The Thought That Serves The Flame

💔🔥 “The Thought That Serves the Flame”

by William S. Becker

A thought’s no king—it’s just a slave,

To serve the want, the beast, the crave.

It dances blind at desire’s command,

Building the castle that ego planned.

I think because my heart demands,

Its hunger sculpted by unseen hands.

Each dream I chase, each fear I feed,

Was born from what I think I need.

The mind’s a liar cloaked in grace,

It bows to hunger’s masked embrace.

But if I fix my gaze above,

That same fire burns with holy love.

So day and night I till this ground,

Where selfish seeds in dust are found.

I water them with thought so pure,

Till only His desire endures.

Then thought becomes the chariot bright,

Desire transformed into endless Light.

And what was “me” dissolves at last—

A slave no more, but free and vast.

The Screen That Burns

“The Screen That Burns”

The Light once filled my foolish clay,

Then fled — the night replaced the day.

It wasn’t gone — it struck from near,

Till all my veils dissolved in fear.

The clash inside — oh holy fight,

Between my dark and His pure Light.

Each wound, a polish; each loss, a climb,

The pain that purges space from time.

My will — the beast — it never rose,

It stayed below, in grave repose.

But something higher shed its skin,

The screen refined — the war within.

I lost my crown, the Keter’s flame,

No robe remained to bear that Name.

Yet in that loss, I found release,

For ashes sing when souls find peace.

So burn me, Lord, refine my shield,

Till all my pride to You is healed.

Let vessels weep, but screens ascend,

Through shattered love, I reach my end.

Rewarded- I Will Hasten It (From shamati 195)

I had it once — the taste of light,

Then stripped away deep in the night.

The glow was gone, my heart was torn,

And faith was born where I was shorn.

He gave me gold, then took the key,

To show me what I’d yearn to be.

He built my hunger, carved my pain,

So I could call His loss a gain.

Each tear I shed became my bowl,

Each break engraved upon my soul.

The rich are blind, but beggars see —

The empty heart becomes the sea.

So rip me open, burn me bare,

I’ll find You only in despair.

For every wound reveals Your face,

And loss itself becomes embrace.

Let others choose the easier way,

I’ll take the blows that make me pray.

Through shattered glass Your stars ignite —

Rewarded — You will hasten light.

The Womb of Lack

“The Womb of Lack”

I build my house on hollow ground,

each prayer a whisper, a broken sound.

I lift my eyes, but see no King,

still chant His Name as if it’s spring.

I talk of love with lips of stone,

the words are His, but not my own.

I beg for faith, yet cheat the night,

pretend I’ve seen the hidden light.

He hides to show how blind I stay,

He wounds to teach me how to pray.

He breaks my heart till cracks appear,

then pours His mercy through my fear.

So curse this void that burns my chest,

this hunger proves I’m not at rest.

If I could die before His throne,

I’d find the life that feels like home.

O Lord, reveal what I don’t feel—

my barren heart, my rusted zeal.

For only one who knows he’s weak,

is strong enough the King to seek.

And till I stand where angels kneel,

I’ll love the wound that will not heal.

For in that pain, Your Name is sewn—

my lack, my grave, my stepping stone.

Even The Unworthy Are Heard

📜 "Even the Unworthy Are Heard"

(Inspired by Shamati 113 – “The Eighteen Prayer”)

They say He hears each mouth that prays,

Yet mercy seals what He conveys.

Then what of cries that lack the grace—

Do they just vanish into space?

A twisted path, this narrow gate,

Where love and judgment intertwine with fate.

One moment lifted, next laid low—

The opposites are all we know.

To be so humble we disappear,

Yet roar with truth when friends draw near.

To bow before the least of men,

Yet hold the world and start again.

Our words may fail, intentions rot,

But still He hears—no soul forgot.

The filth, the pride, the broken pleas,

He drinks them all like storm-tossed seas.

