The Potion of Death In My Coffee Cup

🔥 “THE POTION OF DEATH IN MY COFFEE CUP” — a poem on Baal HaSulam’s warning 🔥

I wake each morning thinking I’m fine,

But poison drips from this heart of mine.

I open a sefer, pretend I’m clean—

Yet every thought screams, “What’s in it for me?” unseen.

Baal HaSulam shouts through the page with fire,

“Your exile drags on because of your own desire!”

Not Rome, not Babylon, not some king’s decree—

It’s my damn craving for honor that chains all of me.

I study, I pray, I smile at the friends,

But inside I’m calculating dividends.

The Torah in my hands is supposed to give life—

Yet mis-aimed, it cuts me open like a knife.

He says there’s an oath written in heaven’s air,

That mercy won’t rise till my heart learns to care.

Not for reward, not for comfort or gain,

But just to give Him pleasure—through joy or pain.

I sip my morning coffee like it’s holy ground,

But it burns like death when ego is crowned.

For the Torah becomes poison, the sages all say,

When I twist it to shine on me in some hidden way.

I slam the cabinet when the filter is stuck,

Cursing the world for my lack of luck.

Yet in that moment the Zohar screams, “See?

Even now you’re demanding the world serve thee!”

I scroll through my phone while pretending to yearn,

Waiting for someone to praise my concern—

But Baal HaSulam whispers, “Son, don’t you know?

This is exactly how souls stay stuck below.”

Lo Lishma is the exile lingering in my bones,

The reason the world cries in unheard tones.

Every cheap desire I refuse to release

Delays the coming of love, delays universal peace.

And when I treat Torah like a vending machine,

Hoping for comfort, for calm, to stay clean,

It bitterly flips into potion of death—

Robbing my heart of spirit, my lungs of breath.

But Lishma—oh God—when a man rarely ascends,

When his chest breaks open for the sake of his friends,

Then suddenly mercy wakes like a lion from sleep,

And the exile cracks open from our cries so deep.

So here I am naked, Creator—no lies.

No angel in me, no holy disguise.

Just a man with an ego sharp as a blade,

Begging You to love the heart You made.

Teach me to study for Your delight,

To pray for the ten in the dead of night,

To breathe for the world and not for my skin,

And to die to myself so the Light can begin.

Until then I walk with trembling breath,

For Torah mis-aimed is a potion of death.

But aimed at You—Lishma, pure and bright—

It resurrects my corpse and floods me with Light.

🔥 “The Middle Line Cuts Me Open”  🔥

I wake each morning torn in two,

One side says rise, the other says you’ll never break through.

The right whispers, “Brother, the Creator is always right,”

The left hisses, “Look at your failures—you lost the fight.”

I sip my coffee, feel the burn in my chest,

Right line says, Thank Him, left line says, you’re a mess.

I drop the mug; it shatters like my fragile belief,

Right says, “This too is Providence,” left says, “your life is grief.”

I drive to work and someone cuts me off on the street,

Right says, embrace him, left screams, destroy the cheat!

I choke down the venom boiling inside,

Right says, “Annul,” left says, “open wide.”

I enter the Ten and see their faces glowing bright,

Right says, love them, left says, pick one to fight.

Right tells me, “The Creator is perfect; justify Him now,”

Left says, “You’re broken—tell Him to show you how.”

I read Baal HaSulam: Clean and righteous do not kill,

Right says, “Accept above reason,” left says, “you never will.”

Right tells me, “A judge sees only what stands in his sight,”

Left tells me, “Then look at yourself—you are not alright.”

Rabash stabs deeper: “Take the two lines and unite,”

Right says, go faith, left says, see your plight.

How do I hold peace when both scream in my ear?

Right says, “It’s love,” left says, “you should fear.”

The battle bleeds out into daily things I do—

In the grocery line, in traffic, in words I choose.

Right says, “Smile,” left says, “they don’t deserve your grin,”

Right says, “Bestow,” left says, “protect your skin.”

I drop to my knees when no one’s around to see,

Right says, “He’s with you,” left says, “you’ll never be free.”

I cry like a child who lost all he had,

Right says, “This is birth,” left says, “you’re just sad.”

