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Julianna Eisner Jun 2014
ol' factory swirling of disinfectant and decay
and the arising sliding vision that brings me to my knees,
presence like you...and you...and

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a paralysis of fear
        that grips an exhale

           , serious,

for real, for real.

DJs spinnin' tunes like yarns,
blanketed cocoons
and scoring golden booties.

Divert into another duality,

                - split -

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a past, present, and future
>>>>>>>>>>shakin' it, shakin' it<<<<<<<<<<
like an Oxford comma weekend.

A love like, <                                                              ­                      >
and a tsk like, <                                                              ­    >
for who sells integrity on a dime?
Slo-mo tracers.....

Unconscious tallies of an inhale or exhale
that arises with the all
                   now hesitant
                        but, yet,
                             ­       we

in absolute wanderings.
Oh, delight! Another Solstice is approaching!
Julianna Eisner Jun 2014
Mucky self portraits of
                   Bacon strips,
               Kraft-y singles
&           expired Perrier,
reciting tales of DogMa,

       tsk-ing at Eve
       tsk-ing at Helen
       tsk-ing at Mary

Sophia just wants to sit.

What's up, Gram-mere?
                         ....               I'mma pun chew!

A dozen good guy Hermes and some, like, no.
This one takes shots like Jäger, ja,
this one takes shots like Manny Pacquiao, yo.

Doodling constellations and
Grandfathered teachings of How To Draw A Map -
a tangled thread of a quilt patch,
                  Ultimate Boon-doggle.

Wandering home in the papaya morning to catch
the light of a magnesium sky and birdsong.
Oh! The shoe cobblers are in tears!
               Mufasa is dead!
               Mufasa is dead!
                Ohhhh noooo!
Julianna Eisner May 2014
Palingenesia sits in canopy view,
a spectrum of emerald across convex corneas,
sinking in helicoid spirals...

Come light this match under this petal!
Perch atop this mushroom!
Shred this leaf down a hydrogen avalanche!

...a puma languidly strolls into lush valley's golden cup,
traversing caverns dusted in soft twilight.

reverberations of sound waves,
echo-y crystal thunder
quakes mountain and sky,
             blended like soft clay
                through harpsichord fingertips.
Jafar returned, wanting to see just how snakelike he could be. On a continuous loop. For days.
                                    And days.
Julianna Eisner May 2014
Hidden behind a myriad of
guises and castings of a
thousand projected distortions,
he brought himself
     suspended like a pendant

I bequeathed a
tumult of love,
tumbled down
the scope of
archaic collective conflict
that shook with a spiral quake like
the wakening of my
hallowed   g  a     s           p -
the corridor echoing of the first gallop.

Lifted the skirted veils of
celestial taffeta,
surrendered to the
feats and enchantments of
The Rider
who arrived on a
rogue wave,
crest and trough and
splendorous swells of
blue and white,
reverberating from
essence centre
like Doppler
outward my firmament fingertips,
cascading around the sphere
in astral star fall,
an overflowing cup of Milky Way
and melting atoms
into grains of sand
between the blended confines of
here and                                there,
escaped to the ever expansive space,
Empyrean emptiness.
Julianna Eisner May 2014
Kali at the door,
Did Shiva enter yet, dear?

I dream of a future that never arrives,
of exploration, wonderment, and words
draped in enchantment
in that space of
(since filtered effervescence arises, well, flat, doesn't it?)
to speak the language of
here and now
that breathes clarity in
open expansiveness.

Now has always been written on the
pages like,
what what what what
and yet,
here, running in forests.

Winds lift and energize
caution and wings,
to say one thing
that does not go awry,
it is
like, what what what what.

A list of yeses and noes,
and perlexed replies,
hello? integral?

A museum.
Relics casting shadowed projections
reflected through prisms through prisms through prisms
through prisms.
Nonetheless, I let go,
I toss you like a sphere

against my heart-caged ribs,

right back to me,

                 always and forever


I dream of a future
of exploration, wonderment, and words
draped in enchantment
in that space of
Julianna Eisner May 2014
cavern alit with
cascading twilights
of imagined particles,
an array of twinkles
                    like mist,
                 only softly.
reflecting off an endless iris
like an eternal cartwheel
of                light and dark
and             in and out
and that boundless space in                 between
that passes like a
fault line in a blink
that dissolves
the one
and greets
the one
abridged by the procession of
catena that
                l                      a
                       ­                   t
f                                                  ­        S                                    


The spirit of adventure springs eternal

                    where shimmers reflect in
                         swirls like ammonite
                              and ripples like none.

and back again.

                              in a unified braid,
                   that weaves together
  blendings like this and that

to discern and disregard
and that boundless space in                 between.
In solitude, the quell, the split of nonexistent
that quickly shook away -
There are no camps,
so rid the tents.
Julianna Eisner Apr 2014
And Jesus said, And you shall follow me through trials and through death; but now you cannot go where I will go, but you shall come.

And Jesus spoke again unto the eleven and said, Grieve not because I go away, for it is best that I should go away. If I go not the Comforter will not come to you.

These things I speak while with you in the flesh, but when the Holy Breath shall come in power, lo, she will teach you more and more, and bring to your remembrance all the words that I have said to you.

There are a multitude of things yet to be said; things that this age cannot receive, because it cannot comprehend.

But, lo, I say, Before the great day of the Lord shall come, the Holy Breath will make all mysteries known -

The mysteries of the soul, of life, of death, of immortality; the oneness of a man with every other man and with his God.

Then will the world be led to truth, and man will be the truth.

When she has come, the Comforter, she will convince the world of sin, and of the truth of what I speak, and of the rightness of the judgment of the just; and then the prince of carnal life will be cast out.

And when the Comforter shall come I need not intercede for you; for you will stand approved, and God will know you then as he knows me.
(162:3-11, The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ)
“And therefore, all of those for whom authentic transformation has deeply unseated their souls must, I believe, wrestle with the profound moral obligation to shout form the heart—perhaps quietly and gently, with tears of reluctance; perhaps with fierce fire and angry wisdom; perhaps with slow and careful analysis; perhaps by unshakable public example—but authentically always and absolutely carries a demand and duty: you must speak out, to the best of your ability, and shake the spiritual tree, and shine your headlights into the eyes of the complacent. You must let that radical realization rumble through your veins and rattle those around you.
Alas, if you fail to do so, you are betraying your own authenticity. You are hiding your true estate. You don’t want to upset others because you don’t want to upset your self. You are acting in bad faith, the taste of a bad infinity.

Because, you see, the alarming fact is that any realization of depth carries a terrible burden: those who are allowed to see are simultaneously saddled with the obligation to communicate that vision in no uncertain terms: that is the bargain. You were allowed to see the truth under the agreement that you would communicate it to others (that is the ultimate meaning of the bodhisattva vow). And therefore, if you have seen, you simply must speak out. Speak out with compassion, or speak out with angry wisdom, or speak out with skillful means, but speak out you must.
And this is truly a terrible burden, a horrible burden, because in any case there is no room for timidity. The fact that you might be wrong is simply no excuse: You might be right in your communication, and you might be wrong, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter, as Kierkegaard so rudely reminded us, is that only by investing and speaking your vision with passion, can the truth, one way or another, finally penetrate the reluctance of the world. If you are right, or if you are wrong, it is only your passion that will force either to be discovered. It is your duty to promote that discovery—either way—and therefore it is your duty to speak your truth with whatever passion and courage you can find in your heart. You must shout, in whatever way you can.”
― Ken Wilber, One Taste

Rest & Love.
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