Serving The Friends

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Serving the Friends

We came with hearts that only knew demand,

Each one a kingdom, each one a land.

We wanted light, we wanted to feel,

But learned the first truth: we’re broken and real.

We sit in circles, words on our lips,

But inside the ego still tightens its grips.

We speak of love, of unity’s tone,

Yet feel how alone is carved in the bone.

So we begin not with lofty prayer,

But with simple acts of being there.

To listen when tired, to show up dry,

To lift the friends when we want to hide.

We justify, even when it burns,

We bow to the lesson each failure returns.

We pray for their strength, their ascent, their light,

Even when our own hearts feel locked in the night.

We do the small things no one sees,

The boring work, the inner pleas.

We swallow pride, we cancel claim,

We choose the group over personal flame.

And slowly we notice a silent change,

Not in the world, but in our range.

Less about what we get or own,

More about building a shared unknown.

We finally see what the work is about:

Not to feel holy, not to feel devout.

Not to perfect some spiritual role,

But to make room inside the soul.

For the deepest inversion the path has shown:

We don’t build love — we build a home.

We don’t create the upper light,

We clear the space for it to ignite.

Serving the friends is not being kind,

It’s breaking the walls of the separate mind.

It’s saying connection is greater than self,

Greater than comfort, honor, or wealth.

And in that space between broken hearts,

Where no one owns and no one starts,

The Creator finds a place to roam:

Serving the friends is giving the Creator a home.