But then—

In the smallest crack between the screams and the doubt,

A whisper breaks through the war inside, and it shouts:

The middle line is forged from both blood and grace,

A peace carved by fire in the darkest place.

Right says, “Cling to Him,” left says, “feel your lack,”

The middle line says, “Brother, hold both—don’t turn back.”

Right says, “He is good,” left says, “you’re wrecked and flawed,”

The middle says, “With both truths you finally walk toward God.”

The middle line is the prayer you choke through your tears,

When the Creator feels close and far in the same trembling breath of fear.

It is the heart ripped open but still choosing to mend—

The path where suffering kisses faith and calls it friend.

So here I stand—right arm in heaven, left arm in hell,

Trying to balance what no human tongue can tell.

Right says, “You’re His son,” left says, “you should hide,”

The middle line says, “Walk straight—He’s at your side.”

And if tomorrow the flood of water rises again,

If the doubts drown reason, and the storms cut through men—

I’ll take both lines, bind them tight, hold the pain as my guide,

For only a torn heart can let the Creator inside.

Version 2 a poem from Psalms 3

PSALM 3 — The Savage Version

I wake to a war that never lets go,

Enemies rising inside me like a tidal undertow.

They whisper, “You’re nothing, you’ll never ascend,”

Poisoning my faith from beginning to end.

They shout, “Your Creator won’t bother to save!”

As they drag my heart toward its own grave.

These voices aren’t strangers—they live in my chest,

Ego-born demons denying me rest.

But You, Creator, are the shield I can’t see,

Lifting my broken head back toward Thee.

Your light cuts through the filth on my skin,

Burning the falsehoods I buried within.

I fall into sleep surrounded by fear,

But You pull me up when dawn draws near.

For every breath I take is not truly mine,

It flows from Your heart through the love of the Nine.

Ten thousand thoughts try to tear me apart,

But they shatter like glass on the stone of the heart.

When I lean on my brothers and drop all pretense,

Your salvation floods in and knocks down the fence.

Creator, smash the teeth of the serpent I feed,

Break the illusion stitched from my greed.

Strip off my armor, expose every flaw,

I’m begging You, tear the lie from its jaw.

For salvation is Yours—it can’t be claimed,

Only revealed when the ego is tamed.

Bless the Ten with a love the world can’t ignore,

Where “I” disappears and “WE” becomes more.

poem from Psalms 3

**PSALM 3 **

My enemies rise like storms in the night,

Whispering lies to choke out the Light.

They say, “Your salvation will never appear,”

Trying to plant their venomous fear.

But You, my Creator, are my shield in the fight,

You lift up my head and restore inner sight.

I cry out in darkness, You answer in flame,

Burning my doubts, exposing my shame.

I lay down surrounded by shadows so deep,

Yet somehow I breathe… somehow I sleep.

For You hold my heartbeat inside Your hand,

And raise me again with a silent command.

Ten thousand voices rise against me to scream,

But their noise dissolves like a half-dead dream.

For when I'm with my brothers, heart next to heart,

Their unity tears all illusions apart.

Creator, break the teeth of the lies in my mind,

Crush the illusions that keep me blind.

Rip out the ego that hisses inside,

The serpent that never stops selling its pride.

Salvation is Yours—never bought, never earned,

Only revealed when the vessel is burned.

And the blessing descends on the Ten’s open door,

Where “I” disappears, and love becomes more.

Prayer Without Pride

I crawl to You, Creator, stripped of every lie,

My ego claws for credit, begging You to glorify.

It howls inside my chest, demanding “Look at me!”

But I beg You—kill that beast so only love can be.

I’m tired of my prayers that stink of selfish gain,

They’re soaked in hidden motives, dipped in secret shame.

I want to cry for friends, not for the throne I crave,

Burn every trace of honor—leave nothing left to save.

Let every word I utter tear the ego from my throat,

Let my heart be just a vessel—not a king, not a boat.

No comfort, no reward, no sweet illusion’s light,

Just faith above all reason as I bleed for what is right.

I want a prayer of fire, not this hollow, begging plea,

A cry that lifts my brothers—never glorifies me.

So smash the pride inside me till I’m dust upon the floor,

And let the Ten be everything… I don't exist anymore.

