~Ways of The Call

The moments in life which produce a feeling
more intense than any other, we call the way.
During total movements hear spirits ringing,
calls of the most unique and singular kind
one almost has no choice but to have faith.

If the idea itself my laughter left light and dry;
The above and I would be solid, down to deal.
It doesn't mean I don't listen and learn though.
Intellectual trust is special human gift to start
and it alone exists, the suffering of spirit.

So, I don't cast my pearls before the swine
but think Jesus is genius for pointing it out
with one of his many catchy shizzl jingles.
I have one grand exception for the record
but it begs the question, they all call away.

(c) May 24, 2006, RJDuberg

~How Does It Feel?

In love with you, made tightrope a view
strung up and listing over some four years.
Not one chance, no truth made evident
while you kept my attention in fixed crisis
little yips to shake me back on the stage
to play with your great facade of a shell.

For my own delusions, I was your #1 fan
and would have kept the faith for love.
All that talk of needing time and healing
turned out as hollow as your black heart
as the years brought the opposite about,
your increasingly poor judgement of love.

That last shrill projection struck as insanity.
Imagine love that wants to knock on you
only because it stopped honestly sharing.
Telling me unkindly to get professional help
defied my ability to maintain your illusion.
How does it feel to cheat love for your hell?

(c) May 2006, RJDuberg

~The Clueless Grind

Running through this scene again
making up time for a greater plan
to get back the mistakes I made
after I lost my way and one brigde.
That power is my stumbling block
an intermittant awareness howl
for when it's off I recall, but a whiff
and the ferocity of spirit took.

There are certain events which help.
Certainly music like Rock n Me Baby,
extreme danger or attack by illness.
Here in the middle of life, all is passing
so fast, faster today, faster tomorrow.
There's no way to catch this stream
except by intellect and a slowdown
yet I'm tired with the clueless grind.

(c) May 2006, RJDuberg

~Legend of Silence

After the dust, there
where time disappears,
truth waits for the true
in clearing that is real.

My selfish pins pinning,
brake, a broke rendevouz
as sadness remembering
in a burning skid from hell.

Hopeless deniablity comes
with Lucifer singing along
unmuzzled with our misery,
the voice that speaks wrong.

May your spirit listen now
and heed this revelation
about the legend of silence
over love leaving us behind.

Accept no lies about it
and let a skidding break
end, for choice of destiny
begins and ends with that.

As love renews our world.

(c) May 2006, RJDuberg

~The Door's Door

Morrison's beach fire made band of light
and in his mad intoxicated spiritual haze
saw illuminated within a world with doors
This vision door boosting a mystical pass.

Today we work to pass recombinant DNA.
Science's answer to Jim's wildfire problem.
Just as The Doors made ruin into an art
GE will ruin evolution and nature will lie.

Yes, there are voices of alarm and caution
just as voices around Jim spoke back then.
We had need, his madness warmed us
enough, and a locked door kept him on.

It isn't enough to complain and exclaim
until those hearing can return in urgency
if only to confirm life remains truly lock free
correctly evolving on a dead-lock counter.

(c) May 2006, RJDuberg

More on Consciousness

Today saw the convergence of interest and encounter regarding neuronal space and I shall comment what for me matters most in my understanding.

A very clear illustration was presented in the current Scientific American Today on the physiological process associated with pain producing corresponding awareness. There was given a classical Newtonian description, scientifically verified down to the molecular level. This level is biochemical and based on electromagnetism at the subatomic level which requires quantum mechanics to calculate and begin to quantify. For my purposes, let us simply understand that our physiology posesses the ability to channel bio-electrical signals up our neurological stem into our cranial matrix we call our brain wherein our consciousness "has pain." Also, realize the speed is not instantaneous and thus there exists a measurable delay between real-time and our consciousness our sensory signalling in response. While we witness our world its important in order to negate the illusion to understand that what we witness is precisely out of phase and at best a quantum echo and nothing more. (Giving rise to Plato's Cave and our mistaking the shadows on the wall for reality)

First and most important is to distinguish between these signals ( all of them not just those signaling pain ), the neuronal space (which is the integration and maintains the "living life's" integrity on a functional level, and consciousness.

What Jim Morrison was a visionary for supports the mind's comprehending the infinite mystery or limit to our ability to measure and ultimately detect or describe how little we actually know of true reality given everything we sense combines to be nothing more than an electrical matrix of signaling taking place in our neuronal space after the fact.

No amount of useful syngergistic proposing will satisfy via the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. That is NOT an answer, although it defines synergy quite nicely. Consciousness cannot be reduced to synergy. Nothing can in fact, and while this does not invalidate consciousness since those of us that are awake and conscious know who we are, what it does do is drive a stake into the heart of the content and the truth about it. The world we can sense must be recognized as unreal.

If one realizes that our link to the real world is defined by this matrix, in light of the irrefutable facts we must recognize that the world we live in is an illusion which our consciousness somehow manufactures as its content, drivenas it were somehow by the signal matrix.

How is this possible, just how imprisoned our we in this framework, and negating the bias presents us with what new possibilities. Just what can be said meaningfully in the knowledge that what we are aware of but a very small piece of the reality bandwith and then by remote and very imperfect facimilie? Given the quality of this illusion we take as reality what does that say about reality itself and when are we going to muster the critical mass necessary for the will to realize a means to directly encounter that instead of this?

This is a rabbit hole from wonderland though and the quality of our life being a relation to an illusion manufactured from a matrix of signaling neurons extends into our entire cognitive life dow this wellspring of confusion and limitation. Thus was the famous proposition by Plato regarding Ideal Forms given a foundation in reason however, to give a cue to the depth of the hole. What we consider perfectly valid notions and abstractions are just as much a reproduction of the real as our tactile sensory awareness in our conscious experience.

There are many questions which can be raised at this point and I suggest they all have merit and are worth "chatting about" as it were. I would be happy to have related discussions or join entirely different ones as well.

thank you for reading,
Rj

~A Poem about my Mom this Mother's Day 2006

Poise of Moon

She consumes your world
granite oceans to sky passions
her fuel, as light from darkness
into a shining jewel, her smile.
You pass her by but do not see
but the path faintly, her need.

I feed her, I embrace and heal her
awakening finally, weakly cursing
to see this largest of magnificences
poised, this world's only true heir
an angel fire lighting your night,
waiting to digest your every misery.

I'm a fool for her mooness blossom
I must attend now to her every one.
Her orb so brilliant to see, a mystery
reflecting more love from all eternity.

'Tis there reflected, the true mystery!
And there, to find, our immortality.

© Dec 1999, RJDuberg

revised this Mother's Day 2006 for mom

~Encapsulation of Leary's Limits

Innocence, OK?
Ignorance a shame.
Love to recall all
from the very start
immortal,
and a god.

(c) RJDuberg, May 2006

~Color of Light

Emily Dickinson
remembered the fly
before she died.

Ignorance, eternal and
innocent, remembered
science, forsooth.

MOM's liquid voice
was my recall
born with a heart.

One lover of mine
remembered for now
makes this worthwhile.

The sparkle of mind
remembered all that
and what, in time.

Dreams of Future's delight
remembered,
make color of light.

© May 2006, RJDuberg

The Furry Q