Gut Check to a Shocking Poem

A stunning poem and my comment for the record...

The price to pay...

I sat and watched her as she slept,
Her skin so ghostly white.
I saw as dark'ning shadows crept,
Escaping from the light.

The deathly Angel spread his wings
To take her soul away
As Heaven's choirs plucked gentle strings
In random disarray.

I watched her as her movement ceased;
Her body lay so still
As if the Angel had released
All suffering and ill.

At last I cried, my voice returned,
"Please stop, don't take her now."
The Angel looked, so unconcerned,
With boredom on his brow.

"Kill me," I sighed, "Kill me instead,
And I will take her place."
The Angel said, "But she is dead,
Look down upon her face."

I hoped that with the Saviour's grace
My plea could be allowed.
My tears were wet upon my face,
I pleaded long and loud.

"Her soul is free from sin and pure
But yours is dark and black.
Your words are childish, immature,
Why should I bring her back?"

The Angel's words were straight and true
But still I forced my plea.
Though he refused I tried anew
He must not disagree.

At last he smiled and held my eye;
"Your wish is in my hand;
I have decided to comply
But you must understand;

"Your life is ended as we speak
And she will live once more.
The tears have dried now on your cheek-
So let us count the score.

"You cannot take the vacant place
In Heaven where she'll dwell;
For you are doomed from now to face
Eternity in Hell."

Davidmm fro Poetry 4 Suzanne Blog 3/17/09

Hi David,

Just read your poem. I have to say that I haven't read or watched or attended such a simple and potent dramatic scene that I can remember in such a while, the overwhelming loss, the sacraficial offer, only to be wrecked on the turnabout twist at the end.

While I know this scenario is cliche, you had done such a nice job of recreating it, and in doing so with such a highly valued human sentiment bridging upon the mystical and religious, one never tires of such renditions which elegantly capture the essence of this spiritual drama, at least for me. Which leads me to speculate on your reason for turning this whole drama upside down as you did.

I can't recall any enduring stories in which a man (or woman) negotiates with a higher power to save and in turn sacrafice themselves which led to damnation. Clearly, there are reasons why describing the basic moral good upon which the whole heaven/hell dichotomy as it relates to human life rests.

And yet, reading the comments which came before, nowhere did I find anyone concerned with this basic violation of classic values either? So, then the question is, have I missed some new evolution of human spirit in which your reversal on one of the most basic of human spiritual values makes sense? If no, then I'm back to conjuring a more palatable foundation for this violation, per se. Maybe you can help me here if you feel inclined, for what might be the alternative to what I can only surmise as mischief for the sake of attention grabbing shock produced by such a departure from the norm or cliche?

As a last resort, I would suggest emphasizing or balancing such a orthogonal negation of a classic with an element of mystery, at least, for as every rule was meant to be broken (as such) even the most solidly accepted classics which remain unbroken rules to this day might still find themselves excused in some future evolution of human spirit. And, I think we must all agree to that, IE I don't believe a single individual of faith hasn't imagined how much more influential the good book would be if their beloved almighty weren't dispossesed with a little more reality and conherency and a lot less mystery and dogma.

The real irony of this poem has to do with your eloquent and powerful grasp of the drama revealing a depth of faithful involvement which must have been at least at one time serious, only to see it turned on its head, without any fanfare or blaring horn. Indeed, the poems complete reversal of the classic drama reveals a rare potential complete reversal of the author's past faith.

Yet, why am I so hesitant to raise this intuitive insight up as my conclusion? It's not that I doubt such reversals take place. Perhaps, it is because of all the reversals and their range to which I may attest to have encountered, nare I say can I remember one which didn't include a litany of wreckage associated with the process, including some degree of scarring as well? Should my intuition regarding the source of this work from your pen be near spot on I must exclaim my kudos for how you've left the usual unexpressed, first because I'm sure it was not easy, and second, because the result is infinitely more poetic in its simplicity and elegance.

On the other hand, you might have simply decided to twist this classic on a ruse, being more than faithful perhaps or simply mischevious. Perhaps, you may enlighten me, but regardless, it was certainly worth the read and afterthought, attempting to put the real story in proper perspective and its light of revelation.

Rjd

Inside "Focusing" work by Ann Cornell

The further I get into a book by Ann Cornell called, The Radical Acceptance of Everything, the more I see her work aligned in its efforts to what I've already come to embrace in the Fourth Way. There's no spiritual, historical background behind "focusing," but the success made by her and her colleagues greatly raises awareness in a way that repairs the wrong work and dysfunctionality of being human, rendering us the worst of machines. Concepts used for FOCUSING and those offered by the Fourth Way have completely different intents and exist on different scales of being. For the hearer, the ideas of focusing exist only insofar as are effective tools for direction and guidance for those engaged in the theraputic process itself. While Fourth Way concepts reveal an intellectual and descriptive mode or level of thinking about being human, Cornells concepts support a process between speaker and listener in which the listener is challenged semantically in precise ways which result in transformations to the awareness. The effect on awareness reflects a clearer and much wider field of reality we all seem pretty much blind to at present and in our past.

Just today, after reading anecdotes in which FOCUSING techniques were applied to obtain results, I found my own personal awareness significantly shifted. It's a very difficult process to withstand. In particular, the sorrow associated with recognizing how much of life is or was missed growing up. How unaware I was is overwhelmingly shocking as I see how I might just as easily been instructed as a child in a way leading to higher levels of awareness that we all actually need to be fully human and happy, in the first degree.

One of the most important distinctions I can offer at this time about the difference in the quality of awareness has to do with the idea of listening. The work of Cornell is all about focusing one's listening on what we have not been listening to and long ago forgot even existed. These PLACES and AREAS for which our awareness was withdrawn, continued to exist influencing us in such negative but hidden and unacknowledged ways.

So, now is the beginning of a real period of recovery in my life.

And all the time, while growing up, going to a psychotherapist, I was under the impression that I was either doomed or cursed in some way, somehow defective in my core and that my happiness was always going to be at best transient, always covering over the knowledge that in some permanent way I was not relevant to my world.

Well, with today's new insights among other recent ones, I have begun to feel encouraged to engage in relative work I can either devise or find to test out what's possible for the health and healing of my being-awareness. The core of it all is pure awareness, the evolution of it through higher consciousness. It's not really changing the process as much as it is evolving my ability to be aware, and in that higher awareness the process of life and its quality transforms by itself.

My issues, for now remain the same in general, though a lot of movement has taken place within these contexts in the last few days.  Family, love, money, health, happiness, liberty, justice, spirit, education. These remain my main and primary issues in life, today.

Now This...

My little space here to write and blog, quite the escape for my mind and it's unending editorials on my life. The analytical quality is what everyone who notices the seepage of this expression thinks about what I say. And thereafter, I am over-analytical, too-analytical, etc.

I certainly have a strong impulse to order and sort my language and relevant ideas, and the flow just happens to have taken me to well, here. I'm seeing a widening though and I feel that I can sublimate much of the overt expressions more and more. I think I'm beginning to succeed in sorting it all out where my thoughts have progressed to a space of health and possibility of the kind quite hard to "escape" from willingly, for any reason.

This brings me to my taste for modern celtic pop music and how it often carries a harmony of sorrow, the last vestiage of pain associated with loss and my memories. It is harmonic and that penetrates the pain with a shattering wellspring of renewed energy potential to which our life can begin again with dawn's early light.

Einstein's ideas on God

Einstein's REAL view on G-D:

1)  I want to know how God created this world. I am not interested in this or that phenomenon, in the spectrum of this or that element. I want to know His thoughts; the rest are details.

2)  Science without religion is lame. Religion without science is blind.

3)  My religion consists of a humble admiration of the illimitable superior spirit who reveals himself in the slight details we are able to perceive with our frail and feeble mind.

4}  The further the spiritual evolution of mankind advances, the more certain it seems to me that the path to genuine religiosity does not lie through the fear of life, and the fear of death, and blind faith, but through striving after rational knowledge.