This is the weight, the work, the song—

To know we're weak, yet still belong.

To cry with lips that once deceived—

And be embraced, though not believed.

So if you find your prayer denied,

Or mercy masked, or hope has died—

Know this, dear heart: He bends His ear

Most close to those who drown in fear.

Heart of the Ten

 In the heart of the Ten, where the frequencies blend,

We’re transmitters, receivers, on a path with no end.

In the dance of desires, from the surface we rise,

Trading ego’s illusions for love’s truer prize.

Oh my brothers, my sisters, in this sacred embrace,

We are tuning our hearts to a higher place.

Every thought that we shift from the self to the whole,

Is a step toward the One, the correction of soul.

For the glory of the Creator is the end of our quest,

In the love we uncover, in the trials we’re blessed.

We are builders of bridges from the will to receive,

To a realm of pure giving, where only love we believe.

So here is our mission, our journey so vast,

To transform every moment as we hold each other fast.

In the heart of the Ten, in the love that we lend,

We find the Creator, our beginning and end.

The Record in the Heart

 

“The Record in the Heart”

The light once burned through me, pure and clean,

Then vanished—left me raw, unseen.

The echo carved its name inside,

A scar of love that will not hide.

I reached for Him with trembling hand,

He pulled away—so I could stand.

For vessels form when lights withdraw,

The pain itself becomes the law.

Each record whispers, “Try again,”

Each fall reveals the heart of man.

The sweetness gone, the hunger stays,

And drives my soul through endless days.

The first look crowned me with delight,

The second stripped me bare at night.

From what He took, the vessel grew—

An emptiness both sharp and true.

So now I live on holy ache,

A shattered heart for Heaven’s sake.

I learn to read what tears have signed—

The Reshimo etched in heart and mind.

Until at last the light will see,

A mirror shining back at Thee.

The broken record starts to sing—

“I’m nothing, yet I hold everything.”

The Rope and the Heart

“The Rope and the Heart” 

I reached for light with hands of clay,

But grabbed for self along the way.

The rope You threw I failed to keep,

It burned my palms, I fell too deep.

You gave me Torah—fire and thread,

To stitch the soul the ego bled.

Each Mitzva done for love, not gain,

Becomes the cure for all my pain.

I was a limb cut from Your chest,

Beating alone, without the rest.

But when I give, the pulse returns,

And every wound inside me burns.

To serve my Rav, to love my friend,

That’s where the walls begin to bend.

Their greatness feeds the flame in me,

Till “I” dissolves in unity.

I shrink below, they rise above,

And crush my pride with holy love.

In multitude, the King is crowned,

His glory shines where hearts are bound.

Bestowal kills what pride defends,

Yet lifts me higher when self ends.

The rope is fire, the climb is pain,

But each scar sings—He lives again.

So take me, Lord, and tear apart,

This will of stone that guards my heart.

Make all my giving burn and start—

Till I am You, and You my heart.

The Dream Within The One

 

🔥 “The Dream Within the One” 🔥

---

I walk through this world like smoke in His breath,

Every heartbeat a spark from the furnace of death.

Eyes wide open, yet seeing a lie,

A painted illusion on the walls of the sky.

He dreamt me in silence, in mercy, in fire,

A thought within thought, wrapped in desire.

I scream “I exist!” — but who hears the call?

The echo returns: It was Me all along, after all.

Each pain that I curse is His tender disguise,

Each fall that I fear — a hand helping me rise.

He hides in the dust, in the sweat, in the tear,

Whispering softly, “Awaken, I’m here.”

The dream is so cruel, so sweet, so insane,

I kiss the thorn just to feel the pain.

Because in the ache, the mask starts to fall,

And I see — there was never a “me” at all.

The Ten stands as pillars in this infinite mist,

Brothers of flame that the void cannot resist.

Together we wake, through the storm and the scars,

And find we were sleeping inside the stars.

