"Everything that we do in the world," he said, "we recognize and identify by converting it into lines of similarity, lines of things that are hung together by purpose. For example, if I say to you fork, this immediately brings to your mind the idea of spoon, knife, tablecloth, napkin, plate, cup and saucer, glass of wine, chili con carne, banquet, birthday, fiesta. You could certainly go on naming things strung together by purpose, nearly forever. Everything we do is strung like this. The strange part for sorcerers is that they see that all these lines of affinity, all these hues of things strung together by purpose, are associated with man's idea that things are unchangeable and forever, like the word of God." - don Juan, Castaneda, Magical Passes
Just read this quote above this morning and while I have been studying the and articulating the limits of langauge and thought expressed here by don Juan, I can't remember it ever being put so well in terms of simplicity and coherence. I think he gets right to the point without even ever really labeling the nature of it. One of my fav quotes.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Emergence and organization towards a taxonomy of organizing relations
I have argued for a physical basis for all ontological forms of emergence and consequently appear to be denying the possibility of a great wonder of the universe: its meaningfulness. But I want to suggest here that in fact I am arguing for an even greater wonder and that is that the physical, material universe itself is capable of conscious existence through its interdependent accumulation of complexity. In other words what we normally think of as "mental" is in fact a characteristic of complexly organised forms of ordinary matter and requires no miracles for its development.
- Jones, S.
______________________________________
Find that explanation hard to digest? This is the state of the art as far as ontological reason applied to the subject of consciousness expressed by physical beings. It renders the flatland of reductionism with and added dimension of cascading or ordered magnitudes as an essential MEANS by which a possible explanation for consciousness as emergent from the physical stuff of our physical being's constitutent parts. In other words where ordinary reductionism satisfies the necessary links and connections which exist among an organized set of constituent parts forming the basis for the emergent coherence and object being expressed at one step higher but due directly to the interrelations among parts. What Jones is attempting to ram down our throats is that consciousenss is just a meta level spanning the entire system and emergent from both all levels, all objects of coherent function and all constitutent functioning. From that perspective he suggests what emerges is the experience of being conscious. While it extends the reason along already emerging lines of meta logic on the integrating one's VALUE across and/or spanning separate paradigms, it to do any justice to the nature of coherence which consciousness must express as emergent from the physical.- Jones, S.
______________________________________
What is the snag here preventing us from languaging the reality of consciousness, of which Jones' attempt was a gallant attempt but nonetheless worthless in identifying the emergence of consciousness ontologically. He does this knowingly it would seem as I recall early in his paper him speaking about the Irreducible quality of consciousness which is non-physical, but in the conclusion he forgets to address how function emerges in a non-physical operation to create meaning and value abstractly vs among the array of methods properly defininig a neuro net and feed back system.
His attempt to rebuke I think comes in talkin about the ontology of language and how nothing in our language exists without some phyical corresponding reference. This kind of specious reasoning is a bit disappointing. On the one hand ontologically one defines language by physical measures or info perceieved and inventoried into sets which then are given linguistic names. However, that doesn't prevent the evolution of memes taking place on purely randomized non physical days of foamy chaos. We live for these days or at least our best humorists do and the reason for that is because it is precisely this ontological blind spot of Jones' which completes us as human beings.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
~Yours Truly
In response to a challenge from a poet's community of mine over the following quote ... A poem is never finished , only abandoned - Paul Valery (1871-1945)
Yours Truly
Poetic power is a creative strength,
less an order of magnitude. What is
at the source, words, needless define
a subtle quality then missed in rhyme.
Here in the west, horizons list, belie
a future we believe, just emerges; here
we wait while time gains on what not
while future stays forever past us, there.
Thus never finished, only abandoned
in west, by flight to inner eastern light
where nothing begins, a route to end
makes a void, humorless, tasteless, fin.
So it was this poet traveled far away
before transcending the old manner
reversing the slide of my muse in stride
where words I used, used me instead.
Don't fret the mystery, for the mystery
can be gotten without effort or sweat
evolving the mean to encompassing
when the poet vanishes in a muse ally.
I say get used by the word, all mystery
and your act inscripts thus creatively
being free of any efforts to achieve
as you simply let be, YOURS TRULY.
1/15/2011 rjduberg
Yours Truly
Poetic power is a creative strength,
less an order of magnitude. What is
at the source, words, needless define
a subtle quality then missed in rhyme.
