Song of the Red Stone Cave

In the red stone cave where the echoes sleep,
An old song rises from the canyon deep.
A flute is lifted to the twilight’s ear—
Its trembling breath calls the spirits near.

Beside the player, the wolf stands tall,
Its silver voice answering the musical call.
Two songs woven like threads of night—
One born of earth, one born of light.

The elders say when silence breaks,
And the heart remembers the path it takes,
The flute becomes a river of air,
Carrying prayers to the ones who care.

The wolf, the guardian of shadowed ways,
Sings the truth of forgotten days—
Of moons that guided the hunter’s stride,
Of dreams where ancestors walk beside.

Together they stand where worlds align,
Where mortal breath meets the sacred sign.
The notes swirl up in a mystic fire,
Lifting the soul like a funeral pyre.

Oh traveler, listen—do not fear:
This is the place where the veil grows clear.
Where music mends what time tore through,
And every howl remembers you.

Song of Solomon
Chapter 5

1 I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse: I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk: eat, O friends; drink, yea, drink abundantly, O beloved.

2 I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

3 I have put off my coat; how shall I put it on? I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?

4 My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door, and my bowels were moved for him.

5 I rose up to open to my beloved; and my hands dropped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.

6 I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone: my soul failed when he spake: I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.

7 The watchmen that went about the city found me, they smote me, they wounded me; the keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.

8 I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love.

9 What is thy beloved more than another beloved, O thou fairest among women? what is thy beloved more than another beloved, that thou dost so charge us?

10 My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.

11 His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black as a raven.

12 His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.

13 His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips like lilies, dropping sweet smelling myrrh.

14 His hands are as gold rings set with the beryl: his belly is as bright ivory overlaid with sapphires.

15 His legs are as pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold: his countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.

16 His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.





Song of Solomon
Chapter 6

1 Whither is thy beloved gone, O thou fairest among women? whither is thy beloved turned aside? that we may seek him with thee.

2 My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies.

3 I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine: he feedeth among the lilies.

4 Thou art beautiful, O my love, as Tirzah, comely as Jerusalem, terrible as an army with banners.

5 Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome me: thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from Gilead.

6 Thy teeth are as a flock of sheep which go up from the washing, whereof every one beareth twins, and there is not one barren among them.

7 As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples within thy locks.

8 There are threescore queens, and fourscore concubines, and virgins without number.

9 My dove, my undefiled is but one; she is the only one of her mother, she is the choice one of her that bare her. The daughters saw her, and blessed her; yea, the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.

10 Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners?

11 I went down into the garden of nuts to see the fruits of the valley, and to see whether the vine flourished, and the pomegranates budded.

12 Or ever I was aware, my soul made me like the chariots of Amminadib.

13 Return, return, O Shulamite; return, return, that we may look upon thee. What will ye see in the Shulamite? As it were the company of two armies.

A Diluted Bible is a FALSE Bible Leading to Dystopia
https://slantedright2.blogspot.com/2025/11/a-diluted-bible-is-false-bible-leading.html

SUMMARY: I recently re-watched the Christian Dystopia movie “Disciples in the Moonlight” due to a FaithWire post I read… Disciples in the Moonlight is dystopian because it takes place in an American future in which the Bible is watered down to a message acceptable to Leftist Secular Humanism. … Friends, the installed Biden Administration was slowly guiding America toward this dystopia. YOU can believe any future Dem-Marxist majorities in the U.S. Congress coupled with another Dem-Marxist President, will again begin the “Progressive” move to make Biblical Christianity a felonious crime in America. …MORE TO READ IF CARE ABOUT CHRISTIAN LIBERTY!
#ChristianLiberty

Ecclesiastes
Chapter 12

1 Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them;

2 While the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened, nor the clouds return after the rain:

3 In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened,

4 And the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding is low, and he shall rise up at the voice of the bird, and all the daughters of musick shall be brought low;

5 Also when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way, and the almond tree shall flourish, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail: because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets:

6 Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern.

7 Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.

8 Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher; all is vanity.

9 And moreover, because the preacher was wise, he still taught the people knowledge; yea, he gave good heed, and sought out, and set in order many proverbs.

10 The preacher sought to find out acceptable words: and that which was written was upright, even words of truth.

11 The words of the wise are as goads, and as nails fastened by the masters of assemblies, which are given from one shepherd.

