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Coming Anyway

By William S. Becker -
Coming Anyway I didn’t want to come, I’ll tell it straight, My body fought, my mind was late. Same road again, same inner war, I asked myself, what am I going for? I’ve been here dozens, year on year, Still walking in with quiet fear. No fire packed, no strength to show, Just empty hands and debts I owe. I come with nothing, no good name, No clever prayer, no holy flame. What once felt full is cracked and thin, A cup that leaks from every sin. I tried alone—thought I was strong, That quiet path didn’t last long. The work slipped private, soft, and sly, And truth be told… I started to die. So here I am, not brave, not new, Still not knowing what to do. Years went by, yet here I stand, Still learning how to take a hand. I didn’t come to fix or teach, Didn’t come with Light to preach. I came because I couldn’t stay One more day the ego’s way. And truth be known—this cut me deep— I don’t come now for what I keep. I come because the friends still breathe, Because their lack still pulls on ...
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For Those Who Are Searching

By William S. Becker -
For Those Who Are Searching I searched for truth without a name, Just knowing something felt the same. The world explained, but never knew The questions burning straight through. I read the signs, I watched the stars, Heard whispered truths from tarot cards. I chased the hidden, chased the deep, Through things awake and things asleep. I healed with hands, I breathed in forms, Learned how to stand inside the storms. I fought, I flowed, I learned control, Still felt a hunger in my soul. Each path gave light, each path gave taste, But something vital went to waste. Because the center stayed as me , The will to take, not truly see. I didn’t know what I was missing, Just felt the ache that kept insisting. I wasn’t lost — I just was blind To what was asking from behind. Truth wasn’t hidden in the sky, Nor found by asking “who am I?” It waited where I wouldn’t look — Where I must give, not merely took. I didn’t find it by demand, It came when I let go my hand. When “why” grew tired of being f...
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What Does It Take

By William S. Becker -
What Does It Take Once upon a time, without reason or rhyme, people would sit and discuss, no arguments, no fuss. But then something changed, like the world rearranged, opinions turned into knives, everyone fighting for their lives. Now instead of conversation, there’s outright hate—no illumination, every word a loaded gun, no one listening to anyone. So what does it take to come back to that place, where sharing a vision or view isn’t a crime for walking through? I don’t understand why it’s this way, maybe we forgot how to pray— forgot that truth is not a win, it’s what lets the light back in.
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Give It Away

By William S. Becker -
“Give It Away” I remember You before I had a name Before this dust, before this shame A whisper carved inside my chest A love I knew, then lost, then left You filled me whole, no crack, no seam No “I” or “You,” just One unseen Then something shattered deep inside And I woke up alone… alive This world—an abyss, cold and wide Where memory burns but won’t subside I walk with sparks I cannot claim Reshimot screaming Your old name I reach for You in every face But find the lack, not Your embrace The more I take, the more I break The more I beg, the less I make I curse the fall, I curse the day I curse this heart that won’t obey Yet even rage is stitched with pain Because loss proves love once reigned You hid Yourself so I could see What love costs when it’s not free You broke me not to watch me crawl But so I’d learn to love through all Now hear me from this shattered place I don’t ask back what time erased I don’t demand You fill my cup I’ve learned—love rises when I give it up So I take t...
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Satisfied With What You Gave

By William S. Becker -
“Satisfied With What You Gave” I wanted peace, I wanted ease I wanted pain to finally freeze But every prayer I thought was clean Was hiding deals I’d never seen I said “Unite us, nothing more” But still I knocked on ego’s door It hates to ache, it hates to stay It twists the truth to run away Hindi (quiet, aching): Jo mila hai, wahi kaafi hai (What I’ve been given is enough) Turkish (firm, grounded): Verdiğin hâl yeter bana (The state You gave is enough for me) The will to receive don’t want to die It just don’t want to suffer, cry It dresses need in holy clothes And calls escape “the path I chose” Florida whispered in my ear “Go there, you’ll breathe, the pain will clear” But underneath that sacred plea Was fear pretending faith in me Hindi (confession): Dard se bhaagna bhakti nahi (Running from pain is not devotion) Turkish (exposure): Acıdan kaçmak, ihsan değil (Escaping pain is not bestowal) So here I stand with empty hands No bargains left, no backup plans If this is lack, then l...
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The Torah That Didn't Fix Me

By William S. Becker -
  “The Torah That Didn’t Fix Me” I learned Your words like iron and stone, But kept my throne—still all my own. I stacked up pages, proud and sure, Yet stayed the same—unclean, impure. I wore the verses like a crown, While secret dust still dragged me down. I called it “study,” called it “light,” But dodged the war inside the night. Because the truth is hard to bear: My heart wants payment, not to care. It wants a God who serves my plan, A holy stamp for selfish man. So when You hid, I took offense, Like I deserved a recompense. My mouth turned Pharaoh—Peh Ra grin, And holy words became my sin. Then came the crack—no place to run, No taste in gold, no warmth in sun. I saw my Torah had a cost: Without the work, the Light is lost. So here’s my plea—no clever art: Don’t feed my brain— reform my heart . Take this dust and raise it high, Make bestowal my battle-cry. Let me bless the goal before I read, Not for applause—but to be freed. Let Torah be Your clothing near, And let me...
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The Bessel Between Us

By William S. Becker -
“The Vessel Between Us” We must be concerned with the greatness of the goal, For alone I remain only a point, not a soul. A heart of stone beats silent inside of me, A desire untouched, not meant to be free. That stone is not mine to correct or refine, No prayer or effort can soften that line. It stands as a boundary, sealed and tight, A place where the creature cannot invite Light. But six hundred thousand desires stand near, Not buried in me, but living in the friends here. Their lacks are scattered, their needs are not small, And my work is to gather them—one and all. I do not fix myself, I do not repair, I connect to the friends and carry their care. I clothe their deficiencies deep in my chest, As though their desire were my own test. This inclusion, this bond, this pull to unite, Is the vessel formed only through mutual sight. Not in my feeling, not in my mind, But in the space where our hearts intertwine. “Love your friend as yourself” is not advice, Not ethics or warmth o...
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