5)  Every one who is seriously involved in the pursuit of science becomes convinced that a spirit is manifest in the laws of the Universe-a spirit vastly superior to that of man, and one in the face of which we with our modest powers must feel humble.

## The scientists' religious feeling takes the form of a rapturous amazement at the harmony of natural law, which reveals an intelligence of such superiority that, compared with it, all the systematic thinking and acting of human beings is an utterly insignificant reflection.

6)  There is no logical way to the discovery of elemental laws. There is only the way of intuition, which is helped by a feeling for the order lying behind the appearance.

7)  The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.

8)  The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious; It is the source of all true art and science.

9)  We should take care not to make the intellect our god; it has, of course, powerful muscles, but no personality.

10)   Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of Truth and Knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the Gods.

11)   When the solution is simple, God is answering.

12)   God does not play dice with the universe.

13)   God is subtle but he is not malicious.

14)  A human being is a part of the whole, called by us Universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest-a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole nature in its beauty.

15)  Nothing will benefit human health and increase the chances for survival of life on Earth as much as the evolution to a vegetarian diet.

16)  The man who regards his own life and that of his fellow creatures as meaningless is not merely unfortunate but almost disqualified for life.

17)  Peace cannot be kept by force. It can only be achieved by understanding.

18)  Only a life lived for others is a life worth while.

19)  The human mind is not capable of grasping the Universe. We are like a little child entering a huge library. The walls are covered to the ceilings with books in many different tongues. The child knows that someone must have written these books. It does not know who or how. It does not understand the languages in which they are written. But the child notes a definite plan in the arrangement of the books---a mysterious order which it does not comprehend, but only dimly suspects.

20)  The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity.

21)  What I see in Nature is a magnificent structure that we can comprehend only very imperfectly, and that must fill a thinking person with a feeling of humility. This is a genuinely religious feeling that has nothing to do with mysticism.

22)  The finest emotion of which we are capable is the mystic emotion. Herein lies the germ of all art and all true science. Anyone to whom this feeling is alien, who is no longer capable of wonderment and lives in a state of fear is a dead man. To know that what is impenetrable for us really exists and manifests itself as the highest wisdom and the most radiant beauty, whose gross forms alone are intelligible to our poor faculties - this knowledge, this feeling ... that is the core of the true religious sentiment. In this sense, and in this sense alone, I rank myself among profoundly religious men.

23)  The real problem is in the hearts and minds of men. It is easier to denature plutonium than to denature the evil spirit of man.

24)  True religion is real living; living with all one's soul, with all one's goodness and righteousness.

25)  Intelligence makes clear to us the interrelationship of means and ends. But mere thinking cannot give us a sense of the ultimate and fundamental ends. To make clear these fundamental ends and valuations and to set them fast in the emotional life of the individual, seems to me precisely the most important function which religion has to form in the social life of man.

The Existence of God

Einstein said, "My position concerning God is that of an agnostic. I am conv inced that a vivid consciousness of the primary importance of moral principles for the betterment and ennoblement of life does not need the idea of a law-giver, especially a law-giver who works on the basis of reward and punishment."

"The fairest thing we can experience is the mysterious."

My comment is ...  I hear Einstein's arguement against the existence of god as a direct result of his idea that man's higher possibilities in general are directly related to his having higher levels of consciousness, and that these are independent of any idea or belief in God. The arguement then is that if what is possible is available independently of the idea of god then that necessarily invalidates the existence of God, because in a world where nothing changes of value when the idea of the very source of value is removed, then that source must not exist. For, it's very definition doesn't allow it to when it becomes unnecessary.

IE Would God ever be observed just chillin or hanging out, IE Existing? No, therefore, God does Not exist.

Along the High Road

Traveling along a higher path isn't something I've considered part of my fate. That choice appears to me to require a kind of intuitive revelation which sacrafices diffuse being, for lack of better terms.

I can hardly think of a single moment when my haze of being hasn't been fairly dominant in the circumstances surrounding my travel process. After a little review of the situation however, I found that I do have some organizing aims which have become dormant and inactive. My conscience screams against this as a correctable violation of my heart.

I must include the rather humbling discovery that regardless of what remains a resource for a higher fate, my mechanicalness resists and opposes my interest in reactivating enthusiasm for my most valued aim in life. Instead of being depressed and clueless however, when the pain of my wretched state becomes overbearing I know in a minimally solid way how to succeed in overcoming that grey area. The essence of depression and its relation here for me has a lot to do with having no option or choice alternative to what otherwise has developed over time in my life as methods for escape.

Now, instead of escaping the confusing haze, I have a small map which I'm certain will take me far beyond and higher than I have ever gone.

And, it all seems very centered in consciously cultivating relationship networks, to both support my evolution and skill in interpersonal relations as well as expand my contacts which will then result in ever increasing happiness from an empowered state of fate.

It's What You Want

Hey...spent the weekend in a chill, as if anything is new around here to write about, right? Well, I did crack open a book called, The Radical Acceptance to Everything. It was a good echo or perspective on suffering and its offer on how to respond, to heal ourselves and others. I'm definitely going back for more.

I also spent a few minutes listening to some podcasts by a local Tantric Goddess (don't know all the particular distinctions in that disipline and study, so forgive me if she's called something else) named Devi, which brought me to a higher state above the bored and fearfully defeated state of apathy which I have been looking directly down the barrel at, more and more. That event horizon's darkness was as close in recent days as I've ever known it to be, and the little reading I did was spot on with respect to options and changing the direction of my being.

Small steps are still steps, they matter just as much as big steps. That's why it's important never to judge one's amount of progress in the negative, except in very very special cases having to do with turns and turnabouts, etc.

I heard from an old flame as well! I still love Stephie deeply, mostly for her grace and intelligence, but almost certainly as much for her feminine charm and poise. Her love helped me to withstand the loss of confidence in my aging mother. Maybe next week I will feel better and up to the task of yelling at her (mom) over the phone just so she can hear me. Sounds funny doesn't it, but if I don't yell she can't understand what I'm saying. She no longer writes or emails, communication, has all but ceased to take place between us.

To remember monuments in one's past which no longer exist in life has been a new mode for me lately, and I still haven't understood what I'm supposed to see or feel in regards to these kinds of memories. Mostly what I get is simply how different those earlier days were, and how opportune they were compared to what is taking place today. There is a balance to this however. The attitude which was missing then, I have begun to consciously develop today, even while the possibilities which they so deserve remain chained to my memory.

That's enough irony from this greybeard tonight. Peace and Love.

The non-expression of negativity

Anger wastes energy, our being, composes itself with ambient biological energies, though; capable of spiritualizing a soul through transforming energy, any wasted energies that our defects in character routinely and mechanically leak, should be understood unnecessary and opposed to one's real possibilities in this lifetime.

The true path of conscious evolution for man is through his learning to use his functions in a way to maximize what resources he has which may be applied and traded or consumed towards the goal of an evolution of self in higher consciousness.

I expect the reader to question just how much can be expected in the aftermath of any work aimed at precisely this goal, that of sorting out and healing the functions of our being, so that integrity is restored and energy isn't wasted. It's not easy to stop the wrong work of our being, to recover from negative expression in the expression of negativity but is easily one of the biggest steps towards the conservation of needless loss in our being, of energy needed to lay the foundation and bedrock to what's possible.

The only way to create higher being is through applying the energy for that higher being, available in raw form and limited quanitities, to our conscious self awareness, transforming it. The higher form of energy created using what little intent and attention we have to self-remember and contain what losses we are experiencing, allows for higher levels of consciousness which by definition must be based on non-mechanical being. For most of us this is a huge contradiction in terms as we 've grown up identifying our self and who we are with mechanical levels of the gross materiality as our soul passes through life since higher conscious levels are simply to hard to identify for the common individual.