12 And further, by these, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh.

13 Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.

14 For God shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil.

The One Who Speaks with the Moon

She stands alone—
Yet not alone at all.
The moon listens.
The trees lean closer,
The air holds its breath.

Her feathers tremble in quiet devotion.
echoing the wings of something eternal.
She does not ask for light—
She offers reflection.

Her turquoise cloak ripples
like river water under starlight,
marking her as the bridge
between what was and what will be.

When she closes her eyes,
You can almost hear it—
The voice of the moon whispering:
“Daughter, you are the calm
that keeps the world from breaking.”

Artist and narrator: Elvis Becker

Come to Me, When the Forest Sleeps

Come to me,
when the forest no longer breathes,
when the rivers forget their names,
and the wind no longer remembers your song.

Do not fear, my brother of the moonlight,
For my fire still burns
a small flame against the dark,
waiting for your shadow to return.

Lay your head upon my knees.
I will sing you the old songs.
the ones our ancestors wove
from the breath of dawn and the cry of wolves.

No hunter will touch you here.
No sorrow will chase your spirit.
Here, under Grandmother Moon,
You are home again.

Art by Serin Alar

The Super Hunter’s Moon crosses the zenith tonight with the planet Uranus & the Pleiades (M45) in the constellation Taurus; this is the second and closest supermoon of 2025. #SuperHuntersMoon #HuntersMoon #HuntersSupermoon #Supermoon2025 #Supermoon #Moon #Perigee #Zenith #NightSky #Spooky #Astronomy

https://earthsky.org/astronomy-essentials/everything-you-need-to-know-hunters-moon/

Whispers of the Sky and Earth

High above the mountain crest,
Eagle soars where spirits rest.
Eyes of wisdom, vast and wide,
Guiding the people, the river, the tide.

Beneath the moon, in forest deep,
Wolf’s song stirs where shadows sleep.
A call of loyalty, fierce and true,
Binding the tribe like morning dew.

Sky and earth, a sacred thread,
Through eagle’s flight and wolf’s tread.
Together they guard, together they roam,
Two spirits united, one eternal home.

The Woman Who Speaks to the Moon

She stands where silence meets the sky,
draped in the breath of midnight hues.
The water holds her secret shape,
a mirror of what once was true.
Her shawl—woven with the hands of time—
glows faintly like a prayer reborn.
Each thread remembers songs of earth,
each bead, the echo of the dawn.
The moon leans close to hear her heart,
Its silver tears fall on the lake.
Between her and the trembling stars,
the old ones stir, the spirits wake.
She does not speak in mortal tongue,
yet mountains listen when she dreams.
For she is keeper of the still,
and through her, night remembers gleam.
In her shadow, the world grows quiet—
The forest bows, the rivers sigh.
For she is not just a woman standing,
but memory walking through the sky.

Poem and Painting by Elvis Becker

WOMAN OF NIGHTFALL

She stands where the river drinks the moon,
where sky unrolls its trembling green —
a Native daughter carved in quiet,
strong the way still water is strong.

A raven cuts the northern light,
its wings like an old prophecy —
remember, remember,
it seems to say.

She does not kneel before the world,
she listens to it —
to ancestors folded in aurora silk,
to name the wind still pronounces.

Her silence is not absence —
It is a vow held between ribs:
that her people will not fade
while even one woman remains
to face the night
without closing her eyes.

Artist and narrator: Elvis Becker

DAUGHTERS OF THE MOON

They stand beneath the breathing moon —
one older, one still growing —
their faces lifted to the light
as if listening to a song
Only the ancestors can hear.

Feathers sleep inside their braids,
like promises from another time,
while the stars burn low and steady
The way truth always has.

The elder carries the memory —
the younger carries the future —
and between them, in the silent space,
lives every woman
whoever held a nation upright
with nothing but love,
and the unbroken will
to remain.

Artist and narrator: Elvis Becker

Ruth went into the field of Boaz to pick the gleanings after it had been reaped (Ruth 2:3). She sought the leftovers from those reaping, but what she found was so much more - her redeemer himself. Boaz, for Ruth, was a type of Christ; he represented the one who saves us.

