#sabbath
On the Sabbath God Sabbath
The command to rest a shadow
A cessation of earthly works
Today, as Everyday, is Sabbath
A return to Eden: Adam restored
For the Sabbath was made for Adam
And the Son of Adam the Gardener
Sabbath is the work in Eden
So we too on Sabbath, Sabbath
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 1:42 AM UTC
Walking on air in surreal lightness
Light ordinary but strangely bright
Sight, all detailed and instantaneous
Breath, aromatic and flavourful
The constant Presence present
An affirmation, certainty more certain
And on waters you shall walk
And mountains heed your voice
And all beasts find rest in you
In reverence to the Son of Man
The Lord of the Sabbath in his place
Nov 28, 2025
Nov 28, 2025 at 9:48 AM UTC
Today, I'm taking a day of rest
The first in a long time
Life on aeroplane mode
Picnic in a park
Walking with my Maker
No agenda
Just pleasure
Or at least, that was the intention.
Life on city mode
Festival in a park
Walking through fiestas
Constant clamour
Pierced pleasure
Aug 8, 2025
Aug 8, 2025 at 2:23 AM UTC
Sabbath Rest
An oasis in the wilderness.
Mar 8, 2025
Mar 8, 2025 at 3:40 PM UTC
Sabbath 7:31am Jan 11, 2025
<•>
For later, forecast proclaims:
snow showers for much of the day,
but in our temperate clime, rarely
do we get inches or feats of accumulation,
but it will be chill enough to turn my
heavy duty “Icer” navy coat to its
whiteout version, where the flakes
individually attach themselves to
to fat fabric for self-preservation,
displaying their distinct DNA patterns of intricate crystallization artwork on a
gallery of me…
assuredly, some will attach to eyelashes
and extruded tongue, perhaps inhaled,
in nostril and open mouth, as I employ
all my senses to retain, retrain, my brain,
to walk alongside a saltwater estuary that
welcomes every flake as a long lost son and
daughter, who has returned from its prodigal global journey around the world, to melt back into a mother’s currents embrace, returning
home to my patch of briefly occupied spatial, white palatial existence
I anticipate the taste of snow to be a
multi~flavored cone, souvenirs, accrued
while globe trotting, with hints ofAsian
spices, on a riverbed of Italian red
peppery tomato sauce, the crusty
spicy fabric of the fried chickpeas of the Middle East, the cilantro stinging of Latin continents,and pretend that my nature
wetted cheeks are so because I cry & walk alone, sadness flavored, wishing I could partake of this snowy journey repast, with you by my side, for how much better would this global travelled whirlpool repast of white ice and scented airs, tastes if it could be joyfully shared
but I am by myself,
sensibly refused companionship
by others, and my
voyaged meditation now,
well ended,
well recall,
Whitman’s Song of Myself (1) conclusion:
“**You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self**”
join me?
Jan 11, 2025
Jan 11, 2025 at 10:57 AM UTC
Circling Earth circling Sun
Circling Moon circling Earth
Days cycling within Months
Months cycling within Years
Wheel within wheel within wheel
Sphere within sphere within sphere
And a day is a day in every sphere
Their shadows of which on Earth
As Days, Months, and, Years
Life's inescapable rhythm ingrained
In Man, Beasts, Bugs, and Herbs
But only in Man do we count
In joy and sorrow we feel it passed
Fearful and hopeful all in ignorance
For Time's beyond Man's wisdom
Though they speak, a threefold echo
Each revealing, each foreshadowing
For on Earth as it is in Heaven
Yet Wonderful as it is, it shall pass
We know, for all Earth's given a Sign
A count, an unnatural cycle of Sevens
Of Seven Days, Months, and Years
The Seventh of Each, is a Rest
An Eternal Rest, An Everlasting Peace
Pondering What is Time, the Master of Time
Pointed to the Sabbath, and Ezekiel's Wheels
Sep 1, 2024
Sep 1, 2024 at 11:17 PM UTC
In the room, silence
rustles, as if creation --
is now beginning.