Here in the west, horizons list, belie
a future we believe, just emerges; here
we wait while time gains on what not
while future stays forever past us, there.
Thus never finished, only abandoned
in west, by flight to inner eastern light
where nothing begins, a route to end
makes a void, humorless, tasteless, fin.
So it was this poet traveled far away
before transcending the old manner
reversing the slide of my muse in stride
where words I used, used me instead.
Don't fret the mystery, for the mystery
can be gotten without effort or sweat
evolving the mean to encompassing
when the poet vanishes in a muse ally.
I say get used by the word, all mystery
and your act inscripts thus creatively
being free of any efforts to achieve
as you simply let be, YOURS TRULY.
1/15/2011 rjduberg
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Saturday, December 25, 2010
~Sagacious Orator
The speaker's stage set
upon the cue
the veiled consciousness
freed of itself.
The intent to oration
is a bizarre contraction
forever the sound confuses
ignorance, revealing a void.
And he spoke a line, meant
to connect a relative scale.
He spoke not for love, now
in service to please, all Being.
He was fond, and yet, loved
though others found him mad.
Those who were silent nearby
began to realize themselves.
Stunning Mystery of Life
How wonderfully impossible to describe is the actuality of this PLACE we call Earth where we live in my waking thought and awareness tonight. Whisper, shhhhh, for here she is right here, and that perfume makes me cry. No lover, no girl, no goddess I've ever laid eyes on matches the immensity of beauty and love which lives directly under my feet and unlike stories of creators, my true gratitude rests and is for her, this place in the cosmos for which my life, what there is left of it, has always been unable to fathom even as it pervades every pore and dimension of my being.
Friday, November 19, 2010
~sanguine sang the words i love you
Everybody wants to hear
the sound that loves them
music for one, transcends
when the heart enjoys
resonation deep in -
A medallion of calm
turns chaos to contrast
the celebration of life.
Nov 2010
the sound that loves them
music for one, transcends
when the heart enjoys
resonation deep in -
A medallion of calm
turns chaos to contrast
the celebration of life.
Nov 2010
Thursday, November 04, 2010
Rally Against My Insanity
*dedicated to John Stewart's Rally for A Return of Sanity, 10/30/2010
To issues of complexity, is something thus contrived?
I look at the ocean and see complexity truly alive.
I cannot concur a self so responsive, while I aspire
No is a facade I present to balance a chaotic rivalry
between knowing and believing, real and imagined.
For just this moment, if I may cast a new self to make
A real no for a stand, against my negative expression
where I halt steps to my ill-conceived myriad manners,
like so many recursions over simplicity reduces friction.
Sing against mechanical knowing of what will proceed.
Perhaps no better a place exists to purchase a cliche
just this once, for a successful rally against negativity
having surrendered to a self lacking the eloquence
to reject the incompetent manner of a self negated
by the twisted false self, self serving act of hypocrisy.
How I manage all defeat by self prophecy, is less -
than my own untoward rejection of good, by fuzz
I offer a homage to humor's value in this process
and understand other's laughter provides focus.
"Blah, blah, blah," I said missively, "or something."
I now rally against that innocence as contrivance
And note the cliche of truth equated to something
and my sincerity juxtaposed to my teacher's dismay
in a class laughing uproaringly, skipping the question.
Pride, rebelliousness, vanity - conspired to make me.
The tension my manners, innocently suggesting, are
a discordant state of mind seeking a quest against
true answers, true questions, and smart relevance.
Pure vanity and pride matter if we lack a response.
And rallying, a question asks how to restore sanity.
Let this moment rally against din of false begging
where innocuous logic using innocuous notions
stated simply as something, raise a veil of derision
instead of being honest about asking a question
where no right answer begs us yet, to stumble on.
To issues of complexity, is something thus contrived?
I look at the ocean and see complexity truly alive.
I cannot concur a self so responsive, while I aspire
No is a facade I present to balance a chaotic rivalry
between knowing and believing, real and imagined.
For just this moment, if I may cast a new self to make
A real no for a stand, against my negative expression
where I halt steps to my ill-conceived myriad manners,
like so many recursions over simplicity reduces friction.
Sing against mechanical knowing of what will proceed.
