Psalms 1:5 (Love Hurts)


“Therefore the wicked shall not stand in the judgement”

I’m walking, and thinking, well yes, hurting. Between us, I’ll tell you, I’m feeling a little judged. It’s like receiving punishment from a parent, and the parent says, “I do this out of love”. Easy for them to say. “Love Hurts”. The woods seem darker these days, swallowing sparrows, a dark Sheol surrounds life. “Love hurts”. You who have wisdom to hear, listen, you will know. It’s painful, to know sadness. It’s much more so to not! “Love hurts”.

The sad side makes me stronger, I’ve always thought it would, from deep dark pages of my mind, arises a joy from dark woods. Is my inner man a felon, without his civil rights? Could be I regret my choices, and I birth my favor to the night? Oh but look upon the history of my shadows, those without great sight, fallen places I dared to venture when I knew something wasn’t right. What is spirit if there is no guidance, what is soul if no pain, somewhere in that dark mystery, a symphony regains. Blessed be compassion for the sinner, Gloria to the joy of fallen man. Somewhere, on this settled road that’s murky, Adonai made me a man. Yep it was in the dark Sheol of reason, joy placed in me a plan.

And I say rise like the sand in a Mohave storm, take that joy from your darkness born, introduce yourself as a fallen man, and know G_D. Woman, take yourself to the hurricane, discover birthing spirit, and know it’s pain, believe in yourself that which was dead, take your joy from darkness, where in Sheol you bled. It is a much harder path that you take, but be glad.

I think it probably has been a question all my life, to watch a generation skip along, without strife. To watch so many people claim to be blessed, without confrontation or a financial mess. They seem to pass by without any pain, along the freeway of life their breath filled with gain. A place along life’s tide without incident, something that history, finds it cannot represent, there has never been such a time with glamour spent. But let me say this from my fallen place, blessed is the man who knows pain, Gloria to the joy of fallen man, there is no disgrace, no known explanation for the hurt who do not hide, and know grace.

And I say rise like the sand in a Mohave storm, take that joy from your darkness born, introduce yourself as a fallen man, and know G_D. Woman, take yourself to the hurricane, discover birthing spirit, and know it’s pain, believe in yourself that which was dead, take your joy from darkness, where in Sheol you bled. It is a much harder path that you take, but be glad.

I’m walking, and thinking, well yes, hurting. Between us, I’ll tell you, I’m feeling a little judged. It’s like receiving punishment from a parent, and the parent says, “I do this out of love”. Easy for them to say. “Love Hurts”. The woods seem darker these days, swallowing sparrows, a dark Sheol surrounds life. “Love hurts”. You who have wisdom to hear, listen, you will know. It’s painful, to know sadness. It’s much more so to not! “Love hurts”.

“Therefore the wicked shall not stand in the judgement” – 02.16.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Psalms 1:5

A Psalm of Haunting


*”Before the mountains were summoned, or the Ancient of Days had formed this earth, that even from everlasting to everlasting, even before you were formed, that tissue that breathes in the womb, even before your eyes were the color of dark amber, I knew you, and I made a psalm of haunting inside of you, for I am G_D”

A spirit wraps scenes, builds a life around me, takes me to the mountain than whispers see. It could be music, life upon a stanza, still the answer never wants to come to me. Shadows in living puzzles, wonder without breathing, haunting of the light, that knows not sun, nor does it freeze. It can’t be wonder, grace so unexpected, for it seems the expected has been told to me. Would it take me, cause me to see visions, know the place of G_D, the place of one? Can I touch it, psalm of the haunting, lyrical adventure beyond free? Syllables of lonely, well beyond the sunset, changes in the language, a different key. Face to face with tragic, joyful noise and magic, take the ghost of many, and fill my voided sea. And then I will know, what places I should go, inside, not as I would dare project, not introspection of the elect, just a haunting inside of me.

A love that pauses, in a sea of marvel, human oh I’m human, that seems all that’s wrong with me. Are there angels, tell me whirling spirit, are there daemons, that would do as I see? Are there verbs known, predicates of worship, points of the Magen that I haven’t seen? Can I touch it, psalm of the haunting, was it there in Meeker Meadow when a November moon placed hope beyond me? Dialects of wisdom, silence oh how silent, what forms of my knowledge how it fails me, now my Adonai, when you say simply, almost gently, turn around, and see the haunting. See!

