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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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

One With Sea

Recently, in our first cruise vacation this life, I was concerned about motion sickness because as a child I could not handle wild carnival rides.  But I was surprised. I actually enjoyed the motion of the ship, even when the seas were rough.  Like I had been there before -- in another ship on ancient seas.   Have any others had a similar experience?  

One With Sea

The sea.
.     The waves.
.          The ship.

I cling by soul,
by rig and rope.
I rise the swell to peak
and crash with pull and press
then fall to trough   
jack standard deep
and heave from bow to stern.

Roll and pitch   
to stress the deck,
its rack and roar,
creak in mast   
and timber truss support..
Salt-wind soaked,   
mainsail, mizzen
jib sheets full and taut
with tiller lashed to fast.    
This fleet
I ride a voyage   
high and trying.
See its triumphant end.
At sea as Soul I am in peace
and one with sea and wind.

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Thanksgiving

What is there but divine expression?
Comes any day. To any Soul.

Is Love.

And is in

The Turning


Treadmill cycles of rest and run
fits and starts, hope and exasperation
exhilaration -- trial in turning
till its weakness and strength
emerges opposed.
Exposed -- this Soul
longing to know
to grow
to learn the mystery
of its own being
in peace, in strife
in chaos and understanding
the unlimited possibility of truth
on both sides till the anointing
awareness of the Giver
is within each.
Divine expression of Love.

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Tale of a Tear

It started with the first words of a song at the memorial service for a friend's mother last night. The song was Highland Journey Home.

tale of a tear

this tear
released by the words of a song
and its journey across my face to my heart
on the path of love
remembered
slowly
high on the cheekbone of a child
nurtured in the age of joy
soft on the place of my own mother's kiss
sweet tickle
the corner of memory's smile
time collected and shared and held
more freely now to linger
little longer
on the chin of recognition
soul's loving light

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With You

See. I close my eyes and you are there.
Touch. I hold your hand.
Hear. Your voice.
Speak your name.
We go. Aloft.
Soul flight.
The past. The future. Is now.
What love is this?
With you.
The journey of lives still calling.
These bodies in their biology.
Birthing and dying. Mating.
Surviving.
And mind in evolution of thought.
Was first the heart.
So many layers.
Waves on an ocean.
Lapping the sand.
Emotion.
And knowing your love.
See it. Hear it. Touch it. Feel it.
What is this love?
With you.
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. a perspective on love .

Arbor Song in Light

First the title comes. Then I take the moment and the ambiance. And write.

photo by Ardi

Arbor Song in Light

A day of change
a day of light and rain
movement and color and texture
thoughts rearranged
to touch a new presence of being
predominant in the air
the light
yet undefined by
structures of mind
and missed by most
yet we can hear it
we of the simple
the silent
and slow
hear it from the window
the garden and pillow bed
from the place of peace
and stress beyond belief
hear it from the heart and soul
of release
from the path and way of walking
the way of calling to the trees
as they stand through seasons
of mankind's passions
living and dying
of love and war
moving only with the wind
and their last fall of giving
not death, but giving back
and keeping
abundance collected
by love
bestowed as blessing
seed of kernel
meat of crossing
sap--the nectar
nursing soul
and leaves in every color
but blue
for sky is why and where
the earth has ended its grip severe
gravity is there not here
and the reason
be trees the bridge of crossing
both ways the wisdom flows
Spring's rising
Summer abundant
Autumn's fall in color blessing
Winter wisdom
only known by the silent
the simple and those who slow
the pace of racing
hear it in seasons night
and the psalm of calling
hear it in the
arbor song of light
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Shedding the Mask

Before the battle
Donning chain mail and plate
Wrought shield and sword
Gave him comfort secure
Even knowing the enemy
Would claim its portion
In life and limb.
He rode onto the grounds of destiny
With confidence – virile and strong –
Intent on his duty
And the dance of his charge.

But after days of execution
Precise and of chance
Seeing the slain – comrade and foe
A weary portent of final fever
Crept onto the field.
First, more a false thought
Like a glance off the helmet
Or arrows to underbush.
But now, predominating,
Overwhelming his being,
Corrupting his dream.

He wanted to shed the armor
To gain new life
Revive in strength
And mount again his steed
Stripped of all but cinch
Stirrup and grip.
Take flight and annihilate
The heaviness of fate
Of hate and righteous anger
By the lance of light and heart
Is Soul renewed.

The war in the higher world
Is charged with pure intent
By the shock of truth.
No longer the battle commands
Of darkness afar
And deviant deed.
No longer the deceit
of mask and cover.
A new battle rejoined
When was it first?
And when will we march again?

Today, padded and fit
For two more months of winter
And its multiple of worn reality
Of users debt froze fast.
I tire of the mask and cover.
Spring comes as earth turns
Slowly. And lightning strikes
The flyers of false keys slyly kited.
But also it lights
The pine tree of freedom.
Shedding my mask I see.

Really it was just another below-zero winter day that inspired this. It aint Spring yet? No. And other storms do threaten.

Addendum 1/31/09:
If you detect a slight political tinge to this post, you are right. Covering snow drifts with snow seems clean, but the dirt and dog dung is all exposed soon enough. I feel all stimulus plans and bailouts are just a lot of fluffy ferry dust blinding us with false promise and hiding a worse storm ahead. The snow mask isn’t all we must remove. Freedom (economic and otherwise) comes with responsibility—not schemes to pad the pants of the devious and well connected.

I really didn’t intend on getting political and preachy here. If you’d like to have my expanded view see my Share Tree blog and my post on Financial Responsibility.

April Desert in March

Many years ago I was traveling by bus from Tucson to Ft. Huachuca, Arizona for a military assignment. Looking across barren landscape variations, meager vegetation, rocky precipices -- ancient memories ~~ Traveler in Time. Stark. Pure. Fresh in the arid air. Never like it before -- that bus ride. (I found the art below on the Sojourn Bike Tours website. It portrays well the images I still feel.)



Then yesterday April told me of an experience she had while visiting the Tucson area last week. It brought me back to that long-ago journey of mine. I had to write. In verse...

April Desert in March

Desert precipice with vista
Facing wind and the universe within
See the sand dance and crackle
The dryness without you

If I could cry a thousand tears
would rain replenish this River
and quench my one thirst?
So many other Souls
may never know
the first call
is Love.

Thanks, April, for the memories. :)
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