Awareness Strikes

Awareness Strikes
--from my morning window:

Sun-laid lace of maple shade
.   on neighbor's roof
.    a robin aware
Green on white and blue
.    of morning sky behind
This day already blest
.    by light and sound.

© 2016 Ardi Keim

The Warrior

Combat--the ultimate physical competition. Superiority to the winner, death to the looser. 
Attraction. Repulsion. War. My experience with the concept. May be complete. 

Warriors

Warriors die on the battlefield 

if they don't walk off.  

Good warriors die before, 

knowing all things 

of the enemy. 

There. 

And within.

The best die daily.

To know. 

Soul is life. 

Is God. 

Is Love.

_________________________________________________
© 2016 Ardi Keim 10/11/15

Boy. Dog. Woods.

On our twenty acres the back fence kept farmer Jones' turkeys on his place most of the time. Togo was the first dog I remember. He got old before I knew anywhere else besides home, school, church and cousins. Oh, there were trips to town shopping at Tipton's and a Christmas movie too.

_____________________

Friend at Nine
 

Cold nose, black

Red tongue panting

Togo, brown Chow friend

Sticks and creek and woods we run

Turkeys were too slow.

_____________________

Boy Dog Woods
 

Douglas fir bark

moss on black dirt

kid Fort Flint in Fishback's woods

Togo always with me.

  © 2015 Ardi Keim

A Stretch of Peace

       (Don't think too hard on this one.  I didn't.)

Starts with a mocking bird

hides in a willow still weeping.

Sun sets the table of inspiration.

Yes, March … to horizons lost

           in thoughts

                on the thawing song

                     of last winter

with its never-ending chorus of another.

Yet never mentions poetic stretch.

Like elastic--when rubber comes from

           the family tree of memory.

           Or is it a whippoorwill?

Notta lotta money tree.

 

This master checks off on all particles

           lit and sonic.

           Vibrating endlessly.

           Harmonic

 

I live. I love. I write.

           Of love and life.

           Is One.

 

There is no end.

I leave it ALL to you.

Can't say what else my M o t h e r N a t u r e calling.

           Wide mouth and holy.

Too loud this language of secrets.

           We have none.

                 Well being is never left

                       without a mind lapse.

 

Has purpose in forgetting lets the head stuff off

its chronic condition.

Feverish before peace

           to the pace

                 of a sun fish.

Luke warm and perfect

           with your smile.

A Convening of Feathers

Long winters may shunt the creative, but a scene rich in symbol caught my eye last week.

 

 

A Convening of Feathers

 

Three pheasants on snow and litter under brush.

A crow squawks from their side a jump or two away

with sisters above on lamp and bare branch.

 

Disturbed birds of china retreat by quick feet

then with a call of oriental chime in low flight west.

Black chatter hovers to chase in curious report.

 

Was there any agreement on the nature of late winter?

Or can birds of cross feather ever see the others' light?

I convene with my kind and hope to touch heart.

© 2015 Ardi Keim

Song of Predawn Space

Mornings I come back. Choose my place and my day starting in sound before solid. Permeates my being, my space when the window is still open. You know? Like the life spirit of a new shore. When awakening is still silent. Listen.

 

 

Song of Predawn Space

Slow the pull from speed in peace

Retake and slip, and rake the sleep

From bright to fog returning faint.

I muscle forth 'gainst limbs still bound

From pallet down to love seat choose

The peel, the toll of other rules.

 

Open book, yet half unwritten.

Write a seed of peace decipher

Between the lines then voice, a master

Clear till mind choose chapter pages

Lines to x and white-out writing

What is the matter gray not wasted?

 

Stop in halted thought and listen

Sound the room and sing the inner

Spring from deep and dream the race

Now heard the essence of this rest

The song we sing in predawn space.

To bless this day as we awaken.

 

 

© 2015 Ardi Keim

Spirit Flight

Lone eagle above the Temple--not soaring, but with direction and purpose.

I join in the flight.

 

Eagle racing winter wind

Prairie, rooftops, lake ice white

Lone spruce trail of autumn walkers

Long wait for Spring.