Likewise, we should be going out into our Redeemer’s field, not to reap what is left behind, but to bring in His bounty. Jesus informed His disciples, “lift up your eyes and look on the fields, that they are white for harvest” (Jn. 4:35). This He spoke regarding those whose hearts were prepared to receive the gospel, as He continued, “already he who reaps is receiving wages and gathering fruit for life eternal” (Jn. 4:36).

Ruth did not sow, but she received of the harvest, and also received redemption. So too, we who have received redemption should be going out to harvest that which we did not sow (Jn. 4:37-38).

Brethren, are you working to harvest the Lord’s field? Or even to reap the gleanings? If not, why not? Are you ashamed of the gospel? Is it not God’s power for salvation? (Rom. 1:16) Did not God choose “the foolishness of the message preached to save those who believe” (1 Cor. 1:21)?

Let us then, as His workers, work to bring in His harvest as He commanded those who would follow (Mt. 28:18-20).

——————
Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening Devotions

Evening, October 25

"She gleaned in the field after the reapers: and her hap was to light on a part of the field belonging unto Boaz, who was of the kindred of Elimelech." Ruth 2:3

Her hap was. Yes, it seemed nothing but an accident, but how divinely was it overruled! Ruth had gone forth with her mother's blessing, under the care of her mother's God, to humble but honourable toil, and the providence of God was guiding her every step. Little did she know that amid the sheaves she would find a husband, that he should make her the joint owner of all those broad acres, and that she a poor foreigner should become one of the progenitors of the great Messiah. God is very good to those who trust in Him, and often surprises them with unlooked for blessings. Little do we know what may happen to us tomorrow, but this sweet fact may cheer us, that no good thing shall be withheld. Chance is banished from the faith of Christians, for they see the hand of God in everything. The trivial events of today or tomorrow may involve consequences of the highest importance. O Lord, deal as graciously with Thy servants as Thou didst with Ruth.

How blessed would it be, if, in wandering in the field of meditation tonight, our hap should be to light upon the place where our next Kinsman will reveal Himself to us! O Spirit of God, guide us to Him. We would sooner glean in His field than bear away the whole harvest from any other. O for the footsteps of His flock, which may conduct us to the green pastures where He dwells! This is a weary world when Jesus is away- we could better do without sun and moon that without Him- but how divinely fair all things become in the glory of His presence! Our souls know the virtue which dwells in Jesus, and can never be content without Him. We will wait in prayer this night until our hap shall be to light on a part of the field belonging to Jesus wherein He will manifest Himself to us.

READ GENESIS. NO ONE IS GOING TO THE MOON, WAKE UP.

Sisters of the Snow Moon

(A Song for the Ones Who Walk Together)

We walk beneath the silver moon,
Three hearts, one silent tune.
The snow may fall, the wind may cry,
But never alone do we walk the sky.

Our braids are woven with whispered prayers,
Feathers gifted from midnight airs.
We carry the stories of women before,
Their footsteps echo on frozen shore.

When one of us falters, the others stand tall—
A circle unbroken, we rise through it all.
When sorrow weighs heavy, and words fall apart,
A sister will hold you, heart to heart.

Not born of blood, but born of soul,
We gather each other and make each one whole.
In laughter, in tears, in the stillness between,
We are the light that the cold cannot screen.

And when the long night asks who we are—
We answer in song, like the northern star.
“We are the ones who do not flee,
For love walks stronger when it walks in three

Art by Serin Alar

Feathers of the Dawn

She stands where silence breathes,
wrapped in the colors of the sky—
a cloak woven with memories
of rivers, winds, and whispered prayers.

Feathers drift around her
like thoughts of those who came before,
each one carrying a message—
“Walk gently, daughter of the sun.”

The moon behind her
glows not with distance,
but with remembrance—
It has seen her soul in another lifetime,
dancing between stars and earth.

She does not speak.
Her stillness is a song,
her gaze, a bridge between worlds.

Even the wind pauses,
bowing to the quiet strength
of a spirit that remembers who it is.

Artist and the storyteller: Elvis Becker

Under the Mother Moon

The night hums with the song of beginnings,
soft as the heartbeat beneath the stars.
Life returns to life,
a circle unbroken, eternal in its grace.

The Great Spirit breathes through her silence,
and the wind carries her prayer of love.
In her arms rests tomorrow—
fragile, sacred, whole.

From her strength, the world remembers,
that gentleness is the oldest power,
and love—
The first language ever spoken.