Creator, take my intention—crush it, bend it, make it true,

Let my prayer be pure bestowal, flowing only back to You.

No honor, no illusion, nothing selfish left to bear—

Just friends inside my heartbeat… and Your love in every prayer.

---

🔥 The Story of My Life  🔥

I have been asked to tell you a story of my life,
It's filled with horror and fear and strife.
I am not sure it's the story to you I wish to send,
But it is what it is, so let's begin.

The earliest I remember is when I was three,
As my mother shook the hell out of me.
You see she suffered from this mental disease,
Paranoid Schizophrenia—hard on many degrees.

As she dug her fingers into my arm breaking the skin,
And yelled with anger from deep within,
“You’re not my child, get out of my life!”
Which set me up for a lifetime of strife.

As a fat and clumsy little boy,
I found it hard by now to find any joy.
So we fast-forward to the age of 9—
Man, this again was a troubling time.

As my teachers all stood up in despair,
Proclaiming loudly that there was no repair.
They said I was dyslexic at best,
As they threw me in a class with the rest

Of the ones that learn slowly with no ease,
And then the kids really started to tease.
Even those who called me their friend—
Man, to this there was no end.

So here is where I just tried to hide,
And found the value of pot and getting fried.
As we move along till I was 14 and slim,
No more little fat boy—now I was thin.

I came into my own with football and weights,
It was like someone had opened the gates.
Now I found I could hit with force,
And life set me on its course.

Of never having to take their shit,
As I fought those who on my face used to spit.
I didn’t win them all, but what I found
Was that I didn’t have to take life lying down.

So as I went on and my course was set,
I blew out my knee—man, I was upset.
I was headed for the pros, that was clear,
But instead of that, learning to walk took a year.

We couldn’t afford to have it fixed,
So all my plans were truly nixed.
Now we move on till the age of 19,
By now racing motocross—what a scream.

This is where I met my first wife,
And with her we shared a life of strife.
She was molested by her stepdad—
But this piece of truth I never had.

We married, and I joined the Air Force,
Where I thought I’d spend my life, of course.
But one day we argued and she walked away,
Returning to her mother—that was all there’d be to say.

She remarried a man who beat her at will,
And I searched for a reason to give him his fill.
I beat him down until he felt the cost—
By then my path was shaped and innocence lost.

Entering my early 20s and more,
I married again and this one I adored.
She became the mother of my boys—
Who definitely filled my heart with joys.

But as time went on and intuition grew,
There was something about her that I somehow knew.
She was sleeping around with cops and docs in our town,
Till the night I caught her—the whole world fell down.

I grabbed my boys and took flight in the night,
Knowing deep down this wasn’t right.
And still the story didn’t end here,
As thirteen more loves brought nothing but fear.

All but two, I caught sleeping around,
My self-worth smashed into the ground.
Not to mention the pain inside my heart,
But hope still whispered, “Do not depart.”

I only wished to find
A true friend for the end of time.
Then came that day—a fight broke out,
And I questioned what my life was about.

I reached deep inside with all my might,
After being wrapped in another fight,
And asked the Creator to take ego away—
“This moment, this second, right now, today.”

Then I walked inside and got online,
Searching my soul for some kind of sign.
And from there you know where it all went:
The Rav, the books, the group—all heaven-sent.

Lessons morning, noon, and night,
A path of truth replacing fight.
Holding you up so you won’t fall,
I felt the purpose behind it all.

Then came 2014—a giant turn of fate,
Israel called my name and opened its gate.
I moved there fully, seven years abroad,
Studying daily, walking humbly with G-d.

Working Ford, Chevy, Chrysler, Jeep,
A whole dealership where I earned my keep.
Every meal, every YH, every holiday in sight—
My soul was drinking Torah morning, noon, and night.

During Shavuot, Rav made a call,
“Those not married should be married”—a decree for all.
So I sat outside the dealership and said,
“Creator, You bring her—I’ll do what You’ve said.”

A week went by and the phone rang true,
A woman insisting she wanted only me—who knew?
I kept my word, as I vowed I would,
Even though she wasn’t who I thought I should.

We lived near the Center, life was sweet,
Friends came over to drink and eat.
But COVID struck and shut the doors,
No more lessons inside the floors.

