The Gospel of Darkness (Passover 2020)


And we sing…

The law of the Lord is perfect, in its purpose and what it finds. In darkness it fills us, and allows us no cover from the judgment of what G_D finds. Hallelujah, it is time…

It is Passover…

The sun has set, its glow traveling near you, moving near me, perhaps it moves by request for the final time. Perhaps it determines the final key. It moves across an April snow here in Colorado, bringing judgement at Passover. Exposing a false spring, exposing skin. And yes, there is a question, (darkness) there is an incantation of rhyme, it comes not in light by sight so incandescent, but before the throne of darkness, here now in the end of G_D’s spare time. While Ezekiel’s wheels move across my wandering mind. Spending, removing distance, from what this Passover comes to find.

I’m listening to “Jane Siberry” sing “The Gospel According to Darkness” for the eleventh time as I write. Jane is a new discovery for me, a pleasing discovery. Her words invade my physical body, they stalk my soul, and they invite me to write truth’s I might at most times keep hidden. (Get thee above me) Here in darkness, here in shadow, here before any light. I feel homeless, I feel blind, and it could be that I am kept hidden from that which would take this my first-born life. For here in the shallow, here in the value of a snow drifting flight. Here below, that flicker, so many, many people that are good are held by fright. For I know it’s Passover, (darkness) I know its faith by night. For it comes in the dimness, it comes to the blind, for G_D is here among us as we watch the snow fly.

And we sing…

“The law of the Lord is perfect, the pleasure of her inner sight. The question of are you worthy, we will find the answer here, without any light. For we are not G_D’s paroles, indentured in bright light, bound by some dogma, Easter’s sunrise hides the blight.

It is Passover…

There is a place named “alone” (darkness). Angels unclothed, angels parting, to death all dies that we have ever known. In changing shadows, shifting by purpose, planning all that by a millennia she has designed. We are delivered, you and I are born by all we are resigned.

And we sing…

The law of the Lord is perfect, in its purpose and what it finds. In darkness it fills us, and allows us no cover from the judgment of what G_D finds. Hallelujah, it is time… -04.15.20 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Round Mountain (Passover 2018)


What do you want from me? Here near this late hour over by this tree, in the dark, with no moon above, the sky winks in a cold frown, the silence has a sound, and it’s you, nearby, I know, I see. So, what do you want from me? Have the altars I have built not exacted to your need? Has heaven not come down, why should it when there’s rancor all around, and unbelief, I know, dear Adonai to me, and what do you want from me? Here we are the western sky in sheets, stars that cannot shine, they look like their painted all the time. You say the sunrise is reprieve, it could be that or the last day that I breathe. It’s you nearby a familiar in majesty, so silent in all your mystery, a phalanx, that’s blood on three by three to three. The darkness like a cracked old creed, a blackness fly’s in design, non-Chee, like “Marilyn Manson’s” sad song disease, the dead, it passes on, it goes flying on over me. What do you want from me?

Round Mountain hangs over me. It’s not so round in a diameter one can read. A poor schematic from the USDA! I suppose it’s like this night for me, in our relationship it is definition written in form free. Perhaps I say to no one listening, at least that’s what’s perceived. It’s only a question from all time, but what do you want from me? The coldness seeps in me, making my high blood pressure, a little uneasy, for those things I can’t see like a razor edged dark wing dipping through the trees. What is the answer, what is the need, from question to question, it swings beyond belief?

Round mountain seems to weave, a dear old story here in me, all my doubts come in three’s. I look the canyon down, the Big Thompson roars without a sound. The highways closed, but still I’m up here, no one knows, except the sound of wings. They come swooping down, big dark wings. The sound of mettle, carrion bones, somewhere cherubim’s weep. But not for me, oh Adonai not for me!