However, without fail, most newborns forget who they are and any previous spiritual work and power they might have developed, and see themselves only in projections they make out in the world surrounding them with the help and guidance of their parents.

Through this process, such base levels of our energetic being bind and conentrate to form much higher potencies to start with, and also misunderstood and misused.  the given amounts of personal energy available for us and within us as we begin this work is quite small and incapable of being properly contained and consereved, especially in the beginning. My aim has nothing to do with sleep, or the drama of life which diverts the higher being from the brush fires that exist and about which not many care about or wish to provide any kind of solution for.

Transformation of our central energy of being takes time. Whereas, its loss can take place in a matter of moments with the right circumstances availalbe. At that time, sleep really does race to meet us, and our most important perspective in life, the condition of our work for pay can suffer wildly.

Over time, if one works well, the amount of effort required to maintain certain kinds of focus and attention consciously becomes noticeably smaller. The quanitity of energy we are focusing with our attention actually isn't becoming smaller but rather our personal power is rising.

Ultimately, our higher consciousness is a gift we receive from even greater heights of conscious being, while the energy transformations eventually go through a periodic cycling of storage before becoming needed or useful to our being's evolution. There are crossroads, grades, special needs and conditions requiring varying accumulations in order to leverage our progress as needed. These moments come in a harmonic accord with higher beings dedicated to our evolution and our based on what resources we have to meet such challenges as our pools of transformational resources are capable of. Successful challenges test the gain with loads quite outside but specific to internal structures of support. And, without the accumulated resources of transformation, our beings would lack what possibility they had at that moment for whatever powers of higher consciousness might be acquired.

So, we aim never to express negativity, and to succeed at this of course one first needs to understand negativity itself and just when and where how we express it as mechanical levels of being are fated to do. A careful examination will reveal an incredibly wasteful mechanical being for most people, which is entirely unknown, misunderstood and unconscious to them.

Yet Another Version Cue, Sticking in my Craw

"If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he had imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours."

Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)

Plugging Along

The only plug I have right now is my collection of chinese fine art. Other things I'm focusing on besides my little job at the golf course, don't really qualify as plugs or serious, even though I think I spend most of my time with them.

That will change soon if I want to see more progress in this lifetime. A new plug I have to add to the list is a program of recovery which might also be expressed as a support group or network, maybe including a personal coach or organization??

The obstacle to focus, in our life

The natural field of play that can be considered life, the contextual understanding includes everything encountered in process. What complicates and corrupts the inclusion requires a rigorous analysis in order for one's understanding to not suffer the same corruption possible.

The idea I have is to make distinct this dimension in the process as a source of disintegrative and negative influence or energy on the process as a whole while giving the opposite impression. How is this possible in nature? The idea that our minds and our best judgements cannot be fooled doesn't argue well in our defense against such possibilities. It is precisely this intrinsic flaw in our being which accounts for and supports the possibility of an obstacle, especially when compounded by our illusions and counterproductive responses.

One of the key notions making up the idea of 'the obstacle' is how often we choose to douse its metaphorical fire with gasoline out of an illusion giving us only the idea that there is some hope when our response lacks any clarity or committed action to resolution whatsoever. Such is the essence of corruption, it results from the misguided and undisciplined use of imagination, on every level, both for us mentally and also in a complimentary form belonging to the essence of nature itself.

I would offer a preliminary area to do your own inquiry into this subject for yourself, using addiction as the perspective on understanding with the focus squarely angled towards what essentially generates the obstacle at its worst, essentially by our own failure to recognize the mistake of our own responsible for our condition of suffering.<

Focus of Tennis

Watching the Austrailian Open 2009 Men's Final between Nadal and Federer takes you into a dimension of focus requiring stamina. The quest of life however is not so different, just currently lacking in focus but making up for that with ever increasing stamina (longevity).

The real choice of ours is whether we balance focus for ourselves in life.

Branden's Heroism

One of the forms of psychological heroism that builds self-esteem is the willingness to tolerate anxiety and uncertainty in the pursuit of your values-whether those values be work goals, the love of another human being, raising a family, or personal growth.

– Nathaniel Branden

Hymn to Angel SLP

Ooooh the sound of intoxicating suds
so needed then and more-so now
least considered keeps a door closed
the opening of which is chosen.

you say that its affordable
the feeling of guilt by association
encompasses the idea under what if
and shall I explain or not.

Our mind's eye pays in pain
so our lives relieve a shadow
where the brightness of the sun
finds a place of nearness to us.

Let her come by, for a peekaboo
but don't be surprised, who shows.
Awakened by a nurse must be positive.
It's the doctors you need to avoid.

Understanding how angels only serve
after being convinced their snots.
Adorably difficult right in private,
helping us to get back on our feet...

2009.1

Pursuing Deeper Insights

There is no question of the value being high no matter what the dimension one is considering when thinking of deeper insight and its pursuit. Without it, one's work is necessarily limited by the lack of growth associated and promoted by insights. There are managing issues however, in that while deeper insights are being acquired or expressed, time for work stops while the activity of the mind works down a different dimension.

A meta-state emphasizes deeper insight is limited by mechanics in the psyche, which not only limits their field of inquiry but produces interpretative results which are consistent and resonate the past scripting in order to maintain some degree of "connection with ???" An immeasurable difference exists between insight and deep-insight which represents the power of consciousness penetrating levels of being which have no limits, while still shrouded by the ultimate mysteries of life. Deep insight is consciousness accessing new levels and structures of information there with clarity and also instantaneous understanding, helping the spirit, increasing its power, raising how far one's consciousness can reach, and leaving behind great impressions which help our imprints and memories better than associative linking and intellectual math concerning the world which orders our experience as much as can possibly be done without overwhelming our presence.

So, depending on priorities and deadlines, insights and the meta work required to produce them should be pursued with the goal being a specific balance and let insight itself help determine this schedule, as it rightfully should.

Deeper insight can kill the unprepared and ordinary individual, dead in their tracks, if allowed to confront a man with such understandings of truth which are ours to heed and follow through with. There deadliness consists in revealing in the most factual basic way the emptiness of ordinary existence to the point of invalidating it completely. Unless a man is prepared to accept the consequences and has some beginning kernel of faith in what knowledge and teaching exists to help him mature and grow into a more complete level of being, beyond this mechanical and meaningless void, he is no different than a man sitting on death row without any further social contact to lighten his day because his days are endding, and in some very real way never began and to the depth and degree of the insight's scope finds how little is expected to ever come or happen from his concern and/or work towards existing on a higher level of consciousness.

ACTION as my ground of being, may remain forever, never to lose power, so great.

Can you sing and be happy while the sharks circle and whisper in your ear of their craving and hunger, even while they announce that their respect for you will not stop them from tearing you apart as soon as the circumstances warrant? When you can calmly float, and stare them down because your happiness has transformed your very existence into existence itself, and your soul remains to acquiesce the risk by virtue of the quality of irrisistence higher love inspires in all who come near.

And, because you recognize the benevolent power and satisfaction there is in giving to other life, still imprisoned by their destructive and unenlightened limits, your best and most open invitation to realize happiness itself, the communion of life energy that happy infects every contact with a higher purpose and path, destined with a renewed level of hope and a fate to reflect what light they were allowed when love smiled from on high.

Because happiness blesses us, finding it sufficient then frees our latent possibility to evolve naturally, for our nature is expressed happily at its complete best. Being responsible for this condition and state involves allowing one possibility to remain a mystery, though the rest of the world is ours to create and discover, the source of our own being is not.

Happiness begets true mystery. Faith is that legacy our cultural past gives us and continues to remain the most effective social sanctuary where men are educated spiritually though rarely succeeding in getting clear at all and of course all that comes with enlightened being and the freedom one finds inside to take one freely along in the outside world, naturally.

The mythologic architecture has its symbolic roots in the conscious source of truth in the final analysis which is the only real reason religion continues to exist as it does today even while expressing in those who attend to its abundant and endless streams of radiant possibilities the worst evils and in fact the highest antithesis of that source from which religion's cornerstone of faith was first manifest for our spiritual purpose.

