Extending It

Advaita Vedanta is a song in my heart, silent and soulful, feeling like gravity to a mind out of control, looking like nothing I have ever seen nor hope to, yet still the bell of mystery, claiming sovereignty over all.

Dobson, Beyond Space and Time

I love his argument and logic formulating the observation that without particles there would be no fields and without fields there would be no particles. Followed by the observation that it becomes impossible to define any quantity referred to in our physics. Unable to make any positive statements about the reality underlying our physics it is still possible to note it by negation. He leaps from space time to the following negatives: changeless, infinite, undivided. This frames our problem of how this underlying reality shows up or occurs to us as changing, finite, and divided?

He calls this causation by apparition! LOL

Thus mistaking the changeless, infinite, and undivided for something else shows up for us as the changing, finite, and divided because there is nothing else. Brilliant! Eh?

Gravity and electricity are the levels to seeing the infinite but mistaking it. Space now becomes not that which separates the many but that which separates the One.

Have you experienced Non-duality?

Any interpretation of experience is not it. Ultimately, to experience non-duality is to create it, but not in the normal sense of naming or constructing. It is create the possibility of being conscious of consciousness, and if one's desire is sincere enough, entering into and being transformed by that space of possibility of being.

To simply be or abide as consciousness is beyond most for a couple of reasons. (1) Any attempt to achieve this state or reach it annilhates the possibility (2) All definitions, linguistic discourse, symbology, recognition, identification … require the use of dichotic thought. Thus, we're speaking of a new kind of desire which transcends the ordinary mind. A desire born from the mind of nothing or no-self. One does not make sense of such a state or desire. One can only desire it.

Non-duality exists where our being simply is what it is (unstated and undifferentiated), and this can be made distinct from duality and language only indirectly by mostly speaking of what is NOT non-duality (basically anything and everything you can point at, in general). However, if you can fathom the endless unfolding process of being in its gross and physical expression and then embrace what the source of that manifest possibility is, you will be getting warm .

Enlightened Sadness

I think anyone elevated to a point where they're sensitive and capable of verifying the truth, finds a profound sadness to this level of consciousness. It is a consciousness of reality as void - empty and meaningless. People grow up with diverse points of view and beliefs about everything under the sun. Those who enter a spiritual path in order to find the truth will eventually verify it for themselves and annihilate the subjective realm of their minds. Part of this egocentrism from which all subjectivism is expressed, are beliefs associated with happiness, fulfillment, success, entitlement, honor, virtue, hope, even justice. With the fullest conscious verification of reality being void of all that subjectivism, there is this profound loss which is the bell ringing just beyond the veil that they have arrived. What that sadness represents is the point to this level of awareness, which is to totally let go.

Those who succeed in this, transform their ability to verify the truth into a proactive choice. And their verifications become creative manifestations of reality vs. confirmations of the void they sought in their own egocentric subjectivism. This isn't automatic and may require much further work to find and verify the various principles of consciousness leading to further ascending notes in their evolution, but their skill of discernment becomes powerfully critical and subtle in its sensitivity and direct perceptual understanding regarding reality vs what is ordinarily a function of imagination and belief.

On the Flip Side...

What I can tell you is that considering others as in externally to oneself, continues to be a key not only in the Fourth Way but in my own reflection on its personal effects for me ripened over a long period of time. While it is not always at the forefront of my conscious awareness ... I'm so tired of the prescription ... proscription prescription whatever. All I'm saying always depends on and leans against what I don't say. It's the zen koan all over again. If Kutschner plays Steve Jobs in a film being talked about now about Jobs life ... even more off the hook is my medical view right now OR what precedes illness is sometimes just as sick or worse. This factor which is impacting my daily life in a big way doesn't hurt at all for it perhaps being one of the biggest downsides of life as I see. That and sleeping too long or otherwise blocking your girlfriend's own nap time.

I rediscovered the joy of higher consciousenss. It too has a downside, besides the progressive sorrow for risks that cannot be avoided but which have a high probability of changing life's vectors in a significant way. This happens in combination though, with positive upticks multi-dimentsionally.

I'm thinking Apple is in error with its Macbook Pro's ergonomics - Specifically, the edge that feels more like a dull blade against my hands and wrists. It is near the top of vulnerable postures and stress points on my body which if active too long always bark loudly when its time for me to shift my POV.

This User Interace could stand multiple upgrades, and ...

All I'm saying is ... stop the shooting on public ground putting civilians at big risk.