So tear me apart, Beloved Divine,

Crush this illusion till Your light is mine.

For in Your dream, I burned and I bled —

And in awakening — I rise from the dead.

CALL UPON HIM WHEN HE IS NEAR

🔥 CALL UPON HIM WHEN HE IS NEAR 🔥

---

I stood in a forest of teeth and breath,

where shadows eat prayers and love smells like death.

The beasts inside me—fanged with need—

gnawed on every holy seed.

I screamed for silence, tore my chest,

found nothing there but unrest.

Then a whisper cracked my skull apart:

“You didn’t call Me—I called your heart.”

---

You think it’s you that yearns, that pleads,

but it’s Me that bleeds through your deeds.

Each tear you shed is My descent,

each cry of yours—My covenant.

You never prayed alone, My son,

you only echoed what I’d begun.

When you thought it was your might, your climb,

I withdrew—and left you lost in time.

---

Now you curse the light that fades too fast,

you chase your echoes, shadows cast.

But I was there in that brief flame,

whispering softly your forgotten Name.

When I am near, you’ll feel the ache,

the trembling earth, the heart that breaks.

Don’t reason it—don’t think, don’t plan,

just fall, and know “It’s Me, not man.”

---

So when you wake at 3 A.M.,

and love hurts more than sin again,

don’t drown it out, don’t wipe the tear—

Call upon Me—I am near.

And when I vanish into your doubt,

and all your candles flicker out—

remember this, My only plea:

You never sought—

It was always Me.

Black Dot Rising

💔🔥 “Black Dot Rising”

I walk in black where angels hide,

no glow, no guide, just pain inside.

The light has fled, the songs are gone,

and still the night keeps dragging on.

I bite the dust, I curse the flame,

my ego screams and takes the blame.

Yet deep beneath that broken skin,

the smallest spark still burns within.

The dot is black, but fierce its hue,

it whispers low, “I’m still in you.”

No white remains, no shining crown,

but from this dark the soul kneels down.

I serve through tears that never cease,

in war I fight to find my peace.

Each fall, each cut, each silent cry,

becomes a prayer that lights the sky.

Don’t chase the glow that comes then fades,

the real work’s done in hidden shades.

For when the world says “you’re forgot,”

the Shechina breathes inside that spot.

So let me bleed and call it grace,

the pain’s the kiss I can’t erase.

From blackest night the dawn will start—

the dot of dust becomes His heart.

The Ride Within

“The Ride Within”

I wake in the morning and brush my teeth,

Run a brush through my hair and shake off sleep.

I stumble to the kitchen for a bitter brew,

No grinds, no grounds—just a hollow view.

So I laugh at fate, make a brand-new pot,

Steam rising like prayers from what I’ve got.

Step outside with a smoke in hand,

Dreams and ashes fall in the sand.

The Tri-Glide waits, chrome heart aglow,

A beast of freedom with a holy flow.

I kick her to life, the thunder roars,

Like Malchut pounding on Heaven’s doors.

Each mile burns ego from bone to bone,

The wind screams truths I thought I owned.

Every car I pass, every stretch of sky,

Strips another layer of “I.”

The road becomes the parchment scroll,

Where the Creator writes across my soul.

Each curve, each hum of spinning steel,

Cuts away the lies I used to feel.

My Ten rides beside me, unseen but near,

Their hearts in my chest, their voices clear.

We climb the hill of faith above reason,

Through storms of doubt, through every season.

I twist the throttle—Hitbatlut ignites,

Annulment burns in the wind’s white lights.

Hitkalalut follows, the merge of flame,

No “me,” no “you,” just one Name.

Hitpahalut—oh God, the spark explodes,

Love floods the asphalt, the highway glows.

The roar becomes a silent song:

“There is none else besides Him”—all along.

By the time I stop, I’m no longer me,

Just a vessel of longing, endlessly free.

The Tri-Glide hums down to a prayer,

The friends, the path, the love—all there.