The Ramones

Spent just over 20 years as trailer park troubadours, never fully succeeding, finding a harsh complex mix of life and alot of opposition from the establishment. Their anarchist philosophy was a beacon to the young and disenfranchised as they reached out to the world and resisted compromising their sound and identity for anyone. Their simplicity and lack of polish created immediate access to a wide and sorely left out fan base who found new strength and will in their presence. To catch their act was to find oneself in awe of what is possible if only one cares enough to go out and face the day.

The recent documentary of interviews portrayed a reality which caught both the sparkle and shine and also the shadows and grime, in an opne and honest way. Very settling to get to watch this morning and if you haven't seen the film on this band airing currently on one of premium channels like HBO or SHO, do yourself a favor and take the time to listen to these people talk about each other and the band to get a flavor of a true American pop musical group's legacy.

One for the Books

It Takes a Highrise to Raise a Child

The design, perfects the argument.
And, plenty exist against a highrise
especially those who desire a village.
Yet, to hear another close by, works.

The magic of nature's omnipresence
seconds man's consciousness of it.
In designed close proximity to man,
is deepest look made into his nature.

The value is an extension and destined.
Evolution necessitates this for survival
as the most reasonable, logical means.
Awake to others is awakening to oneself.

Well designed, a highrise is most natural
Always present to remind you the truth
Like the first telescope used by Gallileo,
any telescope will commonly persuade.

Listen to the soft ramblings of a child
in your introspective eveningtide, aha!
You begin to hear the truth come near,
no purer form of conversation exists.

IBD/2008

Middle Aged Gut Check

Did you hear me whine the last time I was here?
All intel calculates the real before an account says.
Just in, email says I'm $2.5m lotto winner, no lie.
Every offer includes similar lies of variable degree
within all commerce, most especially the retail end.

What about accounting for this economic plight?
The Psychology of Lying states an understanding -
not a method for quantifying, that would be sick.
Only reason to know impact of our lying products
is to rehabilitate consciences that might yet exist.

So then, promised a gut check, I gave you clarity
to the whine, and the design reconciled backend.
The Gut Check, afterthought, today made, comes
in view of a harmonic peaceful humanity envisioned
on how it would be, the ways and means possible.

I stipulate human error and mistakes, justice remains.
Yet as office and power dictate and provide, each of us
our interest must somehow become inspired by this:
Whatever harms naturally, costs the perpetrator love.
Nothing here matters if not for love as the one source.

rjd 9/2008

Middle Age Weirds Ideas (working draft)

Knowing this space I occupy is one with All-Space,
means understanding the relevant essence between
and how All-Space ceases to exist without myspace,
for one. Though I can't see infinity, eternity is nearer.
Once sacred ideas, science is poised to eliminate them
as facts, and without relevance, truer reasons might
measure reality of universe again, with more heart
not less. Absolutes, transcending relevance, was faith
cheating by unscrupulous politics and oppression
as natural of its true influence on human society?

There doesn't yet exist a healthy structure for man
within any society, to contribute value he seeks
thus society remains a fabric of man qua man links
at best, and decisions that define boundaries beyond
our reach, our consciousness, as we believe in voting
in ballots with a majority always the final ruling
over rest, winners over losers, an ironic fact in that
the smallest number always speak for greatest
and without a better idea we hang on to this farce.

Just like religion and less and less science, is this;
that our relevant understanding is completely false
while fact and faith are true possibilities, ideals now;
our knowledge is not active or operational, just belief.
And, ALL belief is foreign, adopted, alien, inauthentic
while original thought has quite the difference in flavor.
So while we in fact vote, we don't vote our own, do we?
It's multiple choice, with arbitrary write-ins ignored.

So, democracy has failed, while founding ideas remain
somehow providing individuals more than belief, hence;
social activism has brought us face to face razing the fence.
And, despite contest of loser's opinions evolving some
the promise fulfilled is purely circumstantial, most miss.
Real evolution, substantial and profound, will require
as many who vote, to suddenly think for themselves
recognize and maybe rally around new idea of governance.

This call then is to all the Ayn Rands, Einsteins, Emersons
alive today, to begin their epic works, and finish, I hope.
I speak in the darkness, though so many have my heart.
Clearly, the numbers as I've presented them don't compute,
don't equate, yet what other route does mankind have left?
Clearly, democracy isn't up to preserving individual liberty
when it's corruptd by those in power and opposing beliefs -
Scarcity, supremacy, cultural isolation, closed mindedness.

But, if not democracy, no ballot to cast our vote, then what?
The answer lies in economic theory and thought, I believe.
Only because, unlike political ideology and governments,
it actually takes account of facts without intrinsic bias,
except those elegantly and simply proven scientifically.
Obviously, here is where this man and Faith separate.
For faith, what's important is recycling every day's events
back into a narrative which is apocalyptic and mythologic.
For me, evolving my being needs honest accounting, to start.

Start speaking, paying your debt, invest, or gamble
until the horizon's fog bank clears its all the same act.
I have no reconciled statement, though alot of red belief.
My beginning will be to integrate higher philosophy
into my economical and financial accounting method,
and explore, leaving everything in play, sitting not.
In short, liquidate, consolidate, and capitalize; be fit.

9/2008, rjd

~For 50 Years Now

Found the woman I've been dreaming of
still putting the pieces together from last one
she was a Timex, I smashed against a tile.
My idea of lickin' was more than mistaken,
a dangerous key, made some sexy debris.

Each day luggs a few pieces I've kept along.
Countless times, I tried and failed the re-fit.
My ritual for recovery of truth, the love lost
by meditation, left over dust is swept to bin
so dream-flame has to ignite and not shatter

my broken heart

A suffering illusion I find or don't, shot out 22
only to have myself picked, served, and trashed
her guilt this time must be framed in my insanity.
Nobody can be wrong so many times, so many ways
about anything, as I have about the ways of women.

to question eye to eye, why love was never enough
to stop her from the decision to abandon me
doesn't happen because so far she's not been honest enough
abandoned by dreamlove, I imagine my insanity growing.

This last time was easier on my physical being but
knowing exactly how little faith and trust her lies concealed
the lying, the contemplated options, just dumping midstream
what reason extends for all before the split aiming to ruin
my happiness?

brutality of betrayal

each bout of illness, love's fever
unhooks all the edges where I hemorrhage
landing me a target for next bus to force what is my
misfortune, so unlucky enough to drop too much
to quickly to roll over under tires near bus stop.
This ICU has brought me closer and closer
to finding that woman, the challenge of heart
so close I know she's hiding, in bit of acting
I saw my dreamflame's twin, scorched mystery
she vanishes in, and the intensity left behind.

There's no denying this debris was my princess
I dreamed and dedicated with faith in truest love.
my timex test
which has kept my romantic dream alive
pinned on a childish belief in Santa Claus.

Pushing pile of rubble into a balled up wreck
as an homage to the dream girl I feel, thru
my illusion, the insanity, how she always runs
and for all 50 years now.

2008 summer on the pier

Love Math

Amid the points of permanence
our identity speaks for itself
a voice of essence, independence.

With a different voice was reason
built, a continuum in balance
and its polarity of transcendence.

Does this zero denominate a kiss
of two lovers we sacrafice, risk;
gain relation, seek infinite center.

The bizarre happens by illusion
when the voice has no listener
or speaks, insincerity believed.

But love, unbounded openness
in its honesty, heard in its song,
clears a space where two unite.

So many points go distant, by
what manner for love's desire
shall unity express itself nigh.

Battle Serious

Do you feel a mystery
as a rank recurring rhythm
that answers fail to question
what remains extant in time?

Does the pain building
felt in feeling, privately dreading
in the night shade coming
shake your slumber then?

This instinctive home sucks
and all and everything, mucks
by and large, by certain thought
when our own habits command.

Understanding it doesn't help
or I would feel no pain now.
Would somebody help correct
path to self, as battle, but serious?

rjd

Things I cannot touch

What touches anything, touches this.
Things I cannot touch, sung on a hilltop
one might find closer more than enough.
While our quick dalliances pique upbeats,
it's the clean self reflected so naturally,
where nature holds special places for us
we never knew, or could, to touch;
touching us, but not us, we touch.

Ask the touching fingers, better yet
what they cannot touch, for answers
we see in life of fish living underwater,
touching water in some greater way
isn't the truth in reverse, a paradox?
Most fish are oblivious and ignorant,
never touching what touches them all.

Where anything expands or contains
just beyond the last stop of mind
this measures in permanent fashion
everything untouchable somehow, not
the shock and awe parlay of our drama
that could just as well conceal pride,
narcissitic boneheading, and denial.
Just because one ignores willingly
doesn't mean never-ever is reality.

IBDubie/6/2008

You Who Never Arrived

Pre: Stumbled over a collection of Rilke tonight and found, You Who Never Arrived, speaking loud enough for me to resonate tonight's version...



There where you remain hidden unseen by me
Your arrival made a bed for my dreams, a fast.
My noon hour pause is one long look and beat
left behind when innocence chased hearts away
singing in patient adoration by window's edge.

A looking where nothing is recognized beyond
your immensity, a paradox that overwhelms.

this space I know, longing

but far-off, deeply-felt ground echoes in mind.
The space for your being is breath I so inhale
for promise, lost from the start, that eludes me.
As you still vanish behind dizzy gaze of corner.

6/2008, rjduberg

Today's Gift

I stopped late in life ...
to look at memories fading less
and gaining ground over the crest
laid on us all like the hand of time.

There's no horror equal or real
to finding what's been, turn back round
your lying, the intent, chasing you down
never letting up, cresting repentance.

Failing your humble understanding of this
how your very soul will haunt you 'til death
creates personal scrooges for some, and I.
I seek forgiving counsel from all I've done in.

And, you see, though the past fades
we can never pretend anything ends.
What I've dispatched, reasons aside,
took an injurious force, my lies a farce lid.

Save me enough time to right my wrongs
and count on me for everything else
you've come to know and trust me for.
... before growing wise was enough.

5/2008, rjduberg

Too Pop Too

How big a lie is our stake in this moment?
Our biggest is expressed possessively, mine.
Is stepping forward into hero's recognition
meeting a soul-mate, giving to the poor?
Life without a moment is beyond our sense.
Will anyone renew life's vital source or remains
by living well this time, free and loving?

When sincerity travels to humility, time ends.
Moments unify and life is only a bigger mystery.
Further on, the roll stops in an upward rise.
Our true stake is language, the tool of relation.
Nothing survives unless we keep all things equal.
Juggling words is a spiritual art for these fliers,
where used and discarded never slows down.

For those who spoke up for me when I forgot this
you live for this bollox and its bloody endlessness.
Recycling energy, and the silence of time, these
are warrants offered that lay waiting for what lies.
How dull today, how bloody awful and tired, what
can make this discrete two pop into one mind?

5/2008, rjd

Comment Graphics and Myspace Layouts at pYzam.com

~Light of Otherwise

I have committed acts, walked naked by choice
outside in the dark blanket of heavy snowfall.
That rosy path, with thorns of wrath, our nemesis...

I know I've stumbled upon it so many times
it no longer shocks me to lose my mind.
Nobody is safe from the demons of sleep.

I've less strength than ever, to stay awake
for being eternal; that, and nothing less,
resolves the issue in a balanced polarity.

Victims like confusion with loss of function
which doesn't get noticed; while false engages
everyone with horror, blinders hasten the decline.

Excuses and complaints form this path to hell.
Our worst denigration, groggy sleep, its passage.
Logic suggests non-dualism stops bleeding, rose.

I endlessly search for such mental expedience,
for consolidating mountains of debt, past due;
without any promise my home is where I left it.

In the seizing of every moment to purely act,
never running from consequences, this creativity
describes being, a force and influence; learning.

Purity of truth defies all common sense attempts
in response to limiting hell, by not venturing back
across boundaries while keeping an eye on fence.

A fence separating our lives from being identified,
summarizing life's memory and its influence here
to choice, the act, and our escape from mechanical.

Evolution's Ghost walks the bloody rose lane to death.

As long as I do not go to sleep and observe opposition
taking my best shots at finding orbits' flat burn release.
When that opportunity comes, the choice will be made.

Keep teaching yourself to turn along with the world;
if persistent, one's roll will eventually preside inside
as grandest map possible, paid in thorn's pricking pain.

There's no simple way to say non-word of eternal light.
Neither word can be heard, nor shadow of light seen.
So it goes... words from elsewhere light the otherwise.

5/10/2008, rjd

~The Spiral

What could that possibly mean about writing for me
to say that finding freedom in rhetorical expression
is central and or at the core of my poetry's aesthetic?

When use of rhetorical style becomes a habit of pursuit
perhaps freedom is lost much like mileage to gas hike,
knowing freedom's purchase requires higher resources
relativity at work in the most basic sense, felt as free.

But not...

And to maintain freedom in one's life evolves a process
with another degree of will signaling an actual potential
and applying that will, effectively, gains a right to surreal.

Freedom is an interpretation about higher awareness
when focus finds chaos decreasing in rise of certainty
leveling odds create circumstance resonating harmony.

Oddly enough, it is precisely in this situation of freedom
where the only result can be reversal of such fortune.
and so it goes... with perfect ascension's formal spiral.

5/2008, rjd

Poems about my Love

Choking on It

Choking on what thought,
the chemistry of love on top,
those molecules and this chaos
they wrought, scat, in the backyard,
so used and thrashed.

A single's work cleaning the litter,
leveling the ground, in cooling endorphins,
and wafts of air stale with memory,
and tuneless whistling.

So what, you say; with your shadow in place
lifting instruments to play virtuosic riffs a bit,
in front of locked-down stores lining the street.
You have quit believing that there's more, but
still stirred, enough to stop, and wait, listening hard.

-Rewritten work of found poem by Kim Addonizio

And then by Andre Breton....

Always for the First Time

Always for the first time
Hardly do I know you by sight
You return at some hour of the night to a house at an angle to my window
A wholly imaginary house
It is there that from one second to the next
In the inviolate darkness
I anticipate once more the fascinating rift occurring
The one and only rift
In the facade and in my heart
The closer I come to you
In reality
The more the key sings at the door of the unknown room
Where you appear alone before me
At first you coalesce entirely with the brightness
The elusive angle of a curtain
It's a field of jasmine I gazed upon at dawn on a road in the vicinity of Grasse
With the diagonal slant of its girls picking
Behind them the dark falling wing of the plants stripped bare
Before them a T-square of dazzling light
The curtain invisibly raised
In a frenzy all the flowers swarm back in
It is you at grips with that too long hour never dim enough until sleep
You as though you could be
The same except that I shall perhaps never meet you
You pretend not to know I am watching you
Marvelously I am no longer sure you know
Your idleness brings tears to my eyes
A swarm of interpretations surrounds each of your gestures
It's a honeydew hunt
There are rocking chairs on a deck there are branches that may well scratch you in the forest
There are in a shop window in the rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette
Two lovely crossed legs caught in long stockings
Flaring out in the center of a great white clover
There is a silken ladder rolled out over the ivy
There is
By my leaning over the precipice
Of your presence and your absence in hopeless fusion
My finding the secret
Of loving you
Always for the first time

~Return From Summit

I heard said, reaching the summit,
when no summit I had ever seen,
left a wake descending complete.

This truth returns nay but why?
When the uncommon rides high
does a descent fulfill the stride?

Years climbing in apparent futility
have I daily felt pinnacle's peak
only to stop when at the top.

Something I forgot surfaced today
nothing achieved is overcome
unless returned level with love.

