I Wasn’t Supposed to Be There
I got lost.
Not metaphorically—physically. I missed a bus, got turned around, and wandered through the slick cobblestone streets of Jerusalem.
I passed through an arched doorway off-the-beaten-path. Quiet. Almost hidden.
As the pitter patter of Sunday-morning rain turned to a steady drizzle, I took shelter in a limestone clad corridor and hit record.
Midway through, I saw a plaque on the wall and realized where I was standing:
The small Western Wall. The Kotel Katan.
Not the main place people gather.
Something older. Narrower. Less visible. More precious.
That mattered.
The Phrase Returned
Same as before:
If something happens on SUNDAY…
Buy silver on MONDAY…
You’ll understand on TUESDAY…
But this time, it didn’t feel isolated.
It felt… anchored.
The Calendar
This was the first time I understood something I had been building but hadn’t fully seen yet: timing only matters if you’re looking at the right clock—or in this case, the right calendar.
Not the Gregorian calendar.
The Biblical one.
Weekly Shabbat
Monthly New Moon
Seasonal Celebrations
A rhythm that doesn’t move with culture—but with Scripture.
Without that framework, Tuesday was just another day.
With it, it became specific.
The Convergence
This is also when the earlier dreams from 2020 flooded back.
Not abstract.
Not symbolic.
Aligned.
The tree shrinking — a sudden contraction
The axe — going all in on the market (and writing, writing, writing my book)
The double crossed arrows — a market signal turning sharply
The white glowing ball — everything happening at once
Not separate events.
The same moment.
And now, for the first time, the phrase sat inside that framework.
Sunday triggers it.
Monday compresses it.
Tuesday reveals it.
The Instruction
There was something else tied to it—something I had been circling since 2020 but hadn’t acted on fully:
Write. Write. Write.
Right now.
Not casually. Not eventually.
When these things align—write.
The axe wasn’t just action.
It represented an all-in moment with my autobiography as a tangible, written output.
The Weight of Tuesday
Tuesday only matters if you understand the timing.
Not culturally.
Biblically.
Because what looks like an ordinary sequence—three days in a row—becomes something else entirely when placed inside that calendar.
A closing.
A transition.
An edge.
Continue to 2024 →
In 2024, the word would come alive in the most damning way possible while walking on the Smiling Coast in the smallest country in mainland Africa. But first, the understanding of Sunday, Monday, Tuesday would experience another revival during forty days of prayer and fasting.
Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. The pattern repeats—but now it’s anchored to time itself. The dreams, the sequence, the signal—no longer separate. Converging toward a single moment, revealed only if you’re watching the right calendar.
