🔥 “Inside the One Desire”

(A brutal everyday climb toward the Creator )

I crawl inside the want to be One with Him,

while the bills keep screaming and the lights go dim.

My phone won’t stop buzzing with the world’s demands,

yet my heart’s in a war zone with empty hands.

I dive into that chamber where the longing burns,

but the damn car won’t start and the whole day turns.

Traffic jams choke me while ego pulls tight,

still I search for His softness inside the fight.

The boss barks orders, my patience cracks,

the weight of the rent sitting on my back.

Friends ghost out, loneliness stalks the room,

yet I whisper His name in the inner gloom.

Coffee spills down my shirt as I try to ascend,

the mind mocks every dream I intend.

Pain in my chest from wanting His face,

but my dog pukes on the floor — so much for grace.

The desire pulls harder while the world goes mad,

I feel Him in the ache of the good and bad.

Every interruption is a messenger sent,

showing me the lack where my vessel is bent.

The heart breaks open because I want to give,

not for myself but for the way souls live.

In that place of longing I finally see—

He waits in the cracks life punches through me.

I press my forehead to the truth I feel,

though nothing outside of me seems to heal.

I pray from the wound where His Light is due,

and He fills that desire because it’s wholly true.

So I walk through the chaos with a trembling grin,

knowing every blow is a doorway in.

And the more the world smashes what I thought I knew,

the closer my broken heart clings to You.

The Left, the Right, and the Beast Inside

🔥 “The Left, the Right, and the Beast Inside”🔥

I stand before the King with shaking hands,

Pretending I’m whole while drowning in shifting sands.

Above reason I praise Him like a man who can’t breathe,

But when reason kicks in, it shows what’s underneath.

The left line hits me like a boot to the skull,

Revealing the truth—my heart’s empty, dull.

Importance of holiness? Only when I fake it,

Inside I’m bare, bankrupt, too damned weak to take it.

I see I’ve got nothing—no faith that’s real,

Just a mouth that talks tough while my knees always kneel.

This lack is the knife that cuts me awake,

It hurts so bad it teaches what wholeness can’t make.

Emptiness carves me till I’m hollow and thin,

Like the Creator ripped open my chest just to crawl in.

This beast in me screams, “Take for yourself!”

While the soul whispers softly, “Ask for nothing but help.”

I taste the left line—cold, sharp, and vile,

It shows what I hide with every forced smile.

But only those who seek to bestow can feel this ache,

The emptiness that threatens every breath they take.

So I beg for exaltedness, not wisdom or sight,

Just the strength to rise broken and walk above night.

Not to receive greatness, not to feel any glow,

But to bend like a servant whose master says, “Go.”

Then the right line appears—Hesed dressed like a king,

Telling me there’s good in every terrible thing.

“I made your evil,” He says, “but I gave you a spice—

The Torah to break it, if you pay the price.”

It’s brutal to see how the Torah cuts deep,

It wakes the parts of me I’d rather keep asleep.

It drags me from filth to a thin ray of light,

Not by wisdom or miracles—just choosing what’s right.

Right is wholeness, faith above knowing,

A quiet flame in a storm that keeps blowing.

And only when I cling to the Good Who Does Good,

Can the left line reveal what’s misunderstood.

Then wisdom hits—Hochma sharp as a blade,

The Torah that shines once the right has been made.

You earn the Giver only after you trust,

And walk above reason through fire and dust.

This is the work—between beast and man,

Between left and right that rip me in two as they can.

I rise from the ashes, brutalized, torn apart,

But every blow carves the Creator into my heart.

When The Hunger Turns Holy -- A Poem on Shamati 143

🔥 “When the Hunger Turns Holy” — A Poem on Shamati 143

I walk through days where nothing fits,

The heart’s a cage the ego knits.

It whispers, “Take, devour, claim,”

’Til all my thoughts burst into flame.

The soul grows hungry in the dark,

It claws the ribs to leave a mark.

It begs for Light but tastes the mud,

’Cause every rise must cross the flood.

Shamati writes: the hunger’s real—

You starve until the heavens peel.

You’re left with nothing but your cry,

A broken vessel asking why.

But this is love, disguised as pain,

The lack, the longing, the inner strain.

He empties you so you can feel

How only He can make you real.

You fight the urge to numb the ache,

To run, to hide, to curse, to break.

But every wound that splits your chest

Is Him demanding you confess:

“I’m not the owner of this life,

I cannot win this inner strife.

Take all I hold, all I defend—

Just let me fall into my friends.”

And when the darkness steals your breath,

When hope feels like a quiet death,

You learn the truth inside the burn—

Only through lack the lights return.

He starves the will so love can grow,

He cracks the heart so you will know

That all the fullness you adore

Arrives when you can ask no more.

So bless the hollows carved in you,

The nights you drown, the days you rue.

For each assault that tears your core

Opens a gate to something more.

Shamati says the pain is wise—

A gift wrapped tight in your disguise.

You’re emptied out, but not alone—

Your Ten becomes your borrowed throne.

And when you break enough to bend,

Enough to need your closest friend,

Enough to beg the Light to come—

That’s when creation beats its drum.

You rise from hunger, stripped but whole,

With nothing left except the goal.

The Creator’s love—so fierce, so tough—

Whispers, “Now you’re finally enough.”