River-Tree Whispers

Fall Leaves Smolder

2011-11-30T23:36:00.002-06:00

Have you ever had a scent freeze the moment, yet take you by vignette to another time and place?

my photo, Eugene, Oregon

Fall Leaves Smolder

Didn't see the smoke
while passing
through its neighborhood --
the earth-locked scent
recalling an evening walk
in Ubon.
Families gather
sheltered in open air
char pot lit
returning to reclaim
this evenings peace.
The air is still heavy, but cooling
to rich brocade of character
extracted from the day's labor
in commerce and stride.
Anticipation of now
still seen in midday
bikes and taxi samlors racing
water buffalo soaks up to ears and horns and nose
in noonday sun
a whisk of smoke
and hemp fiber drying
noodles on wooden racks.
Savor kow paht gahp gai
lemongrass
cilantro
slow the time
but no less intense.
Thailand --
this evening's walk.

photo from makanaka.wordpress.com

In 1966 I was stationed in Thailand with the US Army Signal Corp. These are typical scenes of my time there. Close to the earth, rich in culture. I remember the scent of burning vegetation. The smoke of fall leaves burning brought me back 45 years.

photo from designeranimals.wikispaces.com
.

Patch of Sky

2011-11-28T21:24:00.001-06:00

What color pink-gold
was that patch of sky tonight
just after sunset?
Takes me back
to a childhood Christmastime
jigsaw puzzle--500 pieces.
Chimney white smoke
and pillows of tree-bough snow
four-pane yellow-lit window for grandma's pie
stone bridge and sleigh bells
that I can almost hear
and a patch of sky
through birch.

.

Yesterdays Table

2011-11-26T09:34:00.001-06:00

After Thanksgiving. Friends share and bless our day.
Thank you.

yesterdays table
blest by friend soul family
fine fare in feast
we share by voice
and hear each heart story song draw
patterns of love repeated
of love repeated
short and long
to polish the vessel
Soul precious
the metal in stone is gold
a choice
release or hold
fine memories rendered
thought lost
both sweet and not
can now take flight by suit
to distant lands

Thanksgiving

2011-11-25T13:19:00.001-06:00

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.

Tale of a Tear

2011-11-22T07:05:00.000-06:00

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

With You

2011-10-29T11:11:00.009-05:00

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.
.

. a perspective on love .

Arbor Song in Light

2011-10-15T07:07:00.007-05:00

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
.

Crow Glimpses

2011-09-03T10:10:00.002-05:00

.
Thought. Images. Glimpses.
Ebony in green.
What is worth the effort?
And always
a heart song lingers
this gray morning.
Crow calls to nowhere I know,
Yet hope is always
this love.
.

Studio of Dreams

2011-09-02T06:06:00.000-05:00

It was one of those dreams in which the reality shifts between what we know out here and a higher knowing. Then there is the awakening process and its shifting awareness. Often so much more than what we recognize as truth in our daily lives. Trying to retain it is a challenge.

Studio of Dreams

The setting is Love --
the forest, the temple.
The prairie knoll. Quiet valley.
Is love. In all its forms.
Ethereal and real.
Substance and color.
New now matures.
Still it is you.
So much to go -- this love
of Art and the Artist of Dreams
my Love.

As the medium. The paint. Clay.
A stroke. I mold visions
of yours. Dreams
are mine.
Memories
almost surreal.
Hands and cheek.
The back of your neck.
Strand of hair waves the light
to Eternity.

Morning Window

2011-08-27T10:01:00.003-05:00

First it was the music. Not rock or pop or rap, but piano with orchestra backup. The window is open. A neighbor appreciates a finer reality of life. I write.

Morning window
birdsong light breeze
on orchestral melody
these memories undefined
surreal and fleeting
yet never ignoring our past
elated recalling
your smile
warming and cooling
this love
intense and receding
the phases completed
the touch
of your hand
and always this feeling
of more
that is needed
your name is my song
now reconnecting with you
was the music
the window
the day of this morning
with you.

Where did it come from? What window is this? And Who?
Sometimes things come through--I know not from where. Others, I hold close.

Happenstance

2011-07-09T08:31:00.000-05:00

To all who see the higher cause of art and creativity...