We see what we find and forget
never returning endowed possibility
to place depth where surface lies.

4/2008, rjduberg

~Ode to Oxy

Pream: Confused and considering the strophe, antistrophe, epode idea, I penned this, but wish to stipulate to its vagueness. Perhaps, I shouldn't have shared/posted it.

~
The variance of your reply, the skew and difference
set upon the express summary by timed default
inspires just one impulse in my sea of madness.

I will never stop paddling around, despite the odds.
While fluidity has its own science and religiosity
the art requires a dimensional aesthetic, a break.

Look for good maps and remote locations
Stock up necessary resources and head there.
For nothing is remembered as well as being there.

4/2008, rjd

~Along with Less than That

On the face, there was suddenly a place
a spot on which my hand raced
turning the dials about.

Not like a bell, but twilight at dawn
this place grew strong
from inside.

When points in references reached
on latest maps detailing something odd perhaps
they do not steel my provicincy and commitment

The teardrop is something I have patience for
nobody else seems to find so disturbing, if I may know.

map includes horizons and plots for each other 3 shots
pictures of my internam, hard and soft target overviews or discussions are find be yond anyone's ability to make me here. If there is any link in to situation to speak with them. Not sure what that need is to be closer with my ability to access the car taking or emerging with a mean ready to go so I don't have to continue driving tonight.

Gonna start with laundry I guess ... Bye!!


and my hand points it there.

5/2008, rjd

Vignette about Family Estate Karma

I can imagine writing a scene in a novel or book about you and I and this life. We’re revisiting the Duberg estate, in the country made up of family estates, a kind of spiritual repository of karma which is so tightly knitted together for us in our relations to our families. We stroll through the gate, the grounds, the house, reminisce about everything left as recorded history in displays mounted on walls and other types of artifacts, and then making our way through garden and backyard in a far corner of the land we come to an old well, barely visible for never being maintained or used. We’re kids, leaning over the wall, peering into the blackness, and I ask (semi-rhetorically now), how far down does it go (posing with a rock in my hand, prepared to let it drop) and you grab my wrist with this look of utter horror on your face, and you say, “You don’t want to know!” The look just paralyzes me, but your consternation melts into a comforting whisp of a smile, reminding me of how much more you’ve suffered on this spot, and I realize such wisdom is priceless and never to be ignored. This doesn’t extinguish my natural curiosity so compounded by the fact of my karmic inheritance which is some sense being incarcerated and thus limited or constrained; by itself, undeserving and unjust.

You release your grip and I let my hand fall to my side, the rock I toss aside, and then turn and glance back at the blackness with only patience in mind. We shall see then, how this all plays out. We begin our hike back to the estate’s compound with you rambling on about how one day all this will be mowed under and landscaped with a fresh grove of trees, going over some list in your head, the pros and cons, and all I can think about and wonder is which one might be least conductive of the demonic. For who knows just what doorways exist in blackness so deep, through which the nightmares of babes might wake up the curse of this karmic unrest once again?

As we close in on the garden and our senses are awash in a phalanx of spring fragrant sprouting, we turn outward and receptive to the primeval beauty of love’s light. Nothing is forgotten, especially buried secrets which are still so black. ~

~But Wait

For the lithe, supple, breathing
a child at play, blends fantastic,
over the falls of words sacraficed...

But wait...

This current of words flows not
but is stopping, being held anon
here, a small pittance with love.

I'm starved instead by such joy,
but would have nothing anyway
but useless hollow flabiness.

3/2008, rjd

~What is HER Problem?

I'm now convinced it matters more
my discontinuous view of amore
not because losing to this flow
happened, but that it won't stop.

The profundity of loss is lost here.
Am I the only victim of this travesty?
Or, as she thought selfishly, suggesting?
Like asking why God kills the innocent!

Past this connumdrum, personal issues
and all... nothing changes this process
where love for me was once continous
stopped, and became solidly discontinuous.

OK, maybe for you it's different,
self-improvement as narrative focus
still remains as gravity for most of us
and yet, what is HER problem?

3/2008, rjd

PS: Unless I offend please understand that what I'm closing here with is a very sketchy (to give perspective to plain I guess) way of expressing feminine dominance as a central and coalescing influence which any story about what would improve being alive necessarily focuses on.

Please don't limit your notion of feminine dominance to some kind of socio-sexual stereotype to avoid the offense. Clearly, this is my assertion about the ISSUE or subject which I'm referring to innocuously yet at the same time saying is singular and continuous among all categorically similar narratives per se, negative or positive.

I wish my thesis wasn't so weakly put, but its a start I think for now .

~Sparse Frivolity

Notes to oneself, to the other, are endless with (k)nots.
Hum of the drum, beats us all down, even now.
And then, comes Rumi's white miracle of round,
when just like a beautiful spring day, new is found.

There's one sure promise here in so many miles
paved with broken hearts, love's recompense.
Long riders learn how to bite their tongues
for risk of missing opportunity to exit (here)with.

Longer and farther one treads, rot settles in.
Close to the start, is where to find surest bow.
There, knarly pain controls mind spasm totality
just as before - God created Universe - this time.

We're simple and sparse in any grand comparison.
Tragic misfortunates, suffering the mystery unseen.
Our stories are all, little more than Potter's Daubie,
sure fire failures forsooth as profit rushes to defend.

Truth is not narrative, while narrative claims what is.
We claim narratives our own, and then stop asking.
Our erudite moral thinkers persuade how valuable
the story told must be, identity's fashionable package.

Nice and tidy they say, providing continuity with past,
a frivolity which defines our spirituality, our essence.
I bite my tongue, and choose to close in on the start.
It hurts most when I forget how really meaningless...

But at times like this, burning intent at my ready,
the challenge to untell is at once all I perceive.
So far as that maintains the inquiry, will I return.
Straight lines and circles, my digital age narration.

2/28/08, rjduberg

~def Challenge II

Of 3 positions, none offered
your life rests there, each moment
Beginning, Inbewteen, and Endding.

Why no one remembers dynamic
denies many rights and genius.
This past, genius, for endding?

This little set is our beginning
and this middle plays healing
on the start of a mystery ending.

Mystery, Inbetween, Endding.
Could it be a verse of Karma?
Better yet, final recurrence?

Well, simplicity must act now.
Beginning, swings a middle process
to middle that ends to roll of end.

rj 2/2008

~Where You Is

Before you went
to inhaling insist
was effervescent

OK some roost
around a nest,
some scoot scatter
fly founder fume.
Everything poops
their own place.

Why your poop
left me so sad?
My little mask
is now offhanded.

I know better (the)
where you go
is the miracle (of)
where you are.

Rose Peddles/sun

Why do roses suffer the liquid of our being
so much we've grown yet so little sown
regarding nature's story of pain.

And the beauty of the thorn seen in water
is made by the sight of its crown in blood.
The color is a match, hook, and tackle.

My liquid rose over the lips and was free
what I don't drink runs down my face
this better be where you find solace
after you stop deifying words peddled.

rjd, 2/2008

~words of wisdom

The reason anything gets done begins and ends...

The other side becomes general in their answer
just as the sunset with its beauty draws down.
Remember there’s power when adversity nears.
Knowing the positive still prevails, brings benefit.

What is to gain by standing out in the open may...
Beyond a change of season, they’re all the same.
There’s another idea being focused on, I’m saying
that -- of what’s beyond recycling, just because...

Agreeing the present is bad risk management;
In truth, only pure stupid egomania cuts it.
You figure, converting to solar, solves everything;
And why the hell haven’t we began to live that?

The reason is once again about management...

~She Was

Longing built on the greatest loss
fading, I can barely name names
for the one I regret, cannot forget.

Falling so hard like that
defies belief and explanation -
even the story is ridiculous.

And yet, that first lover persists
as a gift to which I was blessed
and have longed for ever since.

