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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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The Freedom

By William S. Becker -
  The Freedom (after Baal HaSulam ) I thought I chose the road I stand upon Thought I woke myself each rising dawn Thought my thoughts were mine to steer and bend Thought freedom lived where wants defend But look closer—nothing here was picked Not the hunger, not the way I’m ticked Not the fears that jump before my mind Not the urges dragging me behind I did not choose my parents or my blood The tongue I speak, the land, the mud I did not choose my traits or tone Nor what I love or hate alone Even rebellion wears a borrowed face Even my fight came pre-installed in place I rage, I swear, I break the mold But every move was bought and sold The books I read, the songs I hear The values I hold close and dear The crowd I trust, the rules I bend They write my steps before they end I chase desire dressed as choice But hear closely—that’s not my voice It’s habit dressed in clever skin Old commands whispering within I want to choose—I swear I do But every “I” comes already through A...
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Colllect This

By William S. Becker -
  COLLECT THIS It comes at me dirty, no knock, no grace A thought with a shiv and a spit in my face An emotion that drags me back through the mud A vision soaked heavy in old shame and blood Didn’t ask for it. Didn’t vote it in. Still there it is—grinning—wearing my skin The ego says, “Good, this is yours to chew” Like I haven’t watched that lie split me in two It says “Understand it, fix it, explain it clean” As if control was ever part of this scene As if I didn’t learn the hard damn way That what I grab tight is what rots and stays Because every time I crown it as “me” The Light cuts out like electricity Every time I claim it, name it, defend I turn a message into a dead-end So yeah—I’ve fought it, swallowed it whole Called it “growth” while it ate my soul Pretended strength meant white-knuckle resolve Like this mess was something I could solve But I’m done lying to myself today I don’t steer the waves—I just get in the way These thoughts ain’t wisdom, these feelings ain’t...
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When It Comes At Me

By William S. Becker -
  WHEN IT COMES AT ME When it comes at me uninvited, raw and loud A thought like a blade, an emotion too proud A vision that shakes me, I didn’t request It hits where I’m weakest, right dead in the chest My ego jumps first, says “This one is mine” To chew it, to use it, to cross every line To fix it, to own it, to wear it like skin Like I ever controlled what was placed deep within But I’ve been here before, I know this disguise Every surprise is the same old lie If I grab it, I lose it, if I crown it as “me” I seal off the Light and I choke the degree So I stop. Not brave. Not calm. Not clean. Just tired of drowning in what I can’t mean And from the heart—no speech, no show— I turn where I’ve learned is the only place to go Dear Creator, collect what I cannot hold These thoughts, these fires, this hunger, this cold I didn’t ask for them, but I won’t pretend I know how they work or how they should end Correct them—not soften, not hide, not erase Turn poison to medicine, pres...
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Correcting Our Nature

By William S. Becker -
 We are born in a state that knows no Light, No sense of bestowal, no inner sight. A will to receive that rules every move, Cut off from the truth we were made to prove. There is nothing worse than this starting place, A life with no feel of the Creator’s face. We chase our pleasures, defend our pride, While the force of bestowal stays locked outside. Yet this is the work, not to run or escape, But to take our nature and let it reshape. Not to kill desire or break what we are, But aim the same hunger toward a higher star. Step after step, through failure and cry, Through prayers that rise when all answers die, Wisdom is earned, not read or told, It’s learned in the fire where the ego is cold. And when bestowal becomes our aim, When giving outweighs the hunger for gain, The path completes what words can’t explain— We become as one with the Source of the flame.
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When The Road Breaks Open

By William S. Becker -
  When the Road Breaks Open You pack your bag with a shaking hand A congress calling, a promise you planned The heart says go, the mind says wait Bills on the table, time running late You swear this time you’ll make it through You told the friends, you said you’d be true But the road don’t care what vows you said It throws you steel that leaves you dead A car on the lift, the clock runs fast “No parts till Monday,” they say at last Two hundred dollars, that’s all you’ve got And the retreat’s fading right on the spot Now comes the moment no one sees Not faith in words, but bent-knee pleas You sit alone, your chest caved in Not asking to win — just not to give in Your heart don’t pray with fancy lines It cracks and leaks between the whys “I promised them… I wanted You… I don’t know how, but help me through” No deals, no strength, no clever play Just truth that burns the self away And right there where the hope feels dead Something moves you never led Three minutes pass — no mo...
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Reward That Hurts Like Truth

By William S. Becker -
Reward That Hurts Like Truth I said I want no reward, I swear it’s true, Yet every nerve asks, “What’s in this for you?” The will to receive hides behind holy clothes, Quotes the sages while tightening its nose. I worked and I worked and expected a sign, A taste of the Light, some proof I was fine, But all I received was a mirror so clear, It showed me the beast I carried for years. The ego got clever, it learned how to pray, How to give lip service while steering my way, It said, “You’re righteous, look—everyone sees,” While feeding itself on respect and ease. The whole world applauds, says, “You serve God well,” But inside I’m rented, still serving myself, A servant of comfort, of honor and gain, Calling it Torah, disguising the chain. Then came the fall—no warning, no sound, From heaven to trash heap, face in the ground, No sense of descent, no shame, no fear, Just pleasure dressed up as “life” right here. Dead don’t feel dead, they don’t ask for air, They don’t miss the King, they...
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