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