For here on Round Mountain with the deer, a simple little place solitude in my tears, I look to see the better part of you. You turn, most holy G_D you demand I bless you! And as the pass comes over me, here in symphony upon my knees, I am so simple in my needs, my G_D, my G_D, Ruach, Elohim, Chayim, Ruach mi Ruach, Myim mi Ruach, esh mi Myim, Ruach Elohim Chayim! It is what you want from me, all that you want from me! – 04.03.2018 – דָּנִיֵּאל

SWEAT


“We do not go into ceremony to talk about G_D. We go into ceremony to talk with G_D.” – Quanah Parker

“The finest steel has to go through the hottest fire”. – Richard M. Nixon

I am going to do a sweat, by heat and degree, going to march myself indigenous, and just let it go free. I really must confess this might not be for me; I might turn around and turn again, and find myself on my knees. I never thought it so; never concurred it would be me, to enter into something unlike me, and burn internally. I am going to do a sweat, and see truth or hell, it could be one will be the other, or may be separate only time will tell. I find myself so close, to hearing drums inside, may be it is just my heart beating telling me to turn aside. For now conscious comes to instill fear in me, but what is fear but motive for a caution that blinds the real purpose I need.

It is time for counting sums, of what I might see. Somehow, I do not think I am style in new age mythology. For something tolls, like bells in eternity. A countless band of cycles words and sounds phonetically. I am not making fun so seriously, for its Passover in my soul so a sweat is harmony. I think I am modern man, lost in a cosmic sea, of signals, verbs and scenes of G_D, that have not made sense to me. So it is time to sweat, bring forth an ancient me, and grab the dragon of harmonic grace, a former complexity.

These last days must come, titled so they be, and if they come well then they go with sweat pouring forth from me. What is not denied is a purity, that there is silence all around, as a force in three by threes. I am going to do a sweat cross through my own red sea, for I know while I sweat the death filled angel will Passover me. For as the year will go, as it will be, I will always remember how the sweat burned G_D in me.

I am going to do a sweat! – 03.27.2018 – דניאל

The Other Wing (Passover 2017)


The spirit, that was one, spoke to me near my failings, one wing that of compassion, the other a crimson red! It was a dark angel, that rescued me!

And the daemon came, the one that balances the ancient of that one name!

And he told me to hide, that night from that dark angel’s game!

The last fire has signaled that it will not glow, and everyman in his dream, has gone so far below. Into that city, where the shadow of Giza lays, Egyptian kings, among fetid things, no souls, to lie in decay. History speaks of shadow lands that lie in will below, waiting for the paradigm of a shift in seed to know. So, it is a story now, I tell of the other wing, the unbending bow in a red tipped flow, that bowed when judgment came. Goshen lies in sediment, grazed in spirit by something came, that, that is, not a son, or a pascal lamb, but a G_D that is always, one, I am. A question now, a question, after all these years, to you as a people, and you in kind, will you bless me this day? And if this other wing of mine, that darkens its own course, would you come to realize that it’s part of light’s own force?

For I’m an open window, that shuts when it will, but my glass has two sides you see, and I always will. Not seen through a dark glass coarsely, what a silly thing. If you look to see in front of you my cloud is darkened teal, and when you turn in your desert, you’ll see compassion is real. My other wing it comes this night, dropping deadly from your own sight, and as you sleep, in the light, I’ll kill, that which would deny, my ancient will.

I am an ingrained tetragram, not an illusion, Eden’s fan, with two wings. I sigh, when you cry, my eye’s red rimmed, I hear you cry. A will of force, is part of me, and my letters fill a sapphire sea, for spoken existence is what you are to me. For every century, every year, from your own minutes, in addictive tears, I turn my wing, the one tipped red, I will fly, right over you in these darkened skies. Do not look to see me pass by.

The spirit, that was one, spoke to me near my failings, one wing that of compassion, the other a crimson red! It was a dark angel, that rescued me!

And the daemon came, the one that balances the ancient of that one name!