A psalm of haunting, better than a knowledge of the tree of evil, or of life what that may be. In the stars around me, six points or whose counting, love of the light, that place of swimming in a timeless sea. Language of children, simple without asking. What is found is placed solely in front of what we always see. And it haunts us so, but in truth when were not told, that’s the space of time, a psalm of haunting makes us free. – 01.14.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

*Psalms 90:2, Jeremiah 5:1, Psalms 10:1

Tides of Light (The Confession)

This is the longest walk I’ve ever known, this path that brings me to a place, where I must atone. Some words have been floating by me tasting the breeze, but for once I’m getting ready to just be me. Some know me for my laughter, others think I have skill, the truth in all this chatter is I’m not honest still. For me to walk the tides of light, and be judged free, I must pull out some thoughts of war that rule over me. A broken man has no place that matters still, for deep inside his shattered life, deception has will. I do not wish confession on an altar pain-built, I’ll make my own admission before G-d at his will.

A word or two of caution for what you would hear, is not sin built on malice of that I am clear, but still I do remember what defines sagacity, a purse full of dollars from dishonesty. I wish there was a map of who I should be, a chart of holy markers defining personality. I regress from my purpose stalling this road to my goal, a few more words about me places few choose to go. For me to walk the tides of light, and be judged free, I must pull out some thoughts of war that rule over me.

I’ve seen the world’s compassion in a short crooked frame, it does not fit the picture of what most doers say. The words of crying darkness roll like sounds from a quake, but weeping doesn’t matter, just the words that I say. You see I stole and borrowed from what was not mine, I took and claimed tomorrow with my love undefined. I went into a kingdom that was not mine to keep, I made those ears that listened follow Balaam’s belief. So there it is in English and I need not say more, the terror that you’ll leave me, makes me walk even more. For me to walk the tides of light, and be judged free, I must pull out some thoughts of war that rule over me.

In a roadway, in a puddle, in a faraway sigh. In a goodness, light left standing, the still on the tide. Here you listen, here you bind me, and my madness does die. In the moment, all around me, I am given, I am human, I am owned in your sight, I am owned in your sight!

For me to walk the tides of light, and be judged free, I must pull out some thoughts of war that rule over me. – 08.22.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Selah


Artwork courtesy of Gitzengirl.blogspot.com

Selah

Do you touch Orion, Hashem do you thread my clothes, do you really take me to the places I hate to go. Is it really thought, Hashem, philosophy or time, have I really given you too much credit in this rhyme? Sometimes weak as ashes, blowing in wild wind, I turn myself for lack of water, I cannot let you in. Is this really a covering, escaping from my life, is the name I call as one, laughing while I try. Who is made in heaven, leader, who is sown in hell, what remains a given reason, why my spirit fails.

Selah

Did you know my chosen heart, you never really fell, I touched you like a perfect love, and kissed your soul as well. Light as cold as darkness, and holes as deep as hell, have passed you from their judgment, when I destined that as well. You are like a feather passed upon my dream, in a place that fire can’t find, I will never leave. Take your place from sacrifice, bleed yourself no more, you ask for reason in sullen grace, I ask for so much more. Pause yourself a moment, breath and say Selah, simple as a twinkling caught, a prayer in double thought.

Selah

Fears and thoughts of afterlife, they make my world turn black, cast my lot with cross and nail, and then it nailed me back. Is this the way you planed it, a sacrifice of war, a starving wound of death and age, a lust that feeds my core. Where is my ride on star field skies that lets me touch your face? Alone I die a strange sharp glass indignant, lost upon this human race. What pause is this you give me, when darkness it moves so fast, is this a place of silent stares lost in a cold caress?

Selah

Quiet, in thought, and touch the air, and pause your thoughts of grief, I did not bring you from my mind to watch your unbelief. What is the time that you have made, that I cannot make more? Stillness is my love for you, I’ve never loved you more. Selah in place of higher air, a place worth far much more. In mortality a light is changed, your shadow leaves the room, fair beyond the space I’ve made, is pause I heal your wound. Selah in land that moves and shakes, in witness it does shine, a pause for what Selah creates, I claim it all as mine!

Selah

2014_07_05 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Bathsheba the Morning After (Pull Me Under)


My wrist uplifted, sliced in light with a blade of dawn, my conscience tender, human filled with defilement from my slumber. The night, the dragons, the fears where daemons cry. My weakness before sunrise, in thoughts, a failure in darkness, the thorns that made love cry. No psalm right now, my creator before me, indigenous shame beneath dry sky. Pull me under, lest I kill me, your judgment before me, these sprites inside me, lost from grace inwardly misplaced. My mind a warrior, my soul a prophet, now ruined in shadows, unreasonable in its passion, my spear inside me. I am pulled under, spinning before your face.

Pull me under, with skin that falters within the moment, in moonlight, Azazel in passion with lips before me, a fire of wonder that marks me blind. In sighs, in minutes my spirit insipid, a man her other, my destiny, forgotten, this light of a new day, another I called out, and by a summoned, a clay filled pact, by that familiar did Uriah stumble and die. Opened now by my eastern window, noise, and divisions in diver’s places, this sorcery unending, ethereal and wicked. By my eye, I have traded compassion to another, in this coldness, I am pulled under, spinning before your face.

Bane of a tempter, that lightning that thrills me, her body in water that judgment controls. Pull me under, that morning might not find me, these covers in kisses of rapture, these whispers of soul. This light how it burns me, and makes my heart quiver, this place by my window, where your flesh has called me wait. A deception, a strange essence I have captured, an infamy now held forever, these acts now behind me, I am pulled under while I awake.

 

David (מַּלְכוּת)
awoke on the first day after the darkness was gone, alone a murderer and an adulterer, separated from the light, all predestined and a part of a strange and balanced plan. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/10/2014

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

 

 

Whispers by autumn (A Prayer of New Days)


Whispers by autumn, they rise and they go, no voices just writing and bearing a witness of the light that raises my soul. Sweet gift of the union, the magic of man, the budding reunion of Torah, a kiss on my forehead and hand. You take and you sing me, like psalms of the heavens, a child’s understanding, a deep heavy rhythm, incredible numbers, the wording, for glory like comfort when sleeping in the seal when you gently pass me by. Adonai-Nissi, a breath worth chanting, a ratable cleansing, a curse or a blessing, the words are written in autumn by my hand.

Whispers by autumn, like shadows of love, your gaze in my fallen hands, suddenly, that critique so old is commanded in shades of sapphire. Scores are summoned, who will understand, impulsivity, the wind of YHWH reeling like thunder in the cortex of my passion. Now my pen dances, and will not harbor what used to be me. You will not judge me like some forlorn spirit disgraced in this electrical fallen age, rather you consider me immortal, and my sin you consider equal in phenomenon to your compassion. My autumn saves me with vespers enchanted, and in my thought I write the wonder of you.

Whispers by autumn, beholden grace in syllables reserved for the nomenclature tangled in the wakes of angels. Sight well hidden now risen, born and elaborated, given to numbers and directions, measuring figuratively by given perspectives this new temple. That building of written psalm that Teit-Vav has considered constructed under autumn sight for me. What was silent, has disappeared, a phrase believed is written living, a word holy, committed deeper than any living memory. Now invade me, cast me to that place of living, and I will praise you in rhyme. Whispers by autumn, they rise and they go, no voices just writing and bearing a witness of the light that raises my soul.דָּנִיֵּאל 03/07/2014

The Rite

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Tonight while the weather’s cold, forget your own body, beholden your soul.  In thrilling moments while change draws near, smile with your last breath, cancel your fears.  Author your foothold on a sheltered claim, challenge, your spirit, determine your pain.

Know in the morning you’re a better man, for owning your birthright and blessing the plan.  Terrible thunder, an omen, a sign, comes now the lightning before we dine.  Treasure the stories from far and near, how the Hebrews held Masada and died in their tears.  How legends tell purpose emboldened by flame the shadows tell stories the lessons the same.

The chalice of forgiveness it comes not in blood, but strength of your wisdom, wealth of your love.  A warrior be willing, a sovereignty you will give, to build your own kingdom, and watch people live.  Your blade is still forging in mystical time, a tool of G_D’s temple, your melody to find.

I bow in your shadow of wisdom you seek, I raise you a builder, the star of the key.  What I was watching, a child at strange play, a builder of esoteric temples, a sorcerer has come to craft the way.  The fortunes of people you hewn from your stone, a temple to YHWH, a gathering home.

