The Split That Prays

The Split That Prays

by William S. Becker

As the lesson starts, it begins,

My heart splits clean into two within.

One side says, Focus—do not stray,

The other whispers, Today’s the day.

The prayer will rise, the Creator hears,

My chest collapses into tears.

Tears for the will that only takes,

For every spark the ego breaks.

One side counts comfort, time, and gain,

Coffee, body, ease, and pain.

That’s the will to receive, loud and wise,

Selling lies that dress as truth in disguise.

The other side is small and thin,

A silent knock from deep within.

No logic there, no proof, no chart,

Just hunger—that’s the point in heart.

The will attacks when prayer is near,

Floods the mind with doubt and fear.

Why these friends? Why this path?

Look at your past—look at the math.

The heart can’t hold both at once,

It breaks beneath competing wants.

But in the break a cry is made,

Not to receive—but to be saved.

No strength to win. No way alone.

Just a plea to be overthrown.

And that small cry, broken and true,

Cuts out a space for Light to move through.

The will still stands, armed and fed,

But the point is no longer dead.

Between them both, a line appears—

Not perfection—just choice through tears.

So lesson by lesson, day by day,

I fall, I beg, I’m shown the way.

Not by crushing the will to receive,

But choosing the point I believe.

So I don’t curse the split inside,

Where ego and the spark collide.

I thank the break, the tears, the wrong—

They push my heart where I belong.

Not clean. Not whole.

But turned above—

Held by the Ten,

Wrapped in Love.