Barely a hint of its nourishing savor.






Stone Soup

I live in both worlds now

and my allegiance is fleeting.

Dream Master, help me. I am spent.

Truth shines like the sun

till it sets without a snapshot.

Misplaced in mental obligation,

habit and memory.

 

I must write it down,

or get enough rest and nourishment.

The morning is fresh, but the canary is free.

No concept of one till another flies through –

like migrating birds to the mechanics

of earth revolving.

 

Truth I know is the anticipation

of stone soup.

Then, after many guests

and hours of cooking,

it's back to the heart

till the words are not mine

yet precious as my lover.

 

 

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© 2013 Ardi Keim

 

 

moonwash

Found this in my notebook. Written over a year ago, I sort of remember the images that inspired it. The last line just sort of fit the picture in my mind's eye.

But there is more. The "reality" was from the story written and read by a friend. I love the power of language.
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.     winter treetops
.     point with long fingers
.     'cross the white field
.     moonwash
.     this lonely night
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