She asked to move where life was cheaper to live,
So I agreed—that’s what I had to give.
We moved to the Negev, dry desert air,
But inside that heat came a load to bear.

I had my knee replaced—pain beyond measure,
But the anesthesiologist broke my neck during the pressure.
My C4 vertebra crushed into the cord,
Months went by—no healing from the Lord.

Caught COVID three times in that burning land,
Still trying to walk, still trying to stand.
While learning to build battery packs one day,
She picked up a chair in a violent way—

Slammed it at my back with a murderous yell,
“I’ll kill you!” she screamed as I stumbled and fell.
I took the chair and got her out,
Packed my things and ended that bout.

Called my friend Berko—he came right away,
Let me stay with him three weeks each day.
Then back to Texas, broken but free,
A wounded man trying just to be.

My uncle passed—his gifts reached me here,
Bought a Harley and rode without fear.
Traded it in for a Tri-Glide ride,
Where wind and road became my guide.

Drove my truck to Florida—twice I went,
And once to PA—my time well spent.
Wrecked it coming home, a painful blow,
But needed on this path, this I now know.

And here I stand four years since then,
Still working the path again and again.
Twenty-two years since I first found the light,
And still I cling to the Truth with all my might.

Now I finally see the Creator’s plan—
Every bruise and heartbreak shaping this man.
Every fall was meant to raise,
Every night to birth new days.

And now I know what life was for:
The Ten—the bond I can’t ignore.
A desire stronger than all desires combined,
A heart wide open, fearless, refined.

Faith above reason burning bright,
Greatness of the Creator filling my sight.
Fear of Him—not terror, but awe,
The kind that bends your soul in love and law.

Through you, my friends, I become whole,
Together we mend the shattered soul.
Now every breath, every rise, every fall—
Was only to bring me here… to give my all.

**🌍 “Eight Billion Cries, One Beating Heart”

By William S. Becker 

We wake each morning already afraid,

Dragging yesterday’s battles into the life we’ve made.

The coffee spills, the car won’t start,

And some stranger cuts us off, driving straight through our heart.

The boss snaps orders like we’re not alive,

While we fake one smile just trying to survive.

Our phones keep buzzing with the world’s despair,

Eight billion souls screaming, “Does anyone care?”

A mother cries quietly so her kids won’t know,

A father breaks slowly with no safe place to go.

A teenager hides the storm inside his chest,

Searching for one real friend to give his heart some rest.

We walk around wounded pretending we’re strong,

But the suffering shows we’ve had it wrong all along.

For every crack in me is a crack in you,

And only together can we break through.

But when I lift your spirit from the floor,

My own heart rises even more.

When I warm your hands in the freezing night,

The Creator slips inside and fills us with Light.

When I let you speak out what you fear,

Something sacred whispers, “I’m right here.”

When I hold your burden and let mine fall,

Our shattered pieces become a whole for all.

This world won’t heal from power or wealth,

But from loving your friend more than yourself.

For when our hearts connect and softly ignite,

Eight billion cries become one beam of Light.

So let’s gather the broken, the lost, the unheard,

Turn every pain into a holy word.

Let’s build a bond that the angels will see—

A living example of what humans can be.

And maybe one day the world will find

That love was the cure we left behind.

For beneath the suffering the truth stands clear:

We were meant to heal each other right here.

🔥 Psalm 34 — William S. Becker 🔥

🔥 Psalm 34 — William S. Becker 🔥

I cried from the pit where the shadows grow tall,

Where the ego claws upward trying to make me fall.

But the Creator bent low to the crack in my chest,

Whispered, “Rise, My son… even broken is blessed.”

I boasted in nothing, for nothing was mine,

My pride was a thief dressed in thoughts so divine.

But the meek heard my trembling and answered my cry,

A Ten made of heaven pulled me up to the sky.

Taste and you’ll see that His sweetness is real,

Though He hides it in hunger the heart must reveal.

He breaks us like bread till our arrogance dies,

Then He feeds us His love… as the tears fill our eyes.

The lions of ego roar loud in the night,

Claiming strength, demanding praise, feeding off light.

But those who seek Him with hands open and bare

Will lack nothing at all, for He meets them right there.

Come children, draw near—learn the terror of good,

The fear that dissolves the “I” where you stood.