I cannot seem to wake up today. I soooo want to go back to bed. It's been like that all day.

Bringing Forth one's life is never going to be easy, though because the will wavers through time, how you create a perspective about that involes the idea of higher order functioning in defining who and what a human being is and means. Why is that important? You'd be amazed how rare our perspectives even have this minor level of function articulated in them.

The main point is how to remember the polarization in the flow. The flow in general represents both sides of the spectrum and because the zero point is always moving the limit rises to the surface connecting the discrete series into one sequence. Sometimes the bear eats you, and sometimes you eat the bear.

My questions always become painful when i write, why is that? Despite that pain, I still love to write as well as how it makes me feel as a consequence extending a ways into the future, usually, as well.

Theme of an Ocean

A cold desolate beach
Romantic memory laden
Shamelessly irrisistable 
dealing on heat changed
A lot - depending on the light.

All the rough shod traveling
Comes to an end here, still
Alone with Imperial Beach
When I'm ill at best, quiet.

Unchangingly calm & clear
Star light sees stardust
Looking at us rabble rouses
A curiosity of mysteries
And a spectacular attitude.

Happiness

There are a lot of different stories out there, narratives which define and express who we are. Some promote happiness, others are mum; but the story does not evoke or produce the reality every person longs for since birth. And until a man decides to free himself and choose wisely what his story says, these narratives are insidious in the way they entrap and enslave men in what has been the only hell I've ever seen. What could be worse, than cut off, spun out, and oblivious to one's possibilities to ascend and evolve happy? So, that said, I want to take a stab at this idea of the highest state we are forever pursuing whether we acknowledge it or know it, but would be happy to if the idea were real and realizable. Moving mountains was never a concern when man's mind is made up and then dies.

The primary problem is being connected consciously to a purpose larger than oneself. Good ideas, wisely understood and followed, nevertheless is not alive, and our aliveness demands a transcendent exchange to being in relationship to all that possibility which exists as yet a mystery for us.

Consciously knowing this is the proper place to start, and then the real test begins as we grind out a space of vision in which the opportunity may finally arise such that we have enough time and energy to connect before the moment expires.

In fairness to wisdom's principle of balance and harmony, its necessary to say that the process includes failure which one experiences as perhaps the epitome of personal hell, and at best a return to darkness. No fun, and often the precursor to a man's relapse and slip back into a state of sleep.

The Beauty of the Mind

...is its inherent ability to partition experience, codify, and language it, resulting in possibilities one imagines despite all opposition. C-All for our potential of conscious evolution, conscious effort, conscious suffering, and conscious ascension. There is joy in recognizing that seed in one's field of awareness for what and how it is the best feature of our being but paradoxically the beauty of the mind as our personal warden whose capacity to keep us asleep is both real and an illusion. Is it our addiction to the dreams which clouds the way above? How can we step outside of the domain to prepare a higher integral including what's missing, leaving nothing out?

Sea of Unity

A friend shared an old poem of mine with me today and I daresay it deserves to be republished and revisited as an homage to how deep and hot love can ignite in the heart.

Sea of Unity

The sea bequeaths thee
eternity beseems the one.

The yearn of my concern
watches time undone.

Knowing the grand expansion
braves dark dawning sun.

Yet would I find happy a flame
in the cavern of your love.

Even tho I suffer my darling
blessed is my enduring heart.

Our bonfire beats a quickening light
Into spirit’s captivating shine.

Mating the one transcends the two
living as the sea of unity.

© R.J. Duberg , 2004

Miraculous Endpoint

We have greater possibilities than we ever succeed in revealing
Every day, we can choose to renew ourselves in divine direction.
It's one of the most profound phases and transitions we confront.
Accepting external opinions as directions, available flows missed
denying mind the the latitude of time compression for what's best.

Outcomes and bringing forth the human condition for its evolution
Seems dependent on our response and choice of best crossroads.
For the best paths of ascending  open with choice to be conscious
with skills of translation to step up or down any stair communicated
willing a higher power the opportunity to grace a world, miraculous.

© 2/2012 rjduberg

*

A Look from da Utterside: 

An Inv for Recipient Status

I have certainly been given enough energy the last two days, enough to activate some very cold and unused literary talent. Can't tell you what might be at the source of this uptick in my wellness mission. Probably had something to do with some extra money floating around in my accounting. It is still a very discomforting experience for me to check into my physical beingness, moree specifically the instinctual part of the whole physical level of existence to which also defies the greater effort to categorize ourselves properly that such disagreements become settled and past.

