Only Good To Israel

“Only Good to Israel”

I wanted to see, to know, to rise—

To tear through heaven with open eyes.

But the Light whispered, “Close them tight,

Walk blind through My endless night.”

I clawed for wisdom, begged for flame,

But found myself naked, without a name.

My crown fell off, my throne was dust,

And all I had left was simple trust.

The proud heart screams, “I must understand!”

But the pure one kneels, empty hand in hand.

To shrink is to live, to fall is to grow,

To be nothing is all the Light will bestow.

Israel—Yashar-El, straight to the core,

But only when “I” is no more.

The head becomes holy when bent to the floor,

And the mind turns flesh when the stone beats sore.

This path breaks men who wish to shine,

It grinds the gold till only love’s refined.

We walk on glass, yet call it sweet—

Each wound a prayer beneath His feet.

He takes the heart of stone, still warm,

And molds it through storm after storm.

Till flesh remembers how to feel,

Till silence becomes the highest appeal.

So curse me low, Creator dear,

Burn every pride I hold near.

Strip me down to Israel bare—

A soul that knows You’re everywhere.

And when I am dust, without a plan,

Let me whisper, “Now I understand.

The good was not in what I knew—

But in being nothing... before You.”

The Crown of Dust

“The Crown of Dust”

I was born in mud, beneath the throne,

Dreaming of crowns that were never my own.

I raised my head to steal the sky,

And found the pain that makes men cry.

Pride is a torch that burns the hand,

It builds a tower on sinking sand.

The higher I reached, the harder I fell,

Until my name was a whisper in hell.

But when I bowed, and kissed the floor,

I felt His robe—was mine no more.

In ashes I stood, yet clothed in flame,

For He who is high gave me His Name.

Now dust I am, yet glory I wear,

Not from myself, but from His care.

Man’s pride will break—his heart must bend,

To rise through shame to the pride that has no end.

Build Me a Screen

“Build Me a Screen”

I rise and fall in the same damned hour,

Kissing the dust, then tasting power.

My heart screams, “Take!” while my soul whispers, “Give!”

How can such opposites in one beast live?

I’m drowning in self, in a flood of desire,

Every thought a spark that feeds the fire.

Creator, I’m filthy—this vessel’s insane,

Every pleasure I touch becomes poison and pain.

So crush me, reshape me, melt me to clay,

Till Your hands can mold this beast Your way.

Don’t let me serve You for comfort or fame—

Strip me to nothing, burn out my name.

Give me a screen made of tears and steel,

Let me feel others more than I feel.

Let their joy be my pulse, their sorrow my cry,

Let my pride be the smoke that clouds the sky.

I want no reward, no heaven’s applause,

Just to stand as a wall for Your holy cause.

Teach me to take not a drop for my own,

But to shine back Your Light till Your love is known.

Bind me to friends who mirror Your face,

Who live in the fire yet call it grace.

Let our union be the hammer and flame,

That forges Your Name where there once was shame.

And when I fail—and I know I will—

Don’t erase the war, just strengthen my will.

Let me rise again, scarred but clean,

Until I am the screen—

And You are all that’s seen.

Bind the Longing

“Bind the Longing”

The road is long ‘cause my heart’s gone numb,

The load too heavy, my will struck dumb.

I drag commandments like chains through clay,

Cursing the dawn that lights my way.

I dress for Heaven but beg man’s nod,

Serve the crowd instead of God.

My lips say “for You,” my eyes say “for me,”

I’m a liar kneeling at a broken tree.

He whispers, “Bind the silver to your hand—

Not the coin, but the longing, understand.”

So I clutch my emptiness like a dying spark,

Let shame carve prayers in the dark.

For even a fool can ache to yearn,

To want to want—till hearts return.

Till all my silver melts to gold,

And one desire swallows the old:

Give this only! Let me cry,

Raise Her from dust—don’t let Her die.

The Shechina weeps in my hollow chest,

I’ll carry the burden, deny no test.

If the way be far, then I’ll crawl, not run,

With blood for ink till the will is one.

And when my last strength bends and breaks,

May my longing be the path it makes.

The Eight That Bur Between Us

🔥“The Eight That Burn Between Us”🔥

(A poem for the Ten — Keter to Malchut)

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We sit in one circle, pretending to pray,

Each heart a battlefield in subtle decay.

Keter above us, too bright to name,

Malchut below, drowning in shame.

Between them eight blades cut through the soul,

Each Sefira demanding its toll.

Hochma blinds — a flash of might,

Revealing how little we know of Light.

Bina awakens and screams, “Don’t take!”

She mothers the storm, she makes us break.

In her womb we bleed our pride,

Till tears replace the walls we hide.

Then Hesed comes — that merciful sun,

He whispers, “Give,” till we all come undone.

But Gevurah strikes — “Don’t fake your grace!”

She tears the mask right off your face.

Tiferet hums, a trembling chord,

Between my brother’s heart and the Lord.

Harmony? No. It’s war in disguise,

Love born from pain, where ego dies.

Netzach pushes — fight, advance!

We fall, we rise, in a holy dance.

Hod bows low — admit defeat,

For only surrender makes the Light complete.

Yesod collects the shrapnel and pain,

Fusing our fragments into one vein.

He channels the mercy, refines the fire,

Till Malchut drinks what Keter desired.

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So here we are — Ten souls ablaze,

Lost in the mirror of each other’s gaze.

The eight between us slice and mend,

Each wound a beginning, not an end.

We die to self to be reborn,

In unity’s storm, the veil is torn.

For when these Sefirot burn clean and true,

Keter descends — through me, through you.

The War of Permission

⚔️ The War of Permission

(Inspired by Baal HaSulam, Shamati 142)

I stand between two kingdoms, torn and bare,

One whispers “love,” the other “despair.”

The Creator hides in the fog of gray,

Where nothing’s forbidden, but hearts decay.

No sin to name, no mitzva to praise,

Just choices wrapped in ego’s haze.

My mind screams “mine,” my soul shouts “His,”

And between the breaths — the battlefield is.

I swing my sword of trembling will,

But the foe I face wears my face still.

He smiles when I fall into thought’s abyss,

He kisses my cheek — then bites with bliss.

Some days I’m a saint, some nights a thief,

Some hours faith, some hours grief.

Each neutral act becomes a war,

Each glance, each breath — a holy scar.

When I lose, the loss is near —

A whisper of pride, a drop of fear.

But when I win, the heavens roar,

And holiness claims a patch of more.

The gray turns gold, the fog ignites,

The mundane bows to higher lights.

The “mine” dissolves, the “His” remains,

Through blood and sweat, through holy pains.

So, Creator, keep me in this fight,

Where nothing’s wrong, yet nothing’s right.

Let every doubt and silent tear

Expand Your realm within me here.

For I will battle till I see —

The war was You, disguised as me.

🔥 The Fourteenth Commandment

We rise from ashes, ego’s tomb,

Each heart a spark, once drenched in gloom.

He calls from depths where light was slain,

“Unite as one — or rot in pain.”

The Fourteenth cry, a blade of flame,

Cuts through the soul that seeks its name.

For He won’t dwell in flesh or bone,

But in the bond, where He is known.

No man ascends by self alone,

The ladder’s built from hearts of stone.

Each step—another friend embraced,

Each fall—a love we’ve not yet faced.

The Shechina waits where hatred dies,

Not in our mouths, but in our eyes.

She weeps for those who pray apart,

And hides her light from every heart.

Baal HaSulam screams, “Awake, you blind!

The Lord’s not found in books or mind!

He’s born when vessels intertwine,

When I and you dissolve in line.”

So grind your pride until it bleeds,

From broken men, the flower feeds.

From shattered kings, the Kingdom grows,

And mercy burns where judgment froze.

This is the call, the sacred wound,

To build the world from souls entombed.

For in our love, the Light appears—

The sum of all our deaths and tears.

So let Him enter, fierce and pure,

Through hearts made low, through faith unsure.

The Fourteenth Law, the fire’s art—

To forge one soul from every heart.

⚔️ “The Field Within” — A Kabbalistic Mahābhārata

 

A war was born where silence screams,

Inside the soul that splits its dreams.

The right hand prays, the left hand steals,

The heart forgets what the spirit feels.

The Kauravas rise — a hundred lies,

Each one born where the ego cries.

They promise gold, they promise fame,

But every crown burns with shame.

The Pandavas stand — the will to bestow,

Five senses cleansed by the light they know.

They tremble still, for truth cuts deep,

The self must die before souls can reap.

Arjuna weeps, his bow hangs low,

“How can I strike the ones I know?”

Krishna smiles — the secret revealed,

“You never kill — you only yield.”

“For bodies fall, but the soul can’t fade,

It was by love that all was made.

Fight not for gain, nor fear the loss,

Your sword is faith, your shield is cross.”

“Act without fruit, let go of the claim,

See Me in all, and all the same.

When giver and gift no longer part,

The war will end inside your heart.”

The chariot rolled on sand and flame,

Each wheel carved out the Holy Name.

Dharma and Torah met as one,

Under the heat of the inner sun.

For Baal HaSulam would softly say,

“Love your friend — it’s the only way.”

And Krishna whispered through the din,

“The field you fight is the field within.”

Each slain desire became a prayer,

Each fallen foe — a friend laid bare.

The ego bled, but the soul stood tall,

In losing self, he gained it all.

Then Krishna vanished — or did He stay?

For light remained though form gave way.

Arjuna saw — no death, no sin,

Just endless love where war had been.

“The Low Will See”

They mock and sneer as I walk by,

Their words cut deep, yet I don’t cry.

For in the dust where I am thrown,

The King of Kings makes me His own.

He lifts not those who boast and shine,

But souls that break to match His line.

The proud look down and lose their sight,

The low look up and see the Light.

My crown is crushed beneath their feet,

My name erased—His will complete.

For when I die to self and fame,

The Lord Himself will call my name.

Let them despise, reject, and scorn,

From their contempt, new life is born.

The Lord is high—He hides from pride,

But dwells within the ones denied.

So strip me bare, remove my face,

Until I’m clothed in His embrace.

The high stand far, the low will see—

In dust and shame, He dwells in me.

“Seekers of the Face”

When I first sought You, I was blind in need,

Begging for crumbs from my own greed.

I called it love — it was hunger in disguise,

A thief praying softly beneath holy skies.

I wept, “Reveal Yourself! Let me see!”

But my plea was still “Give to me.”

The heavens were silent — I cursed the air,

Not knowing You heard, yet waited — there.

You whispered, “Child, your cries are true,

But they still reek of wanting for you.

I’ll lend you My ear, but not yet My face,

Till your heart learns to ask for My grace.”

So You broke me — tore my prayer apart,

Split my tongue from my selfish heart.

Judgment burned; mercy wept within,

Till both were sweetened, and light broke in.

Now I seek not Your gifts, but Your will —

To fill what You fill, to be still as You’re still.

I don’t want joy — I want to give You mine,

To mirror Your face, and erase the line.

So when You seek Your seekers, find me there,

Among the fools who learned to care.

For I was cursed — till I learned to bless,

Till my cry became love, and my lack turned to Yes.