.
by word in verse
with borrowed pen
on paper towel
the sound
the truth
so few could hear
till sung aloud
by one of love, delight
and happenstance
.

All events and circumstance give chance of service and advancement.

.

Why We Celebrate

2011-07-04T11:59:00.001-05:00

Individual rights are of a higher law than that of the will of a monarchy or majority. Revolution is not by out-of-control passion, but rather by advanced creativity and thought toward allowing others that which we want for ourselves:

Freedom to choose our own happiness in all things.

See further thoughts of mine on this: Why Celebrate

Refine and Expand

2011-06-25T09:33:00.000-05:00

A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture
every day of his life. --Goethe

Rather:

Every day I hear the music and poetry and secrets whispered by all creation, because it is by listening that I recognize the subtle color, finer detail and broader picture of this life. The Sound emanates from every atom in the universe. And between atoms there is nothing but The Sound, because all matter is but a crystallization of It.

When you hear It, you know.

--Ardi .

Rain Sleep

2011-06-22T07:15:00.003-05:00

I like to awaken in the night to possibilities of new consciousness.

.
rain sleep
dreams deeper
keeping peace till morning
comes a little later to say
this day blesses me
in summer reprieve
and relax
.

Still raining, and I'm loving it.

.

Fish Answers

2011-06-11T18:13:00.002-05:00

Life has its ups and downs. We strive for the best.

But there is always turmoil in the world. Strife. Upheaval. Threats to survival.

Could be economic. Weather. Geological. Political. Relationships.

Always disruptive. But sometimes -- after the storm...

Reprieve. Or new beginning.

A place of peace.

Alone

in darkness

quiet . peace . a dream

then

almost imperceptible

a whisper . or . distant wind

approaching . quickening

rushes in upon me

a flood envelops my room

my life

inundates my being

wrecking the reality

of this moment

this world.

I am

completely overtaken

by the undoing

the flood . the rush

o sound

Retreat or succumb

run in panic

or swim in death

Peace.

Lifted outside myself.

Who am I?

Where?

I am this Sound!

This flood.

Tsunami.

The ocean moved in

and I moved within it

Is this death?

Or life?

Fish says,

What you call your death

is my breath.

I say,

I'll have to grow gills

to make this mine.

But my new buoyancy

prevents such utterance.

Just the Sound.

The Word.

The roar.

I am one with the fish.

The Ocean.

The Current of New Light.

Of Sound.

I see. I hear.

I ask you,

Is this real?

Fish answers.

I listen.

Art and Primary Function

2011-06-04T08:53:00.002-05:00

Thought not guided by mind.

Art. Poetry.

Spiritual function. Form. Expansion.

Interpretation of the non-material through the material.

Translation of truth.

Shifting consciousness.