And he told me to hide, that night from that dark angel’s name! – 04.07.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Passover Me (A Rite)


All rights to image Michael Shainblum

For Adonai, a purpose, Ruah when I breathe, alleluia in this change, that never leaves me. No kneeling for a reason, no death upon a tree, I know there’s always light there, a solid mountain height there, never changing rite there. Passover me.

Three quarters of the world has water, that liquid that washes from the sea, I think about it more at Passover, rather have water, pass right over me. I’m not really into pain now, or dirge a religious creed, a better way of celebrating, is dancing through the streets.  When you’re high on spirit, taller than what you’ve seen.  Then my friend your under shelter, and you’re truly free. A duty seems a thing obsessive, a jailer of the soul, that limits what you see.  I’d rather a rite of want to, when you Passover me.  Hell I take my chances in time honored degrees. So when you lift me up to hold me, a blessing of the water, invisible, no keys, I have to think that your smiling, knowing I can’t see, but you still love all of me.

For Adonai, a purpose, Ruah when I breathe, alleluia in this change, that never leaves me. No kneeling for a reason, no death upon a tree, I know there’s always light there, a solid mountain height there, never changing rite there. Passover me.

My steps, have come more daring, added when your near, a thought to always know you, has made my purpose clear. It’s then that something happens, illumining backwards spheres, what master’s science creation, knows me, so why fear. My G_D of all the time waves that chases then just smiles, if something is not chosen, than why is it worthwhile. Let’s take it then this season, when some would see blood red, let’s dance inside the door post for Passover’s not dead.

For Adonai, a purpose, Ruah when I breathe, alleluia in this change, that never leaves me. No kneeling for a reason, no death upon a tree, I know there’s always light there, a solid mountain height there, never changing rite there. Passover me.

Call out alleluia, speak for that not dead, no that all your journey is chosen, not just been read. Come you to a high place, come be dark no more, for in the rite of magic, you are a slave no more. You are not poor in spirit, therefore do not cry out, for only one is YHWH, your alleluia shout! By sixes know your number, by tribes your final claim, a chance to become Yisrael the fire, not just inflamed. Come dance now under sunlight, dawn before there’s more, and take your place in beauty, a darkness know, no more.

For Adonai, a purpose, Ruah when I breathe, alleluia in this change, that never leaves me. No kneeling for a reason, no death upon a tree, I know there’s always light there, a solid mountain height there, never changing rite there. Passover me. 03.31.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל


This Passover

You tell me to look outside me this Passover, to actualize an infinite need. It seems strange, you asking me for holiness, for blessing a harvest, you of oneness, the lock of my key. A fable inside me that sparks an old story that terminates spirit if I don’t believe, a deathly hollows of blood for your glory of ransomed sinners sowed from death’s seed. You quietly whisper don’t look on that angel, that left hand of judgment that floats by your door, wait until morning to build love an altar, deliver your kindness, compassion in deeds.

You tell me to look outside me this Passover, enter a chamber that feels like a storm. In whispers of moonlight, craft of your measure, Hashem how you beg me to let you control. You built me from nothing, in thoughts of first labor, molded my lips from where angels cry. That kindness you left me to pass on forever, a definite wisdom, not held in a lie, an ember of softness that glows on forever, Tiferet Yisrael that screams when I cry. Blessing ingenious from light on forever, dealt on endeavor where destiny lies. No longer forgiven, free now forever one G-d of my story, no longer to die.

You tell me to look outside me this Passover, to swear my allegiance in scarlet laid skies. Adonai I bless you I stand now before you, and gasp at the reason you breathe through my life. The words of old scars are taken from me, incandescently you cherish me, and sing a lullaby for me to repeat. Ruach ha-kodesh you have learned to tear out my heart and I do not bleed, in the scheme of things you have dealt me the reason for why I must learn to fly. You tell me to look outside me this Passover, something loved, something new, and in this puzzle in this confusing rhyme, I find your one light. – דָּנִיֵּאל 03/29/2014