It's a miracle that I can see Her and dream about Her at will, IYH [God willing] no Will and Testament, no eldest son, no inheritances, no worries, no one to kill me. Lovingkindess sticking into Her skin like a broken cupid's arrow, pulled out forcibly with a quick jerk--no blood spurting. Bloodless, painless, imaginary, reality is but a dream. Shining crowns of glory, wearing braids like Challah, peyos dripping from each facial temple, temple adornment, wearing braids to temple every Saturday. Not braiding bread. Breading braids instead. Chomping on bunches of hairs, so thick the braids fill up my hands and dig deeply into the teeth of my comb, swinging down to and fro like medals of honor, long ones with ribbons that were earned after 55 years of war; electrical cords with thousands of tiny wires, wired to an electrocardiogram of your heart.
HASHEM is a God of Peace. War and Peace, the longest novel I have never read. ELOHIM is a God of War. They are two of the same, sometimes warring and sometimes not, don't provoke. Put down your right hand and bend your left elbow into a muscle that pops up like Pop-Tarts from a toaster, roasted. Tefillin on left arm, Her wisdom in my right hand. Right handed Chesed, left handed/left armed, wound up in leather shackles, shackled my arm to your arm, a wedding band made of leather, two in the same, Siamese twins. We will travel cyberspace together in a rocket launched skyward.
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