Jul 15, 2024
Jul 15, 2024 at 3:35 AM UTC
It's quiet inside,
mother is in the palace --
of her devotions.
Jul 15, 2024
Jul 15, 2024 at 3:33 AM UTC
Looming here since forever,
Death now seems much closer.
Guzzling oil hovering over,
End has struck the hour.
In the cockpit, the air is stinking,
Reminder of an unwashed mind.
Trick or treat with enemy calling,
Killing their unsuspecting selves.
Oh Satan!
Wretched enemies of humanity,
They unleashed the zombie army.
Why don't they go out to fight?
Left that role to the zombies, yeah.
Father Time will settle scores,
For this Father is a log keeper.
Exploiting civilians for gains they do,
Taking them just as junk in the room.
Wait till they all revolt, yeah!
When in darkness, put on the lights,
Shadow play from childhood calling.
Dropping explosive **** these birds,
Hand of Doom has struck the hour.
Night of Finale, Satan waiting,
Hide deeper, the nukes come calling.
Burning homes, factories & inns,
Satan shying, wraps His wings
Oh Satan!
Jul 23, 2022
Jul 23, 2022 at 9:27 AM UTC
Today is the third Day
Even as everyday is Sabbath
When the Son rose, the world
received the promised Ghost
First of firstfruit blessed
day after the Seven
when it was still dark
And the kingdom came
day after Seven Sevens
yet hidden to this day
For a week, Israel wandered
For a week, bread is unleavened
Evening of the Seventh approaches, fast
But time shall divide, till not one is lost
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 4:12 AM UTC
Art is the signature of man,
wombed and un;
the creature or construct of time and chance, which
thinks and uses things to make things, ****
Okeh, mere glance away, we see
two yellow feathered birds, in a bush, but
the body of each, surely delicate,
creature, is not
all yellow, even the yellow
part is graded,
more or less yellow where it fades
in to white, or nearly white, which fades to fully
grey, graying gradually to black,
but seen, closer than Audubon could,
though he did
imagine, who could help? who could stop
seeing how deep the beauty of almost, almost, almost
perfection of graduated choruses of color
shades life at every level?
GK Chesterton appeared in my feed today, as he has done
in yourn, ye'll note, on this line.
I happened to have heard of him, so I listened and he said:
Art is the signature of man, and…
I felt the tug, not the hook, the net, is closing
as the fishing forces draw us closer.
Mere reality.
Signature effect after exposure to one's own kind.
Swans are never merely black and white,
no line, in living things, is sharp,
merely graded to reflect in
angles as waves,
from distant shores revolving spirals in spirals,
seen from the surface as
as near perfect circles pulsing from many suns.
Nothing more than this, nothing less than that
mere perfection,
in these little, grey birds, now, outside my window,
far from the maddened crowd,
I thank goodness you may freely call a name,
the goodness is the same.
I thank the cause of time and chance that I may
watch the dance as if this is my task,
my reason to exist, the act
of my being merely real.
Mere, as a word deserves, as a friend de-
serves, and becomes familiar,
a friend that sticks closer than a brother, in a word;
mere serves no man,
mere is free to mean more than idle minds insist when
calling any word or man or living thing, mere.
Pure is mere's sister. Wisdom is wit's mom.
Mere reality, if we agree,
in realms of only words, mere feathers on thoughts,
form fins we fly with to escape the net,
and see,
this is life, at the edge of all that was, it fades into ever
ever after, as the breezes draw bats back to their
cave,
already to be as any bat is in the daytime,
as the world turns…
yes, child. The world turns,
and winds return, long-I, short-I, wound around
a reason, winding threads from
a merest of whys, wist ye not?
Grave decisions, are cuts. Cessions in skins,
letting go the tie that binds
this thread to that,
this point to that,
ripping tides,
mere reality.
