In the beginning, we stood in the Garden.
Not just once, long ago, but even now, beyond time. Because the stories in the Torah are not merely historical—they are portals into consciousness, blueprints for the structure of the soul, and revelations of Divine intention unfolding within form. When we read that Adam and Eve were created on the sixth day, we are not reading a closed event of the past. We are encountering an eternal reality that still vibrates within us. Adam and Eve were archetypes, soul-roots from which all human consciousness branches. Adam as the active force, Eve as the deep wisdom and receptivity of the soul. Together, they stood in the center of Divine awareness, radiant, awake, and unified with Hashem.
In that Edenic state, their neshamot—Divine souls—rested in a higher world, in Gan Eden, untouched by fragmentation. Their nefesh, the lower soul, still remained integrated and pure, not yet hijacked by ego or disconnection. But then entered the serpent. The Torah describes him as the craftiest of all the beasts of the field—symbolic of the highest form of instinctual intelligence, the apex of unredeemed nefesh-consciousness. He was not evil in the classical sense, but he was separate—detached from source, representing awareness without surrender, knowledge without divine awe. This is the same archetype found in Greek wisdom—sharp, analytical, powerful, but ultimately closed off from the Divine. The serpent approached Eve not with a sword, but with a question. He did not deny God. He planted doubt.
"Did God really say...?"
And then the words that shattered reality: "You shall be as God, knowing good and evil."
Here is the secret, the tragic irony. Eve was already Divine. She was already made in the image of Elohim. She and Adam had been given everything—consciousness, spiritual union, and the very breath of the Infinite. The serpent’s deception was not in promising her godliness, but in making her believe she lacked it. He implanted the illusion of insufficiency, the sense of being separate, not enough, unworthy. This moment—the moment when Eve doubted her own Divine identity—is the root of all exile. Because from that one seed of doubt grew the entire human drama of fragmentation, struggle, shame, and striving.
What if we could go back? Not in time, but in consciousness. What if we could return to the Garden—not by traveling, but by remembering? According to the teachings of Lurianic Kabbalah, and echoed in the language of quantum reality, time is not linear. The sixth day of creation never ended. It is a spiritual state—a standing wave of potentiality in which we are all still inserted. Each soul is a spark of Adam and Eve, reliving that moment of choice in a new configuration, a new body, a new lifetime. The question is always the same: Will we remember who we are, or will we believe the serpent’s voice?
The serpent still lives inside us. Not as a monster, but as a frequency—a voice that emerges from the unrefined nefesh, from the lower self that only sees survival, pride, fear, and craving. He whispers, "You are not enough. You are just an animal. You must become like God by knowing, doing, grasping." But now, we can answer him. We can say: No. I am already Divine. I already contain the breath of Hashem. My neshamah is still in Eden. I have only forgotten. I have only fallen asleep in the illusion of separation.
When we remember our Divine nature, when we reclaim our holy self, the sixth day is redeemed. Because the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge—perhaps they were not two trees at all. Perhaps they were one and the same, and the fruit it bore depended entirely on the consciousness of the eater. When Eve ate in doubt, fear, and desire, she accessed the fruit as duality. The knowledge she gained was fragmented, and it brought death—not because knowledge is bad, but because it was accessed from a place of ego. But if she had eaten with faith, love, and wholeness—perhaps the fruit would have been life itself. This is exactly how the Torah functions. The sages teach that Torah can be an elixir of life or a poison of death. It all depends on the vessel. On the kavanah—the intention—of the one who receives it.
In this light, the story of Eve is not a tragedy. It is an invitation. An open portal of tikkun. Each of us lives out Eve’s decision. Every day, in every moment, we are offered fruit: thoughts, desires, relationships, spiritual paths. We can choose to eat in faith or in fear. We can respond to the serpent’s whisper with Divine certainty or with the illusion of lack. To correct the sixth day is not to go back in time—it is to realign the soul, here and now. It is to remember that we are more than flesh. That we are not beasts of the field. That we are Jacob, not Esau. That we are neshamah wearing a garment of nefesh, not the other way around.
And this, ultimately, is the secret of Mashiach. The gematria of Nachash—serpent—is 358. The same as Mashiach. Because the serpent does not need to be destroyed. He needs to be redeemed. Transformed. Illuminated. The raw power of the nefesh is not evil—it is exiled. When it is brought into alignment with holiness, it becomes the very vehicle of redemption. This is why Mashiach rides a donkey. The beast is no longer wild—it has been harnessed, elevated, and sanctified.
So where do we begin? We begin by remembering. By waking up. By rejecting the serpent’s lie. You do not need to become Divine—you already are. You do not need to reach Eden—you never left. Only your awareness did. And now, you can return. Not to a place, but to a state. To a frequency. To the consciousness of the Garden. In that state, the serpent has no power. In that state, the Tree gives life. In that state, Hashem is One, and His Name is One
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