Perhaps no better a place exists to purchase a cliche
just this once, for a successful rally against negativity
having surrendered to a self lacking the eloquence
to reject the incompetent manner of a self negated
by the twisted false self, self serving act of hypocrisy.
How I manage all defeat by self prophecy, is less -
than my own untoward rejection of good, by fuzz
I offer a homage to humor's value in this process
and understand other's laughter provides focus.
"Blah, blah, blah," I said missively, "or something."
I now rally against that innocence as contrivance
And note the cliche of truth equated to something
and my sincerity juxtaposed to my teacher's dismay
in a class laughing uproaringly, skipping the question.
Pride, rebelliousness, vanity - conspired to make me.
The tension my manners, innocently suggesting, are
a discordant state of mind seeking a quest against
true answers, true questions, and smart relevance.
Pure vanity and pride matter if we lack a response.
And rallying, a question asks how to restore sanity.
Let this moment rally against din of false begging
where innocuous logic using innocuous notions
stated simply as something, raise a veil of derision
instead of being honest about asking a question
where no right answer begs us yet, to stumble on.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Understanding Degrees of Difficulty
With respect to Gurdjieff's view of man, that part of us that believes we can "do" is false, and yet due to our mechanical identification with it we not only protect it with all of our being, we are powerless to progress in the work of self remembering. And we respond negatively to our feelings of effort which do not achieve any penetration, insight, or result. On top of all this, this false self based on belief and imagination rather than truth, resists any effort to verify the truth about being, beginning with the idea that in our current state we cannot do. What this false personality creates is a reasonable saga to explain why things happen the way they do. This brings us to another layer of difficulty having to do with imagination once again insofar as given objective knowledge and even some degree of insight false personality grabs ahold of the idea and stops any and all action which might assimilate that knowledge, effectively shutting down and negating the possibilities that were present. It's as if we are mechanically programmed to accept the idea without verifying it, like being told where the door outside is without actually stepping through it - when the main objective is to go outside!!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
~The Case for OpenSource Code on the internet
Works for me. The open condition will invite a better tone to the across the "netboard," which is always preferrable to me when especially when I'm seem like I'm in a slide.
We decide the reasons why.
That always entails a justice
that nails eloquent, we quote
our own brand answers, on wind
It's out there stalking, and waits
there's is a trick, Carlos said...
Funny guy, one time serious stu
as I became my own, I laughed
hard, in roll jerking my head too
still not convinced of a difference
to the wave of the hand, by grace
to a voice, speaks a unique name
you call it, This foolish little fiasco
we both know what peeps-seem
I can't tell you what ain't real-see
That's how I talk about that reality
I'll never forget the young times
a boundary moving us through.
Be that as it may, jack...
There's a forested mountain
you can still find your way back
if you're willing to climb a mass
of rock, past more mass on it
way up, where there's wind
for the joy and strangeness
incomparable listening makes
especially of the countryside.
So many women, (then) one day
and that was that for the girls
Like beautiful thought, came
ecstatically, always orgasmic
Waking up the young of yum
Who needs to check this out is...
Dave Matthews with is find guitar
And a butt like mine, spanked
over the time spent - I ran there.
Always its mis-communication...
never, is anyone on time, here.
The more important ghost echos
falling music in my soul loudly
and all around my head, not fun
my ass takes the biggest beat
must be why I get so confused
ending up at the casino then
But I'd swear she's right there
laying on her side, smiling wide
Just the darkness of shadows
The travel can be harrowing
Now Emerson wants the eloquent
to say that people are quoters
at heart their identity is absent
and indicates men are asleep
Trying to work in a segue for that
and not upset awake strangers
I'm reading Emerson for fun
and consult with a number
of potential goddess models
and nothing more eloquent
than the tricky Shamans today.
I got miles to go on that
before I can get out da way
Take that last slide in sand
That's where she'll be
if she's not playing something
needing better resonation
instrumentals she allways loved
In the beginning, it was chaos
nonstop madness, pure hor-
Here's to those that putt it
There's nothing like a round
to get the juices flowing
But, working at a course
there are so many calls
made to fit for Emerson
Works for me. The open condition will invite a better tone to the across the "netboard," which is always preferrable to me when especially when I'm seem like I'm in a slide.
We decide the reasons why.
That always entails a justice
that nails eloquent, we quote
our own brand answers, on wind
It's out there stalking, and waits
there's is a trick, Carlos said...