 

Books and thought of inner measure

Long the time and little space

Till joining now in spirit flight

And leave these shoes to race.

© 2014 Ardi Keim

Acupuncture with Leah

Next year, starting October 22 this year, 2014, is the Spiritual New Year of Eckankar and it is known as A Year of Spiritual Healing. I realized early this year that my health will be a priority. Because I am responsible for this body, and it is through this vehicle that I go about my mission while on earth, I will maintain it to the best of my ability. Besides regular checkups and conventional medicine for health care, I have found many alternative practices very beneficial as well. Homeopathy, naturopathy, and chiropractic are but a few. Acupuncture is another that has brought relief and healing. If you would like to improve your health I encourage you to check out alterative care.

Acupuncture with Leah

“Hi, Ardi. How are you today?”

Her smile radiates a light and loving heart.

“Hi, Leah. Relaxed. And anxious.”

In the 15 minutes since I entered this darkened room, reclined in a Lazy Boy, covered myself with a soft throw to the hush of a sound machine and heavenly music—I have started my descent into an alternate reality, perhaps a slightly aberrant one.

After hearing my wife Marily's appropriate interjections at precise and pin-pointed therapeutic events, I await my fourth session with the second and sweetest acupuncturist I know.

“Oh? How are your emotions today?” I had mentioned last time I seemed to be more concerned than usual with some extreme acts of violence in today's world.

“Pretty good. I think it's more what's about to happen on my body in the next few minutes than in Iraq or Syria the past few weeks.”

She asks about the pain in my knees and other concerns since last time while taking notes on a tab. She'll start with my right hand and wrist. I know, because that's where she is positioned on her rolling stool.

I tense up.

“Let's check your pulses.” She gently palpates my wrist. Her touch is the kiss of an angel. Again relaxed, even knowing I have about 10 seconds.

Now another caress to the base of my thumb, I close my eyes. I can do this. She strokes the joint for exact positioning. I hear the rustle of a wrapper as she removes the needle. Mental attention toggles from the peace of her presence to the concept of torture by voodoo.

Owe! I thought I felt, but not. No pain. Yes. I can do this.

My mental state calms again with her sweet touch. More rustling. A slight prick. Not so bad. One or two more on that hand. A sting. I let my guard down. Recover. Take control.

I can do this.

Mind has yet to grasp the subtle reality of rejuvenation almost missed in its racing. Back and forth. Peace and pain. Yet the pain is less than its intellectual hold.

She rolls to my right foot. Tension. Rustle. Tension. She fondles my ankle. Thumbs and fingers of both hands. Paper crinkles. I can do this. Not so bad.

It continues, the rolling, the rustle, tension and touch. Relax or yelp under my breath. Or twitch of toe. Some with pain, Others I barely notice. Left foot. Left hand. Rigid, relax. Angel or ouch.

She moves back to the right of my head. I speak. “I have a question.”

“Yes?”

How far do the needles go in.

It depends. On the hands the are not deep. Other areas like in the muscles or behind a tendon, the can be about like this, as she meters out about an inch or more between finger and thumb.

She shows me the length of a needle and says it can go in all the way to where it is held.

Damn!

One in my crown and 2 in my ear. Now pricked, I can relax.

“Have a good rest.”

“Thank you, Leah.”

Yeh, about as good as the last time I slept with a porcupine.

Not so bad, really. Amazingly there is no pain. Just that damn itch on my nose.

Okay. I can lift my left hand. I see a few pins protruding. If I lift may head to meet it my itch is relieved. Back down with my arm. Head back. Ouch! The needle in the top of my head, set very shallow, flopped back first. Ohh! Owe, owe… I turn it to the side a bit. But in about10 minutes I have a kinked neck. Attempts at lifting and flopping back in place not too successful, but I’ll live.

Okay. Just relax. Think of someone I love. Something I love to do. Making love to that someone.

Is that her snoring in the recliner next to me? How can she sleep through such agony?

How about a warm beach? To counteract the AC that just went on. Leah had covered me again after properly protecting the needles in my knees and feet with rolls of blankets.