Transcendence

~~~

This Love

The form

A woman I love

Have always loved

Even before I knew her

And still don’t know her

Eyes glance recalling

The secrets of my past

Journey in the valley

Of the stone bridge

Almost hidden

By her smile

Almost

Soft

Her hand

Gentle Supple

Just to touch her sleeve

Or mine hers

A thread

Hair brush

So fine

Many In array

At the cedar easel

Just through the window

Mona Lisa

Da Vinci

Her love

His

And mine

Stillwater Nights

2011-05-29T11:03:00.004-05:00

This is the title of an oil painting by a friend, Mark Daehlin of a panoramic view of the Minnesota town of Stillwater from across the river.

There is so much more to the image than the pictorial representation. I go there as Soul in words that attempt to expand and distill its reality.

stillwater nights
fluid in peace
of the light in dream’s night
on the river of deep contemplation
elation at this new-found place of love
in all its forms
and layers
beauty
reflection
and inner light
stillwater nights
in heart and home
as soul

The Law of Silence

2011-05-13T22:51:00.002-05:00

This one is better when read aloud. Well -- most of it.

The Law of Silence has three articles.

One . . .

The way to keep a secret

is to keep silent.

Two . . .

The way to know a secret

is to listen to the silence. &

Three . . .

From the Place of Peace

2011-05-12T22:15:00.005-05:00

Our grandson, Theo, was 8 weeks old on Tuesday.

From the Place of Peace

You've come now to this world.
Good choice.
Even though you may not think so at times
if you think much at all these days.
I know the harshness of earth air
and the chill of water,
hunger and trouble with clatter
and lights – all have their hazards to peace.
Peace of mind if you will.

And soon you will.
Thought will become more natural to you
as you adjust yourself to this world
of thought-matter and action.

You will see how thought with feeling will manifest
your wants and needs and dreams.
I know it is so much different
than what you were accustomed to
in that timelessness where peace was your abode.

I know -- now you are still clinging
to that peace and comfort there --
that state which is most recognized
in the warmth and love of your mother
and the sweetness of her breast.
And in your sleeping.
And the song that is sometimes heard
from the mouths of others
as they try to repeat the notes forgotten.
Even your own cooing in moments of rest and delight and satisfaction
remind me of the Song. That one that makes you smile widely
brightening your eyes.

Don't forget it.
Even when your thoughts are being led by the other sounds
and the intent of those in their distraction.
Remember how it was when you where in the natural state.
Draw on what you knew – and still know.
And remember your friends –
those who whispered to you – the Truth.
And the silent ones –
those who gave you the love,
that you know can never die,
even when you don't feel it –
the love that is shared by a touch
soft as your mother's.

I know you haven't forgotten.
The other morning
when you did not track my antics,
but stared past me to my right.
Was it your friends?
Was it your Teacher from the place of Peace?
Did they give you some hints
for this time here?

In time too, I will give you hints.
As will all those who love you.
There are many.
By your heart you will know how to use them.
And by your mind.
And the Song.
And your friends.
And Teacher.

We love you, Theo from the Place of Peace.

14 lbs, 5 1/2 oz at 8 weeks

April Moon

2011-04-18T21:28:00.002-05:00

A glimpse of the moon last night reminded me it is upon us. Tonight. The gift, in full.

April Moon

The moon mid-Spring
Shown with flowers
And the scent of your hair.

Silver-lined clouds
Drawn past your being
Then and now are one.

Love soars higher
Than my understanding
April moon -- once more.

Perspective on Things

2011-04-08T23:32:00.004-05:00

Discourse on the Nature of Material Service

How we deal with things is a subject of superficial scope -- it would
seem. So then, where do we go from here?

It is said that our areas of expertise can be grouped into three: People skills, Ideas/information skills and Material skills. I had always considered myself mostly of the later group. At times in this life I have worked as farmer, truck driver, carpenter, painter, electronic equipment assembler, operator, tester, and technician. My pastime has been in gardening, sculpture, collage, tai chi, hiking and cooking. Though my activity has been largely of the material world, Things, I recognize that all I know of things is in the area of Ideas/Information. Likewise, all manipulated material can be considered for service to people. We may have more talent in one of the three areas of service, but we act in all to some extent. Those who are primarily of the Things or Material group may see life as a collection of parts in relation to each other, how they fit together and what doesn’t fit. The physical sciences are the rules for living. There is energy and matter, space and time. Of matter itself, there is solid, liquid and gas. That’s the whole of it. All can be managed by the laws of physical science.

And of course, people are material assemblies of matter, infused with
energy, and operating within the parameters of space and time. That’s
about it from the simple perspective. But I persist. Not to demean the
importance and potential of people, but rather to take a step in that
direction. You see, it is the People person I would really choose to
be.

I admire those who are comfortable in a group setting, conversant,
quick of mind and reply--the life of a party. I am not. A talk-show
host I am not. It is beyond me how they can command an audience and
guests with interest and humor. By the time I formulate the words to
manifest a verbal presence in social setting, the subject has advanced
two or three topics. Not that I consider myself inept or ignorant, but
rather deliberate and thorough. That’s why I write--a talent of the
Idea area. I write of things and ideas and people. And the relevance
of my ideas of things, or material skills, to people.

When I first recognized my position of survival among the three areas
of skill, I viewed it as on a lifeboat in a swirling sea of emotion,
unformed half-thoughts and entities not yet manifest--like a log among
many in a maelstrom of uncertainty. But as I learned to take control
of the vessel’s direction, I started to gain a sense of the true value
of those who serve by material service. Not just that it is the lowest
level of operation, as I had seemed to learn, but that there is an
honorable ethic in the work.

What is the real worth of working with things? The truth in material
service? What do you see in a painting by Monet, or new-painted house? What is the feeling
when you touch a sculpture of Rodin, or cherry banister?

It is a joy to watch a craftsman or artist at work, or experience
quality theater or dance. To tour a home built with integrity of
workmanship and material is for me of a joy that equals celebration. A
party of delight in quality of light and sound, ambiance and love.
Could be ecstatic realization.

What makes it so? What makes any service of value? Is it only the
increase of material enhancement to the individual or society? What
other values are there?

Material service, working with things, is but the imbuing of matter
with the finest energy in the universe. Grandmother’s quilt, Marily’s
cinnamon rolls. The high chair Dad built for Ben as a baby.
Expressions of love. Works of wealth and treasures of the heart.
Service to life is praise of creation and the Creator.

Have I diverged from the stated channel of thought? I believe I have
cut to the heart of creation on the material level. What do we do when
we work with things, craft an object, or operate an instrument? We
dispense a love for life, by impressing the material with an attribute
from our own being. I believe we are more of spiritual being than
material. Many who believe likewise may say to focus on the material
universe is not the point. I agree. But focus through all disciplines
is a spiritual attribute. That is the point. Practicing the principles
of spiritual law in all we do can be meditation, prayer, or true
worship.

I once had a job assembling credit card embossing machines. Each
weighed about 90 pounds. At first, learning the procedure was
exasperating and time-consuming--very unrewarding--not to mention
heavy and awkward to manage, from workbench to cart, lifting and
turning. But with repetition and practice, assembly time improved. I
made less mistakes and the machine was so much more easy to handle.
After awhile, instead of the forced labor of frustrating work, it was
more like directing or choreographing, or watching a dancer before me.
So much less expenditure of energy. A joy instead of a burden.

When I shifted my mindset from enslavement to creation, the burden was
lifted. Those who work out of obligation or regret, in tedium or
resentment, transfer the attitude to the vibration of the object or
medium. Those who work only for the pay it provides, gain only that
meager, material salary. The vibration of the object can be felt, if
only on a subconscious level, by all who use or handle it in the
future. That is unless those later in the process, i.e., quality
assurance and testing, marketers and movers, can re-balance the
energies initially askew. Quality on this material plane starts with
respect of matter itself and learning to harmonize with it, keeping in
mind the end user -- people.

Harmony is the heart of all service. It starts with intent, or
dedication to a greater good. Then there is attunement to the medium.
Visualize. Listen. Feel the energy of matter. What was before? The
genesis? Original intent? Tune to all that touched and witnessed its
forming, its progression. What slowed its growth, or promoted it in
the journey through space and time. Follow it to the present. The gift
for all is in the hands of craftsmen--masters in the craft of material
service. Harmony in action is wisdom with tools, with technique, with
the love of a master becoming. Completion in cycles of harmonic
intent.

If we love what we do, we are rich in life and the anticipation of its
unfolding. The difference is in choice. Not that we can always pick
our perfect occupation, but we can choose our expression of it.
Accepting the creative challenge that all tasks contain is the means
to expression. The value of things, or service by them, is not in the
matter itself, but the hearts of the craftsman, the chef, the farmer
or driver. It manifests in love and service to all life.