Funny guy, one time serious stu
as I became my own, I laughed
hard, in roll jerking my head too
still not convinced of a difference
to the wave of the hand, by grace
to a voice, speaks a unique name
you call it, This foolish little fiasco
we both know what peeps-seem
I can't tell you what ain't real-see
That's how I talk about that reality
I'll never forget the young times
a boundary moving us through.
Be that as it may, jack...
There's a forested mountain
you can still find your way back
if you're willing to climb a mass
of rock, past more mass on it
way up, where there's wind
for the joy and strangeness
incomparable listening makes
especially of the countryside.
So many women, (then) one day
and that was that for the girls
Like beautiful thought, came
ecstatically, always orgasmic
Waking up the young of yum
Who needs to check this out is...
Dave Matthews with is find guitar
And a butt like mine, spanked
over the time spent - I ran there.
Always its mis-communication...
never, is anyone on time, here.
The more important ghost echos
falling music in my soul loudly
and all around my head, not fun
my ass takes the biggest beat
must be why I get so confused
ending up at the casino then
But I'd swear she's right there
laying on her side, smiling wide
Just the darkness of shadows
The travel can be harrowing
Now Emerson wants the eloquent
to say that people are quoters
at heart their identity is absent
and indicates men are asleep
Trying to work in a segue for that
and not upset awake strangers
I'm reading Emerson for fun
and consult with a number
of potential goddess models
and nothing more eloquent
than the tricky Shamans today.
I got miles to go on that
before I can get out da way
Take that last slide in sand
That's where she'll be
if she's not playing something
needing better resonation
instrumentals she allways loved
In the beginning, it was chaos
nonstop madness, pure hor-
Here's to those that putt it
There's nothing like a round
to get the juices flowing
But, working at a course
there are so many calls
made to fit for Emerson
Sunday, October 24, 2010
~View of the Plain
View of the Plain
Above the Plain, there's a special space, Emersonian
The argument is rather a lame duck, brutal nevertheless
I'd rather give more room to having fun writing my poetry
But the truth is far more nebulous, causing little in interest
What is real for Emerson regarding words, asks the question
Even while we may voluntarily investigate these paradigms
what he makes specific is the involuntary part of perception
forming a common parlance to a hidden entrance of the soul.
It's very hard to see, especially since any clarity is less than nice
the resulting 'event' seeks to exit life's flow with extreme predjudice
rather unconsciously, due to past reactions of trauma, add as a fact
that there's plethora of variation to what all that is non-voluntary
including a special complex case of active will, the one exception
The importance of this kind of socially based knowing is provocation
Agitating a reader in a just way which calls something important
in the reader, into question, not to invalidate but compel a living answer.
Just playing around with poetry, exploring Emerson's genius is arousing
I can post this View of the Plain as a introductory poem for the time being
Though it doesn't impress me with approaching Emerson's level of tension.
The thing for Emerson seems to be the quality of provocation made for us.
Gonna try and spark a little progressive segue in smooth transitions in here
for now....
© 102010 rjduberg
note: First in a series of poems that will span my current reading of Lysaker's book about Emerson and the notion of Self-Culture
Above the Plain, there's a special space, Emersonian
The argument is rather a lame duck, brutal nevertheless
I'd rather give more room to having fun writing my poetry
But the truth is far more nebulous, causing little in interest
What is real for Emerson regarding words, asks the question
Even while we may voluntarily investigate these paradigms
what he makes specific is the involuntary part of perception
forming a common parlance to a hidden entrance of the soul.
It's very hard to see, especially since any clarity is less than nice
the resulting 'event' seeks to exit life's flow with extreme predjudice
rather unconsciously, due to past reactions of trauma, add as a fact
that there's plethora of variation to what all that is non-voluntary
including a special complex case of active will, the one exception
The importance of this kind of socially based knowing is provocation
Agitating a reader in a just way which calls something important
in the reader, into question, not to invalidate but compel a living answer.
Just playing around with poetry, exploring Emerson's genius is arousing
I can post this View of the Plain as a introductory poem for the time being
Though it doesn't impress me with approaching Emerson's level of tension.
The thing for Emerson seems to be the quality of provocation made for us.
Gonna try and spark a little progressive segue in smooth transitions in here
for now....
© 102010 rjduberg
note: First in a series of poems that will span my current reading of Lysaker's book about Emerson and the notion of Self-Culture
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
~Convergence of Child
When the tide is right, is the view masterful in the light
and when the master looks, is not all - a tsunami of love?
What better manner of recognition lends itself to man
once a child, consumed by his own windy exuberance
defining such delight, twirling for the crash standing up?
Discovering higher dimensions exist to bring us to a halt
understanding nothing exceeds boredom quite as well.
Requires something more than reverence and willful fall.
Of timing, this present moment expires, in eternal irony.
A true man humbly begins again until converging it all.
© 92010 rjduberg
When the tide is right, is the view masterful in the light
and when the master looks, is not all - a tsunami of love?
What better manner of recognition lends itself to man
once a child, consumed by his own windy exuberance
defining such delight, twirling for the crash standing up?
Discovering higher dimensions exist to bring us to a halt
understanding nothing exceeds boredom quite as well.
Requires something more than reverence and willful fall.
Of timing, this present moment expires, in eternal irony.
A true man humbly begins again until converging it all.
© 92010 rjduberg
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Her Fall Legend
And she was ...
and yet...
here she is...
and I am...
once, twice the man ...
in love again...
before the almighty...
absolute blindness...
reversal of fortune...
simple exchanges...
tasty kisses...
tornado chasing...
pupils flashing...
awe inspiring...
divine feminine...
mother too...
gods, her children...
madness of butter...
churned inward here...
and yet...
a shaman's question...
no better test...
living a quicker...
love eternal...
dream power...
sun and moon...
flying or floating...
her extreme heel...
heart condition...
better laughs notice...
tantra yoga...
revision impression...
prepared with binds...
free and unexhausted...
a thing to repeat...
occurring ecstatically...
beautiful divine grace...
all time sighs, naturally...
reason why deluded...
feeling insanely...
longer longing forever...
disipline of being...
perfect timing...
sweetest dreaming...
coming of autumn...
spring's perfection...
her legend...
Fall is mine.
COPYRIGHT © 10/2010 rjduberg
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Groundhog Rhyme
I thought of you reading there, ahhhh...
So intelligent, sensitive, and kind
Anticipating another merry go round
No doubt, I've misplaced the notices
by those unwilling to hurl over my furls
too often closer to bovine cud than not.
There I was on the pristine bower looking
Your words - all - make my virtue a pleasure
Hit or miss you know, I do remember times
when I wrote in the zone of poetry read,
I adore those poets with disipline to write.
Even tonight, I've managed to kill a bear
while getting bit by the nastiest skeeters.
I could pray for talent entirely natural
allowing me to transmit unbound beauty
in poetry, from just looking at this nature.
And, I admit the thought arose too, for not.
I have learned not to mess with sources
for any reason, preferring purity of mind.
And do not bother with feeling grateful
about how I spared you your upchuck
by writing from inside a genre just read
instead of slamming other words badly
It's still the greatest exhaustion in my life
these sketchy rhymes beat me at times.
© 92010 rjduberg
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
To be or not to be...
This is the only way anyone can frame the question of truth (in the beginning)? Beyond this requires a level of heroism that is easy to spot but rare enough to challenge the status quo, and certain to raise new lessons for one's life. That can't I dare say ever have been a pleasant experience.
We all choose how we respond to life freely. Any denial can be overcome with a balanced attitude and humor. Desire matters first before anything else.
Dedicated to Sons whose mothers recently passed, being older doth suck.
We all choose how we respond to life freely. Any denial can be overcome with a balanced attitude and humor. Desire matters first before anything else.
Dedicated to Sons whose mothers recently passed, being older doth suck.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Heart of Bliss
Bliss Today
Amidst all the normal noise
destroying harmony's place
sits our sleeping status quo
in disgrace at a street corner
while life is a flowing constant.
What began with that, expanded in volume to surround the rest - I guess...
I began now to ask about what that feeling would look like, made to sound...
I was watching a growth of magnitude, sure that this universe was feeling, now
returning me in color of newest green straight from my inner joy's celebration
- - to hear more
everything possible became mine and within no time my emotion buzzed
a glorious amplification of a harmony oin vibrations rising within WHAT?
- - Now this
Amidst all the normal noise
destroying harmony's place
sits our sleeping status quo
in disgrace at a street corner
while life is a flowing constant.
What began with that, expanded in volume to surround the rest - I guess...
I began now to ask about what that feeling would look like, made to sound...
I was watching a growth of magnitude, sure that this universe was feeling, now
returning me in color of newest green straight from my inner joy's celebration
- - to hear more
everything possible became mine and within no time my emotion buzzed
a glorious amplification of a harmony oin vibrations rising within WHAT?
- - Now this
Now that, and both as one, time and again, a flourish comes
a white hot flame putting all of allnesses in synchronized punch
never failing to leave me something of a fried mess of a bliss
- - thinking what happened in my world just then thus goes unseen
I never thought it would come like this, being alone for the heart of bliss.COPYRIGHT © 82010 rjduberg
Friday, August 27, 2010
Hostage Trip of Hell
This body is under an attack of ghostly terror
Already unreliable for demands of attention
evolving, accelerating, of rapid illumination
my body is groundhog, drowning is scripted.
The flesh makes procreation matter to death
and while becoming conscious of freedom
my flesh's self starts to search farther beyond
never succeeding. 'Out there' spoons no exit.
What desire understands, means to vanish
itself with self, from the endless yarn of cycle
Now it only creeps alongside fleshling waddle.
Mind's footing so tenuous by All's distraction.
A tactical genius is required to reset the spirit
forces a plenty, which together might render
another plane of consciousness empowered
within self's metaphysics, neutralizing tension.
Present to the world, I feel the force of sense.
The logic of my flesh defines precise function
that is expressed with mechanical clockwork
along gradients of purpose, effectively acted.
That's not you, nor me, all withal forgetting,
leaving vast debris of hubris, our night-falling.
Next time will be worse for the quick fixes.
Possibilities remain, silent still to illumine...
Oh, but such fantasy with this body, mine.
Here I sit having the sense time runs thin
knowing its my flesh's subjective view
on a trip even less desirable for its hell.
COPYRIGHT © 82010 rjduberg
Already unreliable for demands of attention
evolving, accelerating, of rapid illumination
my body is groundhog, drowning is scripted.
The flesh makes procreation matter to death
and while becoming conscious of freedom
my flesh's self starts to search farther beyond
never succeeding. 'Out there' spoons no exit.
What desire understands, means to vanish
itself with self, from the endless yarn of cycle
Now it only creeps alongside fleshling waddle.
Mind's footing so tenuous by All's distraction.
A tactical genius is required to reset the spirit
forces a plenty, which together might render
another plane of consciousness empowered
within self's metaphysics, neutralizing tension.
Present to the world, I feel the force of sense.
The logic of my flesh defines precise function
that is expressed with mechanical clockwork
along gradients of purpose, effectively acted.
That's not you, nor me, all withal forgetting,
leaving vast debris of hubris, our night-falling.
Next time will be worse for the quick fixes.
Possibilities remain, silent still to illumine...
Oh, but such fantasy with this body, mine.
Here I sit having the sense time runs thin
knowing its my flesh's subjective view
on a trip even less desirable for its hell.
COPYRIGHT © 82010 rjduberg
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Those Heralding Grace, A Toast
Those Heralding Grace, A Toast
Upon the land he found his feelings wrenched
tight in a knot, And everyone clammoring to be
heard next, driven by need only violence becomes
this path forsaking love the mystery has the knot
by the throat and then, some make a point well
for right, that no harm shall come to them, we honor -
such as custodians of prime nature, modern illumined.
For with them our humanity's destiny endures, chance
cannot penetrate or ruin the seed of love in harvest.
We are one here, conscious of this higher vibration
a state of being caused from the absolute above,
Remains eternally what it is, never born, nor reborn
never falling simply risen by final inward recognition
and for a lucky few, objective knowledge spoken.
Look how a mind falsely represents its living owner
by attending outwards and presenting that, names
interacting with things, made up with shadow crests
when the who deserves name in sacred utterance
of a spirit incarnate, free and real, conveying soul.
Once too arrogant to speak softly over what not...
I take refuge now in listening to truth sung by love
even while I keep furling my main sheet as a vent.
Alone, I now toast those unparalleled custodians
who may never understand what heroes they are.
I raise my glass to love and them. heralding grace.
© 82010 rjduberg
Upon the land he found his feelings wrenched
tight in a knot, And everyone clammoring to be
heard next, driven by need only violence becomes
this path forsaking love the mystery has the knot
by the throat and then, some make a point well
for right, that no harm shall come to them, we honor -
such as custodians of prime nature, modern illumined.