The demons ALWAYS tell us in their "movies" and "books" what they are and have been doing to We The People. Thank you, Tom.

KNOTS LANDING...A "BLAST" FROM THE PAST... MORE THAN YOU KNOW
A "MODEL COMMUNITY" WHERE THE NEIGHBORS PRUNE THEIR ROSES ABOVE GROUND, BUT THE EVIL SCIENTISTS STRUT THEIR STUFF UNDERGROUND.......!!!!

https://tommoonclutch.substack.com/p/knots-landinga-blast-from-the-past

Where the Water Remembers

She listens to the songs beneath the surface,
where time moves slower than breath.
Each ripple carries a story home,
each petal drifts with the weight of prayer.

The moon speaks in circles,
teaching her that endings are beginnings in disguise.
She does not ask for answers—
She becomes the stillness that holds them.

In the quiet between heartbeats,
the river knows her name,
and the night opens—
like memory returning to its source.

Another thing, Look at the back of an Apple Phone.....REMEMBER the demons ALWAYS play show and tell.....
Thank you Tom, a great article.

APPLE HEADQUARTERS REPRESENTS GIANT DEATH OF THE OVARY...???
https://tommoonclutch.substack.com/p/apple-headquarters-represents-giant?publication_id=2233690&post_id=175195882&isFreemail=true&r=1maoyr&triedRedirect=true&utm_source=substack&utm_medium=email

Walking Toward the Moon

She walks on snow-soft earth,
wrapped in songs of ancestors,
her steps echo like prayers,
her silence heavy with longing.

The moon waits in stillness,
a guardian of hidden hearts,
Its light touches her spirit,
like a hand across generations.

She carries stories untold,
woven with rivers and winds,
dreams of comfort and kin,
rising with every breath.

“O moon, hear my soul,”
she whispers through the night,
“Be the one who listens,
when the earth grows quiet.”

Serin Alar

Daughter of the Moon

She speaks in whispers the stars can hear,
where silence folds around her breath.
The night listens—not to words,
but to the truth that lives between them.

Her heart is an old drum,
beating with the rhythm of forgotten prayers.
She gathers the echoes of lost voices
and turns them into light.

The earth remembers her footsteps,
The sky carries her song.
For she walks not to reach a place—
But to remind the world it still has a soul.

Feathers of the Moon

The night teaches silence,
and in that silence,
a thousand voices rise.

Feathers drift like prayers,
carrying the weight of remembrance,
yet falling as lightly as hope.

The moon gathers them all,
each a heartbeat of the ancestors,
each a promise that nothing is lost
when carried by spirit.

Between breath and stillness,
we learn the oldest truth:
that every step of the people
is lifted by wings unseen,
guiding us back to the circle of light.

Psalms
Chapter 148

1 Praise ye the LORD. Praise ye the LORD from the heavens: praise him in the heights.

2 Praise ye him, all his angels: praise ye him, all his hosts.

3 Praise ye him, sun and moon: praise him, all ye stars of light.

4 Praise him, ye heavens of heavens, and ye waters that be above the heavens.

5 Let them praise the name of the LORD: for he commanded, and they were created.

6 He hath also stablished them for ever and ever: he hath made a decree which shall not pass.

7 Praise the LORD from the earth, ye dragons, and all deeps:

8 Fire, and hail; snow, and vapour; stormy wind fulfilling his word:

9 Mountains, and all hills; fruitful trees, and all cedars:

10 Beasts, and all cattle; creeping things, and flying fowl:

11 Kings of the earth, and all people; princes, and all judges of the earth:

12 Both young men, and maidens; old men, and children:

13 Let them praise the name of the LORD: for his name alone is excellent; his glory is above the earth and heaven.

14 He also exalteth the horn of his people, the praise of all his saints; even of the children of Israel, a people near unto him. Praise ye the LORD.

Under the Moon of Her Heart

In shades of blue, where silence sings,
A mother folds the world in wings.
Her child sleeps close, the stars align—
Two spirits bound in breath divine.

The moon behind, a sacred flame,
Recalls the place from which they came.
The blanket hums in a woven tone,
Of prayers the ancestors have sewn.

Her braid—a river, calm and deep,
Carries songs the elders keep.
And in her arms, the earth is whole—
A sacred drum, a beating soul.