But after visualizing, and praying and contemplating and love on the beach. And flopping and re-flopping blankets and needles, again there is peace and comfort.

I wonder about the phenomenon of healing. This kind of healing.

Before, I had asked how acupuncture works. A cerebral grasp of the process would certainly help me control the mental battle. The micro irritation by the needle's point stimulating a response that increases circulation and other chemical and electrical activity in the area... That's what I heard, or something like that. Kinda makes sense. I love science. Biology. Human physiology. Have a degree in electronics engineering technology. The needle as a conductor. Electrolytes controlling fluid balance in the body. Makes sense.

But it is that point of the needle. Stabbing my flesh. Mind switching from peace to pain. Let it go. Release the pain. Release the mind. Reclaim the vision, the love. Peace of body and mind. It works. Relax. Ahhh.

Until my left foot feels restless. It wants to run. I wanted to run. To keep it from jerking, I stretch and stiffen my foot. Feels like a deep puncture wound. I recall the nail through a 2x4 I stepped on as a kid. The flip-flops I wore afforded no protection. A piece of blue foam rubber was implanted, but I didn't know it till it festered out a few day later. I know these 4 or 5 needles protruding to the center of my foot were goading my appendage to another agonizing paralysis.

Oh God, please. where is Leah? When is the Angel returning? The hour has got to be about up. I hear her talking to the client two seats to my left, the other side of Marily. Talking, Talking. Endlessly talking. Enough already. Move on to Marily. Pull her pins and get over here. I may need 911.

I flop some pins and lift my head to turn and see her. Maybe I can signal my urgency.

Not there! I hear her, but she’s not there. Everyone in that direction is sleeping. One is snoring. Am I loosing it? Flop. Relax. Ouch!. Lift. Flop. Relax. Twitch. Damn. My altered state of mind and soul is of a near-death experience, but not the peaceful one in which fear of death is dissolved. No detachment here. Death does seem a better option.

So many thousand milliseconds later, Leah speaks: “How was your rest?”

Distracted from the pain by her presence and speaking with a surprising calmness, I tell her of my concern/trauma. I wonder if my eyes show the residual agony from the event. I remember the deer that totaled our Nissan one dark and stormy night in Montana. We heard the guttural last gasp of the doe as she slid up over the windshield.

But all traumas eventually pass, and life becomes normalized with time. If time doesn't stop with death.

Relaxed again by Leah's presence. Her voice. Her smile. Her touch--that painlessly removes the needles. Feet and knees. Hands and ears. And the top of my head. Like a butterfly gathering nectar the bumble bees forgot.

Healing. A continuing process to forestall the eventual leaving of this body. How much is our choices of body—physiological? Our activity or lifestyle? What we consume? What aid we accept? What about the practitioner or healer herself? What about the mind and the heart?

I feel the demeanor and care and loving heart of Leah is responsible for the effectiveness of the therapy, while I must take responsibility for the mind switch. Isn't it the vibration of love that true healers exchange with the patient that affects healing of body and mind? Yes, an exchange. We must accept the healing with gratitude and love. The mind can overcome conditions of the physical entity, but it is the opening of the heart to love and re-radiating that love that assures lasting health. The body heals itself, and love is the healer.

I smile. “Thank you, Leah.” Relaxed and grateful.

As she leaves my side, I gather my keys, my phone, my watch and other pocket junk. Put on my sandals and head for the door. Like a pincushion ready for dry-cleaning. “See you Saturday.”

I can’t wait. We’ll see.

© 2014 Ardi Keim

Forest Secrets

.    (May not of understanding, but feeling tells--and Light.)


Sunlight dots the forest floor.

A leaf brightens to emerald and fades in a wink.

The scent of wood reduced to earth since my father was a thought.

Time stops ... by rest off the trail.

Flits quick, a phantom shadow gives away the now-gone bird.  Not seen, not heard.

Grasshoppers from the pasture for her hatchlings somewhere west.

Or maybe a thought.  No . . . Impressions nuance so lightly.

The mind is no match for being here not touching.

Heart's yearning still secret to words.

© 2014 Ardi Keim 7/10/14

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.)
.
© 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

.

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