Guard your tongue from the poison your anger would spill,

For one word from the heart can bless… or kill.

Turn from your fires that burn what you love,

Do deeds pulled upward from the world above.

Seek out the peace that your ego denies,

And run after unity till your last breath dies.

His eyes are upon us when we shatter in pain,

He gathers each fragment again and again.

But the face of the Maker turns harsh as a blade

Against the desire that keeps us afraid.

The cry of the broken He never ignores,

He storms into exile and shatters the doors.

Close is the Creator to hearts crushed and torn,

He births the new soul where the old self was worn.

Many are the blows that the righteous must take,

For He carves them with mercy until they awake.

But through every wound, every fall, every night,

He delivers the spirit back into the Light.

The hatred of evil destroys itself first,

It drinks its own venom to quench its dark thirst.

But He redeems every servant who learns how to bend—

And no one who trusts Him will break in the end.

Each One Shall Help His Friend — The Inner Battle

Each One Shall Help His Friend — The Inner Battle

A brother falls silent, his light grown thin,

I see the prison bars he’s locked within.

For no man escapes the dungeon alone,

The ego won’t loosen what it thinks it owns.

I tear my own chest just to let him in,

To feel his sorrow beneath my skin.

For only a friend can lift that weight,

Only shared hearts can unseal that gate.

When his spirit breaks, mine cracks too,

Because my correction is seeing him through.

His lack is the hollowness inside my bone,

His cry is the echo of a truth I’ve known.

So I drag his soul from the pit with mine,

Bleeding together is how we climb.

I give him the strength I don’t even possess,

’Til both of us rise from this merciless test.

We kill the lie that we stand apart,

The poison whisper that divides the heart.

We learn the secret the sages penned:

No one is redeemed except by a friend.

And when he breathes again, alive and renewed,

I taste the Creator inside his mood.

For lifting his spirit is how I ascend,

Brutally shattered—reborn—

Through the love of a friend.

When The Ego Scratches The Door

**💔 “When the Ego Scratches at the Door”

I feel the beast claw at my skin,

Begging for a place to begin.

It whispers poison in my ear,

Promising power, masking fear.

It rises fast when I feel slighted,

Turning holy moments crooked and blighted.

It wants the last word, the louder shout,

It wants to win — that’s all it’s about.

And I stand trembling, fists clenched tight,

Trying to choose the path of light.

But the rage inside begins to swell,

Dragging me close to its private hell.

To hold it back is a war each day,

Like tying a monster that won’t obey.

It breaks its chains with a wicked grin,

Then laughs and says, “You’ll never win.”

I bite my tongue until it bleeds,

Praying the Creator will hear my pleas.

“Don’t let me speak… don’t let me fall…

Don’t let my brothers receive my gall.”

Some days I crack, I slip, I break,

Give the ego more than it should take.

It leaves me shattered on the floor,

Ashamed I opened that cursed door.

Yet in the pain, a spark ignites,

A trembling yearning for true heights.

I rise again, bruised and torn,

A heart rebuilt from being worn.

I whisper, “Friends, I’m nothing — see?

Take what’s left and annul this me.”

For only through you do I stand a chance

To silence the beast’s unholy dance.

And in that moment of surrender deep,

The soul awakens from its sleep.

The ego fades, its claws undone,

And I remember: We are one.

The EGO's Confession

The Ego’s Confession

I am the voice that rose inside his chest,

The serpent whisper saying I know best.

I lit the spark, I pushed the shove,

I tore him away from the circle of love.

I made him think he was guarding the light,

While I was the one picking a fight.

I laughed as he walked out the door,

That’s what I live for—just one moment more.

I dress myself as justice, truth, and care,

I say, “You’re right! They’re wrong! Don’t you dare!”

But deep inside I’m rotting, crude, obscene,

A parasite of pride, cold and unclean.

I saw the unity forming bright and strong,

So I whispered poison, “They’re doing it wrong.”

I fed on the chaos—my favorite feast—

And he forgot I’m the man-eating beast.

But now I stand exposed before his friends,

Naked in shame as the pretense ends.

I used his heart, I broke his calm,

And now I tremble before their psalm.

I know he hates me—and he should, it’s true,

For every holy thing I undo.