For with them our humanity's destiny endures, chance
cannot penetrate or ruin the seed of love in harvest.
We are one here, conscious of this higher vibration
a state of being caused from the absolute above,
Remains eternally what it is, never born, nor reborn
never falling simply risen by final inward recognition
and for a lucky few, objective knowledge spoken.
Look how a mind falsely represents its living owner
by attending outwards and presenting that, names
interacting with things, made up with shadow crests
when the who deserves name in sacred utterance
of a spirit incarnate, free and real, conveying soul.
Once too arrogant to speak softly over what not...
I take refuge now in listening to truth sung by love
even while I keep furling my main sheet as a vent.
Alone, I now toast those unparalleled custodians
who may never understand what heroes they are.
I raise my glass to love and them. heralding grace.
© 82010 rjduberg
The Eagle, Cage, and Magic Karma
Appearing upon eastern firmament
reflecting western sunset, blazing tall
wrought majestic by chance encounter
days thence and face to face shudders
with what was days earlier hailed eaglet
now stood two terrible feet tall before me
Silent, still, shocking, a witness to my yelp
lifting in turn 6 feet wide carried invisibly
the pulse of her wings, a slow nonsense
her size continuing to diminish until lost
while I sat there unable to breathe this
in my little cart surrounded in a cage
What possibility makes karmic vintage
the most beautiful poetry in fullest sense
where turnabout turns out tears jubilant?
I beheld my limitations on that fence
Grown up - a eaglet's lift and soar into sky.
The beauty of spirit freed, to soar out there.
© 82010 rjduberg
reflecting western sunset, blazing tall
wrought majestic by chance encounter
days thence and face to face shudders
with what was days earlier hailed eaglet
now stood two terrible feet tall before me
Silent, still, shocking, a witness to my yelp
lifting in turn 6 feet wide carried invisibly
the pulse of her wings, a slow nonsense
her size continuing to diminish until lost
while I sat there unable to breathe this
in my little cart surrounded in a cage
What possibility makes karmic vintage
the most beautiful poetry in fullest sense
where turnabout turns out tears jubilant?
I beheld my limitations on that fence
Grown up - a eaglet's lift and soar into sky.
The beauty of spirit freed, to soar out there.
© 82010 rjduberg
Monday, August 16, 2010
New Grips
Too fresh and young goes right for the throat and bruises.
Tonight, I thought of a new schizophrenia, added to my list
the old fav, a rite of passage, mental illness on borderline.
I was never so bored then, now keep list of craziest juices.
When Ricky G invented lying, and Jennifer G picked him
over Lowe, more than some heat - generated by that girl.
Matthew's is Some Devil; a genius; he is Shiva blessed.
I was shocked to find myself resisting avalanche of spirit
so late in life, while I spend my time pretending otherwise.
It's not the white light, blindness, dumbass, or the witness -
falling ever behind, it's how long the flight - before my time.
Nevermind what I want, Santa got lost - in this impossibility.
After awhile, learning to be patient makes no difference.
You had me before? I died and came back in some fog?
asleep, let the world imprint something external of fashion?
Now invisible, worn smooth, the stubborness still has grip.
Afraid of what letting go will bring forth, turns up the heat.
You take some extra special inhales, humming; for today
new color coordinated, cutting-edge grips, have arrived.
© 82010 rjduberg
Tonight, I thought of a new schizophrenia, added to my list
the old fav, a rite of passage, mental illness on borderline.
I was never so bored then, now keep list of craziest juices.
When Ricky G invented lying, and Jennifer G picked him
over Lowe, more than some heat - generated by that girl.
Matthew's is Some Devil; a genius; he is Shiva blessed.
I was shocked to find myself resisting avalanche of spirit
so late in life, while I spend my time pretending otherwise.
It's not the white light, blindness, dumbass, or the witness -
falling ever behind, it's how long the flight - before my time.
Nevermind what I want, Santa got lost - in this impossibility.
After awhile, learning to be patient makes no difference.
You had me before? I died and came back in some fog?
asleep, let the world imprint something external of fashion?
Now invisible, worn smooth, the stubborness still has grip.
Afraid of what letting go will bring forth, turns up the heat.
You take some extra special inhales, humming; for today
new color coordinated, cutting-edge grips, have arrived.
© 82010 rjduberg
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