Question.

Did
God…?

YHWH—
God of covenant.
No.
Only Elohim.
Might.

Humanity had known God
in power, yes—
but also in beauty,
in kindness,
in a nearness that named
and lingered.

The serpent would honor
none of this.
It had felt the force of Almighty
and could conceive only of
wrath. Might. 

Did God
actually…?

A question—
but not the kind that kneels.
Not the kind that learns.
This one leaned sideways,
thinned affection,
set trust adrift.

Did God actually
say…?

YHWH Elohim—
God who binds Himself by word.
Speech that holds.
Promise that does not loosen.
What He said, says, will say,
stands.

You shall not 
(no, not a question at all)
eat from any tree?

Was this what Elohim said?
God of power.
Of limit, of clenched command.
No. No!
But—
perhaps.
Say it again. Slower.
Ask me more;
tell me
more.

Eat from the tree in the center,
and die.
But life is center.
Promise is center.
YHWH Elohim
is center.
And He is
Good.

…tell (a whisper)
me (it already feels forbidden) —
m o r e .

Eyes opened.

Like Power.
Like Might.
Like Rule.

Today, your small obedience bends
beneath something larger.
Pride first.
Wrath reigning.

God chooses himself.
You must choose you.

You are
—always were, will forever be—
meant for
M O R E.

It feels reasonable.
It looks beautiful.

Food—
I want to taste.

Delight—
I want to see.

Wisdom—
I want to know.

More.
More.
M O R E—

than what Elohim has given.

But—
should I?
Will
I?

What does one do with a desire
that feels like truth
before it is tested?