We sleep in the forest and wait the dawn, the seal of the starlight, I awake and you are gone.  I dreamed we were together, I warred with strong words, like David before me I sinned against earth.  Your delicate nature I found in the grove, a gathering of angels, in spirits and stones.  You prayed for sweet wisdom, your face how it shown, your destiny living in one alone.

The face of your childhood while vanished stills lives.  Incomparable knowledge born from this man, a branch of forever, scratched in your hand.  In shadows of pine trees we sang where we lay, the rite of your magic is born in this way. – דָּנִיֵּאל 02/24/2014

In The Age of Job

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Dawn will arrive in the second it takes this tear to leave my eye.  A new day, a timid sun, time approaches from a new direction in the sky.  This pause incessant and hungry, will shame me and I will see youth fade and await this portion of fate its phase to die.  Sometimes a thought, perhaps too many times a grimace, and that fool who said he never looks back has born shame in the lie.  The first beam now, reaching and touching, and I excuse it, for I am not immortal.  The day beginning has torched my canvas, my drawing that makes me cry.

Yesterday saw infinity when dreams spilled like treasure, and finality was a storm, that only old men in their isolation weathered.  Excessive implements were engaged, and I laughed, in colorful sound, for there was no real entity termed rain.  My friends they loved me, for they did not consider that they did not see me.  Major notes I did command for in the house of this earthly overture, there was no minor signature there was no discomfort.  A command I knew, a slight magic, and when I experienced that word, on a high place, the sun in judgment blinded me.

What would it take to bring a blind man to his knees?  Where would the words go if YHWH did not remember me?  A dozen stabs from dark sparks, and those friendships falter, those questions go unanswered.  At sunset in barren fields, some ghost cries for her children and will not comfort me if I do not curse my G_D.  Obscurities know my name and they will not speak, for they fear to taste the sounds of the damned.  What is a daybreak, and dusk without sorrow, but still I will not speak, if it is not in prayer.

You do not sleep with your compassion, subtle kindness is not your forte.  You touch in light and tell me forever you have loved me, it is enough to take for what you replaced.  There is no shadow on this mountain, for it has been decreed.  The seasons they prosper, I see it when I run through sunlight you gift to me.  The breeze you command gives birth to me.  This mortal becomes a wind, and in its wake I breathe in beauty, my YHWH, who treasures and judges me.  Dawn will arrive in the second it takes this tear to leave my eye. – DS 02/16/2014

Sapphire

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Here now is my story, of how mystery hid the rain.  A change to sun filled seasons where sin no longer is blamed.  Summons now the old way looking for balance in grace and pain.  A forged myth of creed took my faith, and their messiah judged me when I did not bow in his name.  Sapphire of the wonder, radiant rise that kills the shame.  You render compassion in cobalt lightning, and burn me with your flame.  In blindness I am free, so free!

Sender of complexion, gender of stars, genesis that denies the sacrifice of the lamb, honesty of clear candor, that which needs no gateway to kiss the sapphire, I need no sacrifice, I need no cross to find my way back home.  Glorious light that kisses psalms of my dreams, I feel you, in the confusion of indigo, I sleep in nature of what you sing to me, riding still born on your wings!

Sender of strange possibilities, creator of the blue.  Ezekiel sees wheels of vision, I sense them too.  I am no believer in three in one or mystery, I bow to only sapphire his throne in one in majesty.  The tides of lands are shaking, revealing the seal in the sand.  The Knesset of the people, the holding of the land.  A dimming of a story, like a shadow in the shade, the building of reunion, the scabbard shapes the blade!

I think I dreamed of raptors, with crosses in their teeth.  The noise of fallen horsemen, the cries of disbelief.  A light it fell in Gilead, azure it shined in peace.  The truth of imagined prophecy, the ghost of past did speak.  A world released of Esau and Rome and Christian speak.  Void of revolution the words false prophets seek.  In time there came a chariot, it came across the sky, in its wake a throne was seen of sapphire that never dies. – DS 02/10/2014

“And above the firmament that was over their heads was the likeness of a throne, as the appearance of a sapphire stone; and upon the likeness of the throne was a likeness as the appearance of a man upon it above”.  Ezekiel 1:26