Minds wander, much as winds and rivers, meander.
Art is the signature of man, wombed and un;
the creature or construct of time and chance, which
thinks and uses things to make things, ****
This is that, man as we agree we are, as a species,
a kind, like no other kind;
a kind, with whom we procreate and imagine
mmm who
are you, if you are not me, at the moment hearing an
insistent bird, seeming to wish
my attention, then at the mention, it flies,
I think I felt it laugh, like
Maijalookmaimaijalook.
Sapience, mindfulness, sense, to the degree
given birds in my mind,
save in a formation of birds, like starlings or geese,
each bird flits or swoops or soars
at will, on whims not pushed,
nor pulled by winds, but
lifted, it appears by will of the bird, not the wisp.
Whisper hearer, hearing me, have we any wool,
have we gathered, since the summer, all the holly held?
Shall we sit and twist it into thread and take
a sabbath's journey
sitting in the shade
of this great rock our home sits upon? If we agree
we may,. any may, any one, may
imagine might-as-well- be tales to sweep away lies left to seem
as true any tale a crow can tell,
when she's in the mood.
Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 2:27 PM UTC
Black Sabbath baptist
Sings heavy metal gospel
Every Sunday morn
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 9:34 PM UTC
A foolish people has forgotten my light
I said , " Here is the Way, but they would not.
I said, "Pray for the Sabbath, but they would not
I said , "Do as I do, but they would not.
I said "There remains a Sabbath for my people, but they would not .
Therefore their peace and their faith is taken away from them and they will walk in darkness until they acknowledge me
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 11:46 AM UTC
Eat the meek,
My favourite feast.
Feeding on the fear.
I play my silent symphony,
One youll never hear.
Warping your reality,
Ive known many of your kind.
Leach into your sanity,
And seep into your mind.
Slip and slide into the night,
The darkness is my lair.
I serve my lord and master,
His one and only heir.
Dream demon
Nothings what it seems.
Dream demon
On deaf ears fall your screams.
Dream demon
Theres sickness in my stare.
Dream demon
In the darkness, in the air.
Hear me whisper in your ear.
Thoughts are getting dark,
Mind no longer clear.
My roots will penetrate your soul.
My parasite is hungry,
And begins to take control.
Oh, you fight hard to get free.
Your just a thought inside your head,
Your body belongs to me.
Dream demon
Nothings what it seems.
Dream demon
On deaf ears fall your screams.
Dream demon
Theres sickness in my stare.
Dream demon
In the darkness, in the air.
As the lesions fester your skin,
Teeth fall out and eyes grow dim.
Mind is frail and bones grow weak.
No one heeds the help you seek.
No one no one anywhere.
No one here is left to care.
Feb 28, 2020
Feb 28, 2020 at 8:51 PM UTC
Rest is Reprieve
from the burdensome curse of futile toils
Rest is Restoration
of the perfection of life freshly bloomed
Rest is Return
from Edenic exile to its fullness of beauty
Rest is Remembrance
of Seven, an artefact of Mind
a Mystery and a Measure of Time
Rest is Today
for as long as its Today
until the Eighth Day dawns.
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 8:30 AM UTC
Every Seventh is a Rest.
The Day after the Seventh Sevens, a Renewal.
These are the Sevens of Days and Years,
Of Time marked by the Sun and Earth.
The Sevens of Moons is a Recursion
Every Seventh, a Seven, and is Half a Time,
The Fullness thereof, a Twelve.
And every Seventh, a Sacrifice.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 2:16 AM UTC
Palm Sunday is upon us,
Christ's triumphant arrival,
A week before his death,
With no chance of survival,
Jesus died to save mankind,
On that Easter day,
Risen on the sabbath,
Risen from where he lay,
Doesn't look like mankind cares,
For what he did on that day,
With all the wars that's warring,
The world's in disarray.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
allowing to
be pulled
flesh from bone
bone from soul
flesh being selfish
flesh being
eaten up
by God
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC