Psalms In The Heart

The Path of Truth The point in my heart woke me up one day, Not with trumpets or fire—just a quiet tug to pray. I still had bills, flat tires, coffee gone cold, Kids, work, aches, the same stories retold. I thought the call meant peace, a softer road, But life got heavier—I felt the load. One problem hit, then another right through, Not to break me apart, but to show what is true. I lost my temper in traffic, pride at my job, Got hurt by a word, then hurt back like a slob. Nothing dramatic, no lightning or flame, Just ego uncovered, again and again. Every calamity showed me my face, How I want to receive, how little I place The friends before me, the goal before “me,” How far my heart is from what it should be. The car breaks down, the money runs thin, Someone in the ten rubs salt in my skin. I want to run, to be right, to be free— And there it is: the real enemy. Not the boss, not the wife, not fate or the day, But the voice inside saying,  “You come first—always.” Each fall build...

Everything is calculated down to the tee The Klipa won’t let us see Just what an ass we truly are About calling on the Creator—instead we see stars We polish excuses, call ego “insight,” Mistake imagination for spiritual light We chase sensations, halos, and signs, While dodging the work that shatters the spine We say “I prayed,” but we never got low, Never begged from the place we refuse to show We asked for comfort, for peace, for relief, Not for exposure of rootless belief The Klipa smiles, says, “You’re doing just fine,” Feeds us pride dressed up as the Divine It hates one thing—raw honest lack, Where a man admits, “I don’t know the track.” The Creator waits—not in stars or dreams, But in the crack where the ego screams When there’s nothing left to hide or pretend, That’s where the prayer can finally ascend So yes—it’s measured, weighed, and exact, Every fall tailored to break the act Blessed is the blow that kills the lie, And leaves one request that cannot deny “Not knowledge. No...