But Creator, You made me sharp as a knife,

So he’d learn to carve out a higher life.

And brothers, hear me: I beg you too,

Please help him rise above what I do.

For only in you can he silence my roar,

And leave me outside the spiritual door.

I am the ego—small, loud, insane—

A speck of dust pretending to reign.

But his love for you is stronger than me,

And through you all, he longs to be free.

A Poem of Forgiveness, Annulment, and the Ego I Cannot Stand

I rose too fast when the fire hit my chest,

My ego roared louder than all the rest.

I thought I was guarding the truth we defend,

But instead I broke unity I vowed to mend.

The moment was tiny, but my anger was great,

I let one foolish spark decide my fate.

I should have bowed low, let the moment just pass,

Instead I split the air like shattered glass.

Forgive me, brothers, for missing the mark,

For turning the light into something dark.

I should’ve annulled, just swallowed my pride,

Not let that wild beast drag me outside.

Creator, You scripted the whole damn play,

Every word, every clash, every slip of the day.

Yet still I let this ego that I deeply despise

Blind my heart and poison my eyes.

I didn’t mean harm; I just wanted what’s true,

But truth without love turns holy into blue.

So here’s my heart naked—broken but real—

Asking forgiveness for the pain I made you feel.

If I could, I’d tear out the ego by hand,

Burn it to ash, bury it in the sand.

But You made it strong so I’d learn to bend,

And rise again closer to You—and my friends.

So tonight, as the lesson pours through each vein,

Let this crack in me open a spiritual gain.

May my fall be a step, not a stagger or slip—

A plea for the strength to annul and not trip.

Let us return to the circle, one heart, one fire,

Rising above every clash, every desire.

And may my brothers feel clearly, in every breath,

My devotion to unity—stronger than death.

HOW TO STOP THE EGO FROM REACTING

We ask how to stop the ego from its ride,

That beast that bursts from deep inside.

It grabs our nerves before we decide,

Turning every whisper into raging tide.

It fires emotions that make it fly,

It storms the heart before we question “why?”

It bites our thoughts before we can try

To stand in faith and not reply.

So how do we freeze that serpent’s stride,

And cut its claws before they’re wide?

We do the one thing Rabash implied—

We silently pray for the Creator to guide.

For the ego reacts from a place not true,

A phantom shadow pretending it’s you.

But the moment you pause, the moment you review,

A crack opens up—and the Light can break through.

We don’t fight the ego; we let it be.

We rise above reason, we choose to see

That every eruption is a chance to plea:

“Creator, annul me—connect me to Thee.”

And in that stillness the storm subsides,

The waves calm down, the fury hides.

Not by our power—the heart confides—

But by a prayer that quietly rides.

So we stop reacting not by might,

Not by wisdom, nor by fight.

We stop because we choose the Light—

And beg the Creator to choose us right.

The Past Has Teeth, But We Hold the Reins

A poem by William S. Becker

I dig through the files of a world gone mad,

Every secret bleeding proof of what we never had.

We cling to the past like a rusted chain,

Letting old ghosts carve new wounds of pain.

We stare at the darkness hoping it blinks,

Drowning in memories the ego still drinks.

All those lies we swallowed as truth,

Stealing tomorrow, poisoning youth.

But brother… sister… the future ain’t dead—

It waits in the silence between hearts we’ve bled.

It waits where our broken souls lean to pray,

Where connection grows stronger than yesterday.

The world is shattered but not beyond repair,

If ten hearts unite the heavens will tear.

We rise from the ashes the moment we choose

To stop worshiping wounds we were destined to lose.

Through unity we rewrite every crime,

Reverse the decay of humanity’s time.

The past had its chance—now love takes the lead,

Planting light in the soil where the wicked sowed greed.

I’ve seen how a single embrace from the ten

Can resurrect hope from the dirtiest den.

We mend what was broken in every man’s fall,

For in one heart beating—we rewrite it all.

So let the old world crumble in its disgrace,

Let its shadows scream as we take our place.

For connection is fire, and together we rise—

A new future is written in our tear-stained eyes.

And the past?

Let it rot in the files where the guilty once hid—

For we choose the Creator…

And the hearts of our friends…

Over everything they did.