Back to this uptick of mine. I have spent many hours the last two dqys writing for the first time in maybe 2 months with a few rare exceptions. Anyway ... it may simply wishful thinking on my part. As it is, I've lost confidence in this specific octave and have no immediate plans to do anything other than spend some quality time with a certain feminine octave instead. One of these days anyway ...

~

Muse z'Darkside

Have forgotten how many or for how long
Mostly due to shifting my focus elsewhere
Lapse of memory is a worthless skill, isn't it?
Oh yeah, now I recall, fricken' hackboys...
Last one whined over lumber blindnesses!?

I have no doubts about my insanity on this
issues regarding my not having the integrity
I ask myself to do and for what next to again
For instance, already in this small strophe I did it
Again almost sly enough I almost didn't recognize
My own complicity in all that I find negative. Oh God...
Us men, poets of the heart, need a muse to survive I find...
What does it mean that writing her poetry failed in the end?
Though on any given day any number of women acted, "As If..."
said a word about the lumber something in your face revealing fear
is how fear looks fueling up too short for an otherwise peaceful passion
Quality over quanity is nasty complex puzzle I rarely achieve - far too brief
trigger of my condition centers on an imperfect and always fading memory.

For all the incomplete scenarios I was responsible for and ashamed
equally important and offsetting positives showed up for me with love
In a perfect world, my muse and I would have not suffered such cause
but would have realized a higher language and a greater skill of respect.
And for that prior expertise, is it no wonder death gets so close to chime in?
How many times did  screech stop all proceedings in push for us to succumb
in destructive self defeat intensified and spread by regressing into childishness.

Passing through the eye, being reborn, raising one's level of consciousness, arereconciled in properly predetermined units of interrelated time crossing up instincts
creating an internal tide of divine fire, which leaves illuminated the evolution to higher
Man's only risk to himself, remains the greatest risk today, because we all get too personal
I do that and there's extra added obsession over meaning. The paradox of truth lies between
whatever that means and however long it takes us to celebrate fully the sacred source of mystery.
1st draft


© 2/2012  rjduberg

And yet ... another falling angel?

Do you see the wings and body's backside?

Something from my phone

Answer to those known not to be "big fans" of poetry

A friend of mine wrote me recently as she and I are in the serial habit of writing each other as such ... I had recently shared an old poem of mine written in 1999 titled, Returning Word, which communicated elegantly something she has some rigid structures of resistance to, with her rational mind appearing disconnected from her heart leaving here uninformed per se. It continues to be a deep teaching moment for me as she persists in creating negations to my forays, turning them into platitudes. Such nonsense, really ... my most recent attempt to garner her understanding is of course culled by a new tact, as of course each new attempt must be I think, for me to continue to express and have any possibility for her. From using poetry I have reversed my focus back to logic and definitions and attention to meta language and communicating integral thought/thinking. 

So, my answer to her statement follows...

What prompts you too close down communication like this?  Impatience, vanity ... what? You realize that I am not my poetry, and you are not your "mission." Maybe you could suggest a metaphor for me other than language for the physical beingness we express? I'm thinking you might go with the vessel -> holy grail legend which you will always be famous in my memory for. The poem I shared with you was my expression to you, it was not an artifact per se but was as relevant the day I wrote it as it is today if not more so. Let me reiterate that - I didn't share or send you a "poem" but rather an expression I have channeled as poetry; but, which follows no formality or set of rules. If there is a basis that can be defined for choosing a creative writing paradigm like poetry to express myself at times, I suppose it is that the heart, at least my heart, I experience as a musical harmony in perfect time, and when relevant find my written discourse simply looks more like poetry than prose, voila. Whenever I speak both from the heart and without rational focus, my words found poetry far more simpatico than the rest of the possible types/classes/genres in the world. So it goes...

From another view, taking Rumi and Hafiz, as well as Whitman, Emerson, Shakespeare, Percy, ahhh, but the list could easily run on and on for me, why? Poetry is far more pleasing to read when one's consciousness is focused on the heart. As a reader, there is really nothing more exciting and rewarding than to discover a new poet, past or present; that, in the reading my heart sings and dances an understanding unto itself.

...

On further reflection I should add that my excitement over understanding a new poet emotionally is not in any sense like a liking for. In fact, a major portion of my favorite poets are really difficult reads (TO SAY THE LEAST  :-). Rather, the excitement is due simply to understanding developed with a concordant illumination within. If the truth were really to be told, I sometimes read prose poetically and vice versa. Such fluidity characterizing my style of listening and reading might be considered as weak in concentration. That conversation is far beyond the scope of this post. Suffice it to say howver, that despite this apparent dissonance in communication (as I understand myself actively through it) my intuition seems to have a precedent level role leading me to more and more properly align myself though formal dictates appear broken. The relevant issue here is of course truth and the discernment required in order to both perceive and appreciate truth. It is a judgement void of personal taste, drama, and concern for external references, standards, fads, styles, etc.

With a proper acknowledgement of my rather banal dualistic revelation on the matter, the conversation regarding the truth of all that which I just now classified as falsifying; again, is a conversation far beyond the scope of this post. Yet again, one strives to be complete, as much as possible, with the greatest most concise amount of brevity one is capable of, particularly when one's tact is rationally based.

Returning Word

Written in 1999, and recently honored in a favorite old poetry forum, when I read it again after more than a decade. I don't know how I managed to produce this then as I surely can't recall when I last equaled this poem. How many poems as this have I also forgotten, one wonders?

Don’t you know I would make it all good
in the image and spirit of all that is good.
There is no mountain tall enough
nor sea deeper than my love for this,
for you have touched me beyond reason
and you found my solitude
with no words spoken for the fragrance
that respects and that respect alone
will never be questioned nor rescinded.

That gift was a dawning star in a gesture
where such a gift means action
and gestures meaningless, save
that which brings forth radiant things
by such means as a simple nod
an unheard motion or voice emboldened.

A language heard by galaxies as poetry
laughing fat and heavy like any progeny
such as you, keeper of my silence,
illuminated of those listening within.
Bearer of heavenly bodies rank and file
sweet brigand radiant lovers of peace,
you manifest light silent but penetrating
manifesting now honor and my thanks.

Making a solitary moment of smiling
from here below on all you’ve done
acknowledging you’re immeasurable
surely the source of everything with
a face of peace to which I listen.

© R.J. Duberg , 1999

Tongue of Love

The movement of life is a song
and my love is a feeling so long
the essence sustains not yet proud
a torrent under every passing cloud.

And above there, the mind still plays
for a rest, clarity of reeds does the wind
that love sings silently within the heart
a higher vibration called to liberate.

That which remains indescribable to me
My love offers boon in a conscious voice
And embracing new dimensions of being
comes on the lap lick of a wagging tongue.

© 12/31/2011 rjduberg

My Ineffable Leanings Today

As a longtime student of Gurdjieff's work, at one time enthusiastically participating in what I persuaded myself was a real esoteric school of the fourth way with a conscious teacher in place, discovering my mistake was easily the greatest shock in my life since the original shock I received after awakening from my sleep a short while after finding Ouspensky's, The Psychology of Man's Possible Evolution. That first shock was understanding the truth about how little truth and reality actually figured in my psychology, a humbling failure to simply stay conscious for a short walk from the bookstore to my dorm at UCSB was all it took. After rejecting outright my upbringing indoctrination into the Lutheran Faith not a moment after being confirmed, there was no easy way to relapse or lose the sense of gravity which that choice was based on. To renounce any of portion of the automatic inculturated programming which our youth absorbs and believes unconsciously and without critical discernment, nevermind such a massively moral code like religious faith requires a level of fearless ferocity in relationship to one's own mechanical need of comfort and approval that without at least some modicum of support from one's guardians or parents the possibility feels altogether imaginary. I happened to be graced by a Mother whose wish for me to be completely free to become my own man and make my own decisions, achieve my own successes and failures, was steadfast in her being my mother. This required some huge suffering of her own to achieve growing up, as she rebelled against the hugely indoctrinated and moral code of her parents by running away from home at as young teen before the age of adulthood with a muscian to live away from the oppression and feeling servitude which she experienced as a result of her brother being a prodigy despite being blind and taking away all the attention and support that she genuinely deserved but didn't feel coming and took this circumstantial situation as the gravest form of suffering any child receives short of actual harmful abuse. Children need to be cared for properly with vital aliveness of the best in us, at least, don't you think. Negligence of children is to cripple the best in them in both their happiness when young and throughout the rest of their life. She ran away from home with a young pianist studying with her brother because he gave her the attention she so badly needed. When his short sabbatical here ended off she went with him back to his home in Mexico City. Her recovery was I suppose at best something one might call civil in terms of relations, but looking back at my her parents and my experience of them growing up I can immediately recognize the undercurrent of negativity which to mom's credit was kept in check through a resurgent dedication as an obedient and grateful adult. With this perspective then one may be able to appreciate just how lenient and careful she was with me to always be there for me and yet do her best not to micro-manage or pass judgement as a parent since she knew first hand the kind of pain that way of being towards a child can create.

Interestingly enough without going into a long story about its arising, this commitment and stand on her part did not prevent her negative programming which her parents unconsciously dumped on her until she completely rebelled and ran away from homed from inciting me to do the very same thing during my senior year in High School. My sojourn was quite short however and not so far as to keep me from finishing school.

The important issue here was that to her credit there was enough conscious work at NOT being oppresive the way her parents were that I actually developed some level of understanding about my role and how it related to her actions in terms of what they made possible as a result. That with a protracted illness my father suffered, dying in my arms shortly before entering the confirmation process, and I was primed and prepped to act out radically in honor of these experiences.  Experiencing my father's death so intimately sealed in me the gravity which my mother's wishes for me might not otherwise have made much of a difference. But after he died, not a day has ever passed that I have not contemplated death and life's fragile uncertainty.

So, when I participated in an exercise suggested by Ouspensky in his introduction to fourth way work designed to produce the first shock which has to do with GETTING one's inability to do or remain conscious, I knew that I had found precisely what religious faith, morality, and teaching lacked,. Authentic possibility and experience vs. a story. That first shock was internal in perspective and quite hard to share. Talking about it, and sharing it I've found does not induce in others the same experience that I had back in the beginning, due in my opinion to what I've shared here leading up to this point regarding specific conditions present in my childhood, shaping and influencing my process as it did. The next shock however, is an external one that I had when I realized the lack of integrity and proper care given by the conscious teacher I had adopted for several years. The disappointment was devastating, and my satisfaction in the work has never recovered yet to the point of finding a truly authentic conscious teacher to work with. Having been so taken in only to find my gullability irrevocably established upon the "teacher's" lack of conscious being reflected in his inappropriate and harmful exploitations of and abuses of his students for sexual and thus completely narcissitic and sociopathic gratifications, I have at least been ferocious in my assessments of everyone hence. There have been many teachers and yet none have succeeded in impressing me consciously at least as fourth way teachers of the caliber of Ouspensky or Gurdjieff. I don't deny that history is replete with such masters, but none of them remain beyond their aesthetic appeals and artifacts  paying homage to their enlightened state and its capacity to produce higher impressions. It's only necessary to think of the Poetry of Rumi for example or the writings of Lao Tzu, or the Buddha to understand the nature of this higher energetic impression such master's works and remaining arftifacts communicate and create for those able to receive higher influence.

While I haven't actually run across a charismatic false prophet like the one that fooled me in the beginning, everyone since then while at times well versed and even charismatic in their self-expression and passion for the work only get as far as proclaiming and telling the story over, which I've developed a very sensitive "taste" for by its interpretive color and trapped design given by today's culture and way of doing things.

It's nothing short of such sorrow that I almost cannot bare to share, only that I am aware that such thought is unrelated to the reality of listening and response which others will actually have. In a culture of impassioned commitment to looking good, this change of heart and attitude is unexpected except for the fact that I continue to study the master's and fourth way ideas though without disipline or confidence that one would necessarily expect from having an authentic teacher to consult and learn from.

I'm still alive, despite many instances in which I could have easily expired and died, and as long as I'm still alive I will remain grateful if just for my magnetic center and its level of gravity which continues to bring me over and over back to a proper first shock with gratitude and evermore acceptance.

Life with ESRF

End Stage Renal Failure. Complicated by Congestive Heart Failure and Restless Leg Syndrome. Spent most of last month in the hospital while my doctor's tweaked my medicine for days. I've been home now for about a week and doing better, but nothing near what I recall having when more healthy. One might say I've been through the wringer, but the truth is that its only just beginning. I do look forward to the day when I can really sink my teeth into some esoteric writing. I guess I'll just use this as a repository for my wish list of things to write on for now....

How the higher emotional center finds its patience: Focus on Long Thoughts

Putting Inifinity and Eternity into Perspective

The myopic view of Creationism 

America's Politics:  A Void of Leadership, A Lack of Perspective

Depression
The Art of the Interview: Safely Illiciting Trust, Freshness of Perspective