2/2008, rjduberg

~Shock of my Family

Keeping track of numerosity, the defiance of chaos
meticulous and precise, it comes with a price.
Make a list, and notice somewhere fog disappear.
Include a mistake as a shockwave, like tsunami
against your thatchy, unrooted, shallow, indwelling.

The mistake we find is the mistake we project
the error our true self freely enjoys to a fault,
and forgeting origin, doom makes misc a lie,
returning chaos to the side of our enemies.
Hail the man with a reverence for such shock.

His humility and true incompetence laid bare
while his reverence is a design to embrace.
Most don't conceive the value of awakening
as victims and slaves, they protect their sleeps
with illusions of purpose, quite felonious skits.

In catching what lies we find how hot the steam,
the pressure which friction will invariably release.
We get good at stepping over it all for sleep,
preferring an unfocused, non-intended state;
to the work, designed to put shock in our way.

Biggest shock for me is change in my women.
I chase the projection, because love was great.
I suffer an imagination scorched by the friction
of a time producing zenith in all my attachments.
Attachment fuels illumination, shock ignites it.

I do not know what women think or feel, thou.
Not for lack of effort to discover and correct
mistakes, to restore the intimate renewing,
which characterizes my fading impression.
Interpretations abound, some keep shaking.

They could not own me, nor bitch their way in.
I have my mom, beyond bitchy, who I so love
to thank on this particular catastrophic fault.
In fact, I believe my entire family plays a role
through their mass exodous to far off fringes.

Not hard to see how little stock I'd have, to put,
after the primary carriers of that experience
ostracized, abandoned, rejected, left, forgot
me; each and every one. Aha my family is
no worse than women, that stand left empty.

Not women but brothers and in laws, mom.
Those who've passed before setting it right.
Mostly, the turning away and leaving behind.
Thus I live this core felt relation to women
they always bring recognition back to missing.

In the beginning, before the cruelty, there was
such frivolous distraction, and love. Still love,
today quite mature however, compassionate.
Not their fault, I see that, can't change this,
but only focus on source in all of this, family.

Egads, and there's the rub, I'm quite sure
I lack any standing, nor have any favor to call.
Oh well, such are the facts, and I can't believe
there aren't others who've passed beyond this.
The bleak blanket sleep brings, is a monster.

(c) rjduberg, 2008, Jan

~The Good Chase

Forget about any thoughts, I might have
for those who might know or imagine
how this poem found words and context
to begin with what surely started, parted.

And this has nothing to do with talented
beautiful voices, singing harmony, love.
Though chasing those performances may,
shouldn't they? Say the closer the better!

How exciting when you can almost touch
what you've been striving so hard to reach.
Yet can anyone answer why that touch
brings such sorrow over our hearts, won?

Even understanding this horrible truth
and passing on instead of chasing one
is not satisfaction, by simply refusing
to engage success, a turning paradox.

The good chase catches a path upwards
opens opportunities and possibilities
never before known or imagined, real.
This mystery of paradox of finding more

is perhaps the ultimate convolution.
Time spent chasing a true mystery
caught revealing wealth of unknown
preserving mystery in well's depth.

If the chase was good from the start
preserving those stakes is stalwart
a pure result from one's actions
an outcome due to forgetting self.

A vision of mystery, chasing eternity.

© 2008, rjduberg

~Liquid Rose

As the liquid rose
the brim of surprise
enjoyed full release,

stuck up so high
what came around
never dove in
nor took flight
but hung a-round
at a distance,

for what in passing
is hard choked
in its stream,
its proximity
distorts,

no retort,
just a hard surface,
a real bore
of hollow end
to open.

© rjduberg, 1/2008

~Next to Next

The hairs on my neck stood up
with the breath a world stirred up
no tweet to meet, or sets' full lull
yet desire wants to breathe in fear.

All this time spent working nights
to find nothing but an elderly pace
to create whatever fades as mine

*
The rewrite calmed a fluttering utterance
the edition, a first this time
in an info age filling in
what once stayed stained
under weight of addendums
is the same but new today
at the speed of digital light.

The influence of art is a beautiful thing
where one can indicate briefly a thing
letting imagination form its substance
in turn, an immeasurably finer appearance.

What ills can now be corrected
properly so, beautiful that way
happened just now as virtual reality,
more ocean than place for waves traced,
revises in ripples having a human face.

As revisions are next, next to next
is a new definition of what's final.


RJDuberg, 12/2007

~Back to Back

When thinking about Shelley, this popped out tonight. No doubt it will read as rubbish to most, and I can appreciate that. Explaining it would be shameful, so my understanding must remain left behind for the moment.

Back to Back

Were that you were there,
where here was its future,
I would read you, not you, I.

That not that, was that that
has found yet, that this that
not, that at all, still is, that.

The expansion of a moment
in our being empty to it
is the substance of paradox.

You brought me to this.
I risk my life to write it,
inbetween, life and death.

© rjduberg, 2007

~Nadir or Zenith?

A singular annual period
of the bourgeois parade
is here again
pulling the new year,
hiding befuddled
behind it.

Nadir or Zenith?
The nativity scene, its logo.
I have no interest in the melee,
not a profiteer;
I sigh over the slime
faithful suffer.

(c) 2007, RJDuberg

~About This

The time is taken only about this
when conflict allies with its fate
the time taken to determine that
allows one's being such impasse.

Or is waiting for the next halting
no way to be, where not proceed?
Surely, we suffer what's ongoing
needing severe shocks for stopping.

The injustice from squinty eyes
clad and righteous, dogma hard
reminds no better, of how blind
ironic pretense, masks what's soft.

Without the support of the person
any and all criticism lacks a core
like media platitudes, a pablum
attractive only as a degradation.

Sure to annoy, this false alarm.

12/2007 RJD

~In The Land of Sigh

How a little of anything can matter
takes more of it than we can handle
and in between nothing we sigh
a sign the rough landing done.

One screw loose is a blessing,
still the mission is to hide
what people can't grasp,
the reverse expectation.

Same effort, just less of it
sighs when twist is out,
yet all our expectations
fit on the tight turn's end.

For freedom I grew less
and hiding expectation
looking goofy and some,
made my sighs an address.

One piece of candy
for the eye who spies,
who sees mystery unraveling
as I address the inconceivable sky.

Beggars here are mistaken.
They want the zoo of forgotten,
the void of unconscious,
the illusion of order inside.

Here inside is a twistless
flame kept alive, on purpose,
the friction, a pain of heat
what less known grows

in this land of sigh.

12/08 RJDuberg

Eventuality, a call for response

What if some relationships were free
sources of what is beyond the events
the horizons of relativity
makers of eventuality
the hum of the ho
the twist we'll always tell
has no reach but this question.

Science and religion are caught
but is art? The perception begs us
as that which cannot be thought.
Intuition and spirituality are spots
like pink elephants, flying anywhere.

Where is there? If it cannot be heard?
What comes of this transcedentalness
or any mystery eventually? Certainly,
what can make claims on it take aim
and are eventually sent along in force.

This mystery defies the entropic event
demands philosophical resolution
if not spiritual evolution or renewal.
And, all truth, is owing to this
which turns but itself is unturned.

Necessary, not eventual, can this much be said?
Is there any more to the puzzle of one's being?
Let this call be heard for all to submit theirs
Come give precision to this question, I ask.

Give us an empowering answer on eventuality, sir!?

~Once is Enough

When doing the dance again,
have your sole on the planet
in time to begin now instead.
Where you step to spin
illusion is but a friend
easing an imprisoned mind.

Harmony is the feeling
when we begin dancing
and find it’s always been
this dance never stopping.
Music that sings like Niagra
some mistake for the roar,
while the power whisks
like nothing else before.

And all that noise, all that sound
All those places to be found
Birds there, fly at the speed of sound
To show how it all began
they come from underground.

Isn’t the next natural disaster
just as likely a matter formed
not from a pesky butterfly
but from a move in behind
a noise at the speed of sound?

Around every corner
another chance there
not to the status quo
but to puzzle the mind.

