Aaron’s rod— his tongue— is analogous to the garden serpent nestled within the Tree of Life: Nehushtan is a metaphor for the living Vine that graces the tree's branches. In the days of Pharaoh, the Father, as blacksmith, took the brass record of man into his hands and hammered out the fiery serpent men later called Nehushtan. By the wounds, the slights, we impose upon the Father's works we are healed; for he doubles down, refashioning them as new expressions that we must accommodate.

Nehushtan expresses old truths in new ways, and its impact can be misleading. Standing in its stead in our day, the rod of Aaron's  tongue blossoms anew, and that with which we have long been familiar shows what is apparently new life through strange words. But that life is not new, and the words cannot fit into time. Nehushtan signifies a new phase of that with which we have been familiar, all along. There is nothing new under the sun..

The tongue of Nehushtan enabled Aharon to weave together spiritual concepts with hidden nuances whose spontaneity dwarfed the incantations intoned by the crafty tongues of the Egyptian elite, drowning them out their every assertion. The Hebrew brothers stood before Pharaoh, empowered by the ring of Adam’s voice, allowing them to tap into forgotten dimensions of a most ancient tongue. By the grace of HaShem, they unearthed old thoughts by projecting them upon new horizons. The struggling Egyptians persisted in sifting through traditional understandings with mixed success, stirring the ashes of past usage, searching for relevance.

Aharon's words came from the revival of Adamic understandings. The brothers spoke of HaShem in the light of Adam Kadmon, the Projection of Adam, the first recipient of the holy Breath. That Breath transformed his speech, with the consequence that the rudimentary symbols of mankind derived from the observation of Earth became sigils emblematic of the mysteries of Heaven. The illustrations shared around campfires were proven to be reflections of starlight.

Among many other names, Sinaitic Hebrew is also known as the Proto-Canaanite language and as Ancient Arabic and Greek. In our day, it is called Paleo, which is the name I’ll be using in this series of documents. The difference between secular Phoenician and biblical Paleo is a matter of scale. Destroying the illusion of literalism by its disciplines, the alphanumeric of Biblical Paleo provides focus and commentary on the core discussion that cannot be contained in a single word or a simple phrase. The numerical value of the emblems within an word form acts as a checksum to validate an expression's many oracular interpretations: each computation proving itself by its imagery.

All things vibrate. All things are in flux. Were we to succeed in stilling the vibratory aspects of our lives, we would soon be dead, or as dead. Were we, persistently, to linger in such scooped-out irrelevance, we would become odd ogres, like Goliath, whose oversized parts somehow failed to equal a human whole. It is error to believe that the core of our nature is contrary to the will of HaShem. We are not larger-than-life statues. We are men.

We were not created for the purpose of divine entertainment. We are not wayward rebels that shock the hand that formed us. Were we failures and rejects, then so is our Creator; for we are made in his likeness. Can it rightly be said that we have power to interfere with the ways of HaShem and besmirch his Name? That our wills are stronger that his? Have we not, rather, misunderstood the Creator's purpose and intent, even as it is written, "HaShem speaks once; yes, twice; and man doesn't comprehend what is being said?"

Rest and peace will not come by ending duality. To the contrary, Shabbat comes by accepting an increase in our rate of vibration within duality, so that an economy of motion is established as our spirits return to alignment with the cadence of HaShem. We are to make a joyful noise as we progress in the footsteps of messiah, sharing the walk that will never end.

Rather than terminating the back-and-forth that permeates our experience here on Earth, is it not more sensible to discover the purpose and effect of the vibrations with which we are entrusted? Were we to murder the dragon within our hearts, its blood would testify against us as we feign innocence before the throne of judgment. If we could tame the dragon within, however, its breath will bring warmth to our cold hearts; and we will no longer practice hate born of spiritual poverty upon those we love.

Were we to stiffen our spines with an urgency to cease all activity— including all thought, all sensation, all aspiration, all reminiscence, and everything else we manage to recognize within our lives— could we just stop and turn ourselves around, we might then achieve a mannequin-like stillness, a posturing nirvana, a strictly enforced quiescence.

Supposing were desirable or, even, possible, it's not at all clear that we would be satisfied by such a state of being. The evidence of our experience speaks against it. We would suffocate in the dead air of once-in-a-lifetime-or-series-of-lifetimes enlightenment. A lightning-strike of Truth would leave us dumb-struck in a subsistence that would achieve no more than to give our slavery to the status-quo a new look. We would be wraiths that escaped the wringer only because we became too unsubstantial to be affected by the torque of its rollers