It Appears To Me(If We Want To See)

It Appears to Me (If We Want to See)

It appears to me

If we want to see

Don’t look back

Increase the lack

What’s missing is not some hidden sign

It’s the will to leave me behind

The past keeps whispering, “You were right”

But sight is born only in forward night

The ego begs comfort, proof, and control

While the soul cries out for a shared hole

Not a hole of despair or private pain

But a common absence we all sustain

Don’t polish the wound, don’t dress it nice

Let it burn clean, let it demand a price

The lack is the place where truth can stand

When I stop reaching with my own hand

If I look back, I justify why I’m here

If I look forward, I tremble in fear

But fear is the gate that faith walks through

When the “I” dissolves into “we” and “you”

So don’t ask answers, don’t beg to be shown

Build the space where He’s already known

For vision arrives, simple and free

When your lack becomes ours—

it appears to me.

The Place Where Ten Become One

The Place Where Ten Become One

We were not gathered for comfort or peace,

But to expose the grip of the will to receive.

A force was required, not one man alone,

For the evil resists where it’s privately owned.

So we agreed—without contract or name—

That the goal stands above loss and gain.

And from that consent, a power was born:

To fight oneself, where the true war is sworn.

Each one included in all the rest,

No hero survives this particular test.

For the strength of the many lives only where

I dissolve my claim to being “more” or “aware.”

Annulment is not a lowering of head,

But choosing the friends’ merits instead.

The moment I rise above even one,

I sever the thread—we are no longer one.

In every ten, a whole stature stands:

Head, body, heels, and unseen hands.

And blessed is not the one who ascends,

But the one who feels lowest among his friends.

For abundance flows through the place most null,

Where the self is emptied, not spiritualized full.

Not wisdom, not fire, not knowledge refined—

But the heel that consