There! Eternity is there! All around! Do you know that you can extend yourself forever in any of the directions I have pointed to? Do you know that one moment can be eternity? This is not a riddle; it's a fact, but only if you mount that moment and use it to take the totality of yourself forever in any direction. – don Juan Matus

My Greatest Lie

Humility and surrender, my kneeling being of will
has not stopped the wrongness I feel in my heart.
I pretend, itself absent, for the sake of my sanity.
I don’t know why or how to speak the truth here
of an essential loss felt in the aftermath of loving.
Each day, more painful as the memory is distant.

Here and there, I imagine and propose solutions.
Pyschological babble was never more realized.
Means to possibilities misunderstood for the end.
Am I obsessed with ghosts I loved, holding tight
not letting go, I think this angle will end the best.
Like religion, if you don’t get it, blame a mystery.

But like religion, such possibilities once believed
haunt the experience in its best state with hope.
I am only learning as I waste my life in the pain.
Only by stopping the belief will I gain freedom.
Yet, it is the thing I believe more than life itself.
You are and have always been my greatest lie.

© 8/31/2004, RJDuberg

Onward This Morning

Without a look, the light rising

Outside my body this morning

Has come but within to shine

inward a notice silent and kind.

Today cracks lightly onward

Outside every word spoken

Unnoticed crackless interior

Scales the cracks' complexity.

A calculus determining lift

Organizes the rift of glyphs

The non-intuitive factuality

Our words ideally captivate.

This onward moment wanes

Unlike words said with strain

to quantum mechanical edges

My body refrains in illuminati.

© 8/26/2004, RJDuberg

Summer Whitewater

Cozy rockin’ Imperial Beach
with a half mile, into throngs
numbers up a quarter million
unlike Hampton’s ambiance,
the scenes value the unseen
leaving ghosts to roam free.
Space expands with wealthy
and divisive corrupt purchase,
creating vaults and museums
instead of a homey welcome.

Weird how life creates this dust
For signature in death's process
In outward transport of matter
excreting, separating, uttering…
It’s all the same shedded stuff,
A pooping matter makes room
for consumption or production
and a rare fast transformation.
IB Summer’s dirty causal nights
Intoxicate repeat dross offender.

The ocean sprays wet salt, spice
on constant, wash up and down.
Makes for every sort of dreamer
on beach to splash heat of sun.
Everyone is free to muster poop
without fear of shoes to distract.
The planet’s payback of poop
is sand we proudly track in home.

There’s flatline of ocean horizon
giving seashore its spectacular
clarity; sunsets or rises, bathing
color to sky, cloud, and memory
for last moments of light's ebb.
The reverse character and power
of moon led flux of fluid dynamics
rush to sandy crash of whitewater.

© 8/8/2004, RJDuberg