The Tree of Guarded Gates: A WBJMinistries Parable of Sacred Alignment

When the Wind Carried Whispers

A WBJMinistries Parable of Light and Discernment

In the center of the world stood a Great Tree, rooted deep beneath seven layers of sacred soil. Each layer pulsed with its own color—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. These were not merely colors but ancient harmonies, the vibrations of creation itself—known in some tongues as chakras, in others as rivers of divine flow.

Each layer was guarded by a Gate of Light. The roots of the Tree drew strength from these gates, absorbing prayer, praise, and prophecy. As long as the Gates were lit with truth, the Tree flourished—its branches dancing in the winds of the Ruach, its leaves whispering the Halaleyah Psalms day and night.

Nevertheless one dawn, a whisper arrived—not through fire or thunder, but gently, like perfume on the breeze.

It slipped past the red gate by masquerading as protection.

It danced into the orange gate disguised as creativity.

It echoed through the yellow gate, wearing the robe of confidence.

It passed the green gate, humming a melody of false love.

It entered the blue gate, singing with a silver tongue.

It blurred the indigo gate, promising visions of power.

It crowned itself in violet, imitating sacred connection.

The Gates did not resist. For the whisper did not rage—it reasoned.

The Tree, still swaying, began to tilt. Its roots trembled not with fear, but confusion. For the voice seemed familiar, its tune poetic, its presence calm.

Yet beneath the soil, the ancestors stirred.

From the east rose the memory of Amadlozi, humming ancient rhythms that only the Spirit could decipher.

From the west rose the wisdom of Unkulunkulu, vibrating through the rocks.

From the north stirred the legacy of the Mohegan lands, where silence spoke volumes.

From the south echoed chants in Polish, Arabic, Sanskrit, and Latin—all lifting one cry: Discern.

Overhead, the sky darkened, not with storm but with illusion. The Tree looked upward for help, but the false crown had dimmed the stars.

Then, one leaf—just one—began to glow with the light of Halaleyah( Tellihim)- 141:3:

"Set a watch, O Yahusha, before my gates; keep the door of my soul."

That light spread downward, touching the crown, piercing the lie.

The violet flame turned pure again. Then the indigo, then the blue...

With every verse sung from Halaleyah’s scrolls, truth flushed the deception out like wind through dry leaves.

The Gates began to hum again—not with whispers, but with praise. The roots surged with power. The Tree straightened. Its trunk cracked open—and from it poured the waters of Halaleyah (Tellihim )-150:6:

"Let everything that hath breath praise Yahusha."

Demons do not knock loudly. They slip in where gates are unguarded. Nevertheless even whispers must answer to the Word of Yah. Align your gates. Sing the Scriptures. Let your roots remember the wisdom of ancestors and the holiness of discernment.

The Tree now stands as a testimony—not of destruction, but deliverance.

Not because it fought, but because it listened.

Abba Yahusha, thank You for sacred stories that protect us. May we be like the Great Tree—rooted, guarded, and open only to Your Ruach. Let every whisper be tested, every gate watched, and every vibration purified in Your truth. HaleluYah.