Who knows what we’ll find
how much of our world
do we miss in the hiss
of our ignorant minds?

You’ll never get there from here,
if turning that corner
becomes a habit you like.
Right or wrong, logic sticks
like a ball and chain of prison.

Letting go must persist
if we are to be fully aware
of everything out there
in the perfect harmony.

To show how it all began
Birds came flying from underground
If you could see it then you’d understand
Oh, when you see it then you’ll understand.

2007, RJDuberg

There is some very close language in this to Coldplay's song, The Speed of Sound, which I wish to acknowledge. In fact, I wrote this poem with the purpose of it harmonizing with the lyrics of that song.

The Turn

Real heroism found in a consumer's package
is turned consumable by friction's heat
perfectly designed to hold its spin in balance.

What we eat, passes...
standards insuring health and taste
so the turn takes us from what degrades
leaving purity of the essence, a theory.

Spin will purposefully conceal the negative
in order to accentuate the positive.
So like racing into a fire is justice
when the child of innocence is there.

Those stories like the fastest vehicles
don't come without dangerous potentials
capable of putting one directly in harms way.
When justice cheats, anything is possible.

Unlike the flow of ordinary social life
the turns of justice are paradoxical challenges
under the radar of most understandings'
looking to validate judgement as righteous.

For the true heroes, how could their actions,
without doubt, awesome for being just,
ever be understood by interpretive mind?
Citations of precedence support illusion,
finite versions designed into legal rhetoric,
numbs precision of open curiosity
by substituting status and power, for choice,
reinforcing conformity and effective control.

Add humility to blindness, over the flames
of courage and heart. Justice comes
when acts appear as points of paradox, control spin
before it derails, and land injury before impact.

Making the turn of paradox happy
has no precedence
when by definition, anything is possible
so that man in his weakest condition
calls the shots without selfishness
precisely when selfishness precedes.
Justice knows no limit
able to stop all comers
who would rule the world.

That is doing justice,
the opportunity is an eternal choice.
Some are better at it than others,
they are the deified, the hero.
For the rest who feed and benefit
from their achievements,
dancing in the bend is a bumpy grind
as we stumble in the curve.

~D

Savin Gestaltin

What really amuses me
is the confusion, my best
friends take it from me
let me talk endlessly, I will.
Chatting by their confusion
on it, over it, through it, under-
standing but a_part of it all
fantasizing of my princess
named gestaltin, beauty
the ideal I adore.

Everything stops however
comes to an end exhausted.
still, remaining best friends
and; I, left solidly a part.
What pieces are these
then and now
if ever?

rj, 2007
in response to Nickelback's Savin Me, Susie's choice

With a Smile

Who came today while I was standing
surrounded by a garden, a playground
fun, beauty, and the green opportunity
it's my job to serve without deserving.

The reality of this existence pays me
lets my meanial work suffer an ecstasy
where life conforming to the mediocre
is traded a time for waggling paradise.

My job cleans away what travels along
coming in, going, coming out, I find
my purpose to separate what sticks
at the time, a sludge I love to hide.

Picking up what my mates let slide
somehow expands what only satisfies
a dance in harmony with cultivation
between the best in man with nature.

The planet came today with a smile.

(C) 2007, RJDuberg

Stream of Consciousness Poem - Lonely Press of Mine

Love to write of love,
to pen on absentia
proxy more than poetry
falls as cloud of feathers.

Words all pointing to being
from which they grew
and together somehow
plucked to fall and scatter.

Rapture or heartbreak
healing or celebration
conscious love is willing,
the core of music, who knew?

Before this aboding ends
some anathema arises
in fact two intervals occur
to divert or detour the love.

Self centered love ends
turning around sadness of loss
our one sacred gift, the sacrafice
an eternal scar remains for us.

(Writing for love is not
what is higher, pure feelt.
Standards and all rules
surround token in logic.)

As such, the copy feelt
usually defies the common,
negating understanding,
moving not but stranding.

The pain involved finds us
intrinsically absentia by proxy
the rise of human spirit
tests precisely one persistence.

When failing to make the turn
learning to expect future abyss
forgetting and calculating comfort
limitations and finite time to come.

Darkness grows ever more just then
If there is persistent opposing
painful proof of the old adage
shakes as dark, being worse when last.

We love and fail to communicate
while communicating is essential
and despite our understanding
we discover a bizarre incompetence.

Born of habituated need to judge
based on the edifice built by self
our capacity to love remains pain
until we end self-love's knowing reign.

The prick of this imprisoned existence
comes at the moment we forget not
that such higher states are given
to surrender, not achieved by plot.

This remembering of one's self
supported by separating knowing
from what is purely feelt
passes as space in a needle-eye.

To forget this and one's self
and to never quit accepting help
designed to wake one to not sleep
paradoxically succeeds just as well.

There are paths and ways to evolve
despite this poem's chaotic revelation
one cannot deny in closing with verse
ending as just adoring beautiful source.

If beauty takes a beholding eye, then
ugly basically is what passes us by
such that any notice recognizes justly
the consequence of our weak existence.

In truth, ugliness seen is beyond notice
like perceiving astrophysicist's black holes,
what in fact isn't seen is beyond seeing
and will never be seen, it's beauty no more.

Thus to write about love has equal footing
while love no more would spell our demise
our particular defect of sleep is mechanical
mental, emotional, physical, and instinctual.

Freedom from that known requires an edge
sharp enough, to cut through Gordian's knot
and a place to start as mentioned above
the sacred sorrow and death to self-edifice.

Realized as a possibility, the real work begins
for that moment of grace when gift is made
the glory for all those awake to accept it,
we prepare by increasing consciousness.

So it goes... this much I remember at least.
It helps not to judge anything, recognizing
role of logic in sustaining a safe beingness.
Uncorrupted, reason isn't feeling, as thought.

Ethically, proper reason is mediated by theory
the boundary between known and unknown
where limits express orders of chaos
the sine qua non encapsulated in roll of dice
which begs the most important spiritual issue,
being the work involved in reducing our evolution
based on luck, when lucky enough is not.

So, this is neither balanced composition
or in any rigorous measure, poetry.
Here are merely the ramblings of mine
looking even less prose for the stumbling.

Question remains of value about nature,
to suffice on extract and to cohere
into a concise statement for elucidation?
Or, like more useful bandages in general
ought the receptacle for these words
likewise be the same, including its hazards?


-rjd, 2007

Dubie Digits Logo

Dubie Digits

Not Tonight

That voice,
needing so much care
place, reason, enlightenment
period of time, craft, and structure.
The design of poetry trifles not.
Knowledge is just discord.
Desire is temptation.
There is no plot.
Not tonight.

Gift of Light and Vision

The things that are seen
speak against a flat roar
of grumbling backfires
heard as tick tock blows.

The definition of ethics lost
when fog rolled in to talk
a hypnotic, imperious yawn,
some vaporous devil's spawn.

The spirit of man died,
the devil takes no care
as the rush of stupidity
moves in like real estate.

Ethics is lost in listening
whatever gets said, gets said
all petty cracks foam the drift
a toxic doom fatal to the touch.

I donned my bib and gloves
and set my art upon this
surf by the paradox
to the fading light.

Fore! Playing through it all
is a matter of visual style
integrating grass with asphalt
mastering eternity's shore.

While this cloudscape remains
I'll not waste time in harbors
no ethical meaning could dock,
but chase stupid back to hell.

Still, I'll rest to moon whispers
on full nights you might hear me
to quickly, to make the time real
beautiful is given in light and vision.

rj, 2007

This was meant to give some perspective to my absence here and what I've been doing with my time, developing myself as a graphic designer. Clearly, there is some less than masterful shore definition within the container and it continues to be wanting with respect to concrete anchors and pillars to hold it in the listening.

Some things always change, and some never do!

Little Imperial Air

Merry Xmas from Imperial Beach

Sweet Move

Guardian of the Realm ~ Jones

Being Tubed at IB