This non-material perspective could be the substance of fulfillment in
material service. It is the key to loving what you do, if you are not
doing what you love. Look for what makes a task a high form of
service. The art of precision in nuance can be applied to the most
menial chore. Love from the heart, through the hands is the skill of a
master. We all have that potential--the true expression of Soul. The
working of the human heart may be known from the spiritual perspective
on things, and their nature of being and function in service.

People as objects in the simple sense is perverse, yet our assemblage
of flesh and spirit, matter and energy, is the end product of the
highest form of evolution on the planet. Not just assembly, but
craftsmanship or performance with intent. The Creative Source. With
the talents and choices this has given us, we can accept the
responsibility to further the process. We can choose to evolve to a
higher state, or not.

Respect and love for all life is a recognition of our place in the
universe. Now we are in the world of matter. But is this really our
home?

Solid, liquid, gas. Energy. Spirit. Mineral, plant, animal, man. Do we
look at life as a mere evolution of structure in the world of physics
and biology, or can we see it as an evolution of Soul? We create our
own reality at the state of consciousness we choose. One choice is
love in material service to all life. It is not by happenstance that
we are here, but by Love.

© 2011 Ardi Keim (3/11)

Sonic Star

2011-03-26T13:33:00.003-05:00

It was a still night in winter -- like awakening in another world. A star.

Sonic Star

One star. One light.
Among millions. On a clear night.
Or did the clouds part that instant of recognition?
Vaporized by intent and choices in options.
Thoughts on the meaning of pain
and joy in this moment.
Of contradiction.
Integration.
The Star.
Through the mist.
Among millions.
Reconciliation.
Finding truth through illusion.
Misconception.
Deception.
And the Star is but One.
Or was it imagination that night?
The night of the Star.
Among millions.
One light. Tiny light.
Becomes brighter than
its brothers or its sisters.
Could not glance at the others
so near and far.
See it. Till I hear it.
Sonic Star.
Ember of the fire in the heart of God.
Holy Fire. Glowing white.
To yellow. And amber.
And red. Blue start.
Never doused.
Sonic Star.

© 2011 Ardi Keim

Duality and Integration

2011-03-26T11:33:00.002-05:00

Stepping Up to Mastership

Where am I?
Recognize position: up-down; cold-hot; left-right, etc.
Where am I in the world of duality.
Is the toggle switch on or off? Click or catch.
Or what position on the rheostat of life’s continuum?
Where do I want to be?
What position would better serve me, my situation, my community?
Where is the truth in opposition?
Where is the opportunity? The potential?
Can I reconcile the contradiction? See through illusion, misconception? Deceit?
Can I love all that I see? Accept the path of all?

Grandad, I Am

2011-03-15T21:39:00.000-05:00

Grandson, Theo.

(our first grandchild)

Oh, what you will learn...

Love,
from Grandad

Secrets of Fire

2011-02-27T17:55:00.001-06:00

-- The Song in the Glow

There are many joys of fire besides the obvious. Perhaps the less material end of fire-related activity has the most. Consider the contemplation of it. For me this is the fruition of firelight--sitting by the fire, gazing into the heart of eternity and soaking up the wisdom of ancestors and masters drawn forward to this time of renewing.

What is missed by those who do not know this joy? It is an experience that escapes the wording of it. Even though at this time in my life, not having a hearth in the house, I know well the love of the blaze.

It was early one recent morning, sitting quietly in contemplative bliss, that I heard a sound. It was an inner sound, that I could not readily identify as to what earthly equal was its counterpart. It was a sound I have heard most of my life--all this life, I suppose. I thought of the surf racing across dry sand on the beach. The wind causing the pines to whisper their song of love. I heard a thousand violins and the beehive abuzz. Yet none of these was an accurate intonation of my sound.

Then it came to me. Perhaps when the furnace lit and the room began to fill again with heat. I recalled the fire--recalled the campfire I stoked with a friend’s son late last fall. He was excited, and so was I. Why was that? It is the light. It is the sound. The flicker and crackle of adventure.

What sound is there to fire beside the crackling and snap, releasing sparks in an upward racing? When does the light become the sound? Is this really a question? Who cares? I do. And I had to know te answer.

From the past I start my search.

There were many fires in my childhood. Each held the heat of the hunt, a key to the secret of sound in the glow. And I do believe it can be known. I do. Yet wording it here is the challenge. So much is beyond the outer language, even beyond the mind. But to attempt it here in writing, I first, have to identify the four phases of fire perceived. There are four your know, not counting procuring the firewood, intentional heating and cooking, or disposal of ashes.

The are: 1) ignition; 2) consumption; 3) the glow; and 4) extinguishing. And like the similar stages of a love affair, each has its cycle in recognition and acceptance.