And in that stillness, brutal yet kind,

The Creator smiles through the dust in my mind.

For every ride begins in despair and pain—

But ends in the heart, where only Love remains.

The Debt of the Light

 “The Debt of the Light”

I begged, I wept, I called His name,

and suddenly the heavens came.

A flash of warmth, a holy breeze—

I thought I’d found eternal ease.

But the Light that comes without my sweat

is a loan the soul will soon regret.

For every spark I did not earn

must burn me back until I learn.

The prayer was sweet, the labor spared,

but later came the weight I dared.

The debt collectors of the night—

They take from me my borrowed light.

The heart must bleed to make a Kli,

the vessel forged in agony.

Each tear a coin, each sigh a fee,

for Love’s true home is poverty.

So don’t believe what shines too fast,

the Light unearned will never last.

Labor till your bones are numb,

till every “I” is overcome.

Then when the darkness starts to sing,

and ego dies beneath its sting,

the Light returns—but now it’s yours,

engraved in toil, not Heaven’s stores.

Only he who pays in pain

can keep the joy that’s born from strain.

The debt of Light is love’s decree—

I labored, found—now I believe.

The Dot that Burns Forever

“The Dot that Burns Forever”

I stand in the night with no lamp in my hand,

A slave to a will I don’t understand.

The light has fled, the songs all died,

And still I whisper, “There’s nowhere to hide.”

I am a dot, black, alone, unseen—

No white around me, no in-between.

The proud fall high, the wise go blind,

But I stay tied in one knot, mind to Mind.

They call me beast, they call me dust,

They mock my faith, they crush my trust.

Yet in this ruin, a secret grows—

The darker the wound, the brighter it glows.

No more do I beg for abundance or show,

For what comes and goes is not mine to know.

I serve in the ashes, I breathe in the pain,

Till exile turns into Eden again.

For I am black but beautiful, scarred yet whole,

A vessel cracked open, revealing the Soul.

The Shechina sighs through my broken chest,

“I live in the dust—but here, I rest.”

So let me stay empty, humble, and small,

For that’s where the Aleph enters all.

And the dot—once dead, once lost, once shamed—

Becomes the spark through which worlds are named.

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)

---

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.

---

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.

Wine That Burns the Fool

I sipped the cup of heaven’s light,

And thought, “I’ve conquered endless night!”

The wine sang loud — “You are the king!”

And pride began its deadly sting.

I stumbled drunk on holy flame,

And whispered prayers that fed my name,

While truth stood silent at the gate,

And let me drown in self-made fate.

For this is wine that blinds the soul,

It crowns the half, but kills the whole.

It makes you think you’ve reached the peak,

While faith grows faint and will grows weak.

Oh, how I begged for more delight,

Till darkness stripped away my sight,

And in that void, the sober pain—

I learned what “Torah” means again.

It isn’t joy that fills the glass,

But tears that help the poison pass.

And when the heart to dust is torn,

The real wine flows — the soul reborn.

So drink, my friend, but drink with fear,

Let love be clear, and self disappear.

For only he who’s crushed and true,

Can taste the Light the drunk once knew.

Closing Prayer of the Congress

Creator of all, we lift our eyes,

Grateful for love that never dies.

Through lessons deep our hearts did grow,

Above all reason Your light did flow.

We annulled ourselves, we learned to bend,

To feel the friend, no start, no end.

We joined as one, inclusion true,

A vessel formed, prepared for You.

With zeal and fire, enthusiasm bright,

We rose together into Your light.

Our hearts were opened, flowing free,

A river of love, eternity’s sea.

Now as this congress comes to a close,

A fragrance of unity forever grows.

One prayer ascends, so pure, so strong,

A chorus of souls, one endless song.

Bind us, Beloved, forever in You,

Each friend a mirror, each heart made new.

May joy keep burning, may love never part,

For You dwell forever inside our heart.

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