First, ignition. This is the bringing together of the components of combustion: fuel, oxygen and heat. Assure that the starter fuel is of a fine quality, paper, kindling. Strike the match or lighter. Assure the drawing off of smoke and clear access to air. Supply progressively coarser wood or whatever fuel aggregate of choice. (Liquid fuels may assist, but here I could start to drift in description to methods of destruction, or the explosive excitement of war. But in this study I will stick to the warmth and peace of hearth and home.) The fire is started. Ignition is successful. The heat, the sound, the light are the predominant addition to the room, and the mood. Passion and raging love comes to mind. Only withholding its care will cause its demise.

Second is the consuming, when fire is at primary intent. The blaze is stoked with ample carbonaceous sustenance. The flash of igniting has calmed to flicker. The poof of excitement is now a roar. The hiss and hustle has a gentle, and strong undertone. This is where water is boiled, baths are warmed, banquets are planned, and celebrations take place. Consumption of fuel is the recognition of plenty, the heating of the castle, the celebrations of life. This is the stage when other phases of fire are forgotten. This is the purpose of fire, of life, and of love. A time of action. Production. Advancement.

Then comes the glow, where the light becomes the sound, yet is not diminished by it. Where the colors of red and orange, yellows and blue, all are recalled and integrated in this white-hot vision. Where the sound is really the silence of higher thought and not a part of mundane reality. This is the true contemplation of the force of the gods--the Fire of God. Its full and higher potential is glimpsed. There is no stopping mind and soul from uniting and knowing all, becoming all. There are no more words to address it outside poetry and song. This is the fire of life that burns within. No need for the fixes of superficial accoutrement in this new paradigm of love. Gaze into the glowing embers and contemplate the mysteries of the universe, the meaning of life.

What is my origin? When was my first original thought? Where has the sleeping cat gone? Why do we travel without leaving the room? And, Who are we traveling with?

The questions lead to questions. And sometimes, answers.

Finally, there is extinguishment --a place of recognition & question. We recognize that we live in a world of duality, where we have and have not, hot & cold, past and present, then and now.

We question which is real--what is the highest meaning of this moment, of life itself. Even though the flames are out, the heat is not searing, there are embers still live in the ashes--spent ashes that may protect the heart of fire’s life from final extinguishment for a night or a day or more--depending on the size of the fire that produced them. Jewels of light and possibility. What appears as lifeless has the genesis of fresh sentience, vivacity. The incubation of new love. We rest in this acceptance. Live and let live. There is new life ahead.

For me, the True Sound, my inner sound, is somewhere between consumption and glow, or within them--yet it is recognized in each. It is beyond the sizzle or above it, within it. Look at its light and go into it. Travel there like Sky-Walker. Run with the wind. Bring the experience of journey back home. Tend the fire with care. With love.

Another way of stating the four phases of fire is as the stages of modern day space flight: ignition, contact, lift-off, and landing. We are on earth, but not of it. We can travel the universe of our highest state of being. We can live there. Fire is a tool of survival, and a symbol of love.

Was it not fire that marked the initial advancement of the human race?

How many lightning strikes of terror did it take to turn our furthest ancestors from fear and recognize the divine potential of the gift? At first perhaps it was the residual heat after a destructive conflagration. Or protection realized when wild animals retreated from its rage. Eventually, its use was in containment and control, reproducing spark and flame by striking rock to rock or the friction of sticks. Or, an ember, insulated by ash in a stone vessel is taken on trek by the nomad.

I travel with fire. Protection, warmth and power -- at my service. Replacing fear of natural law; divine law with the utility of survival. I am the nomad. I am survivor.

Where is my home, really?

I once installed a wood stove in a trailer house. I fitted the flimsy structure that seemed not much more than a paper box compared to the substance of the appliance in steel and its accompanying masonry. Retrofitting with reinforcement and shielding presented the extremes in our binary world. It brought together the past and the future, caveman and commerce. Like dwelling in a plastic box with the basic comfort of an earth-formed sanctuary in the side of stone mountain.

Where is home? On earth? Or is this planet foreign to Soul?

Gaze into the heart of the flame and ask of the Light. And of the Sound.

I have enjoyed many a fire in this life. Now I realize that the one that gives me the most peace is the song of the blaze within.

(c) 2011 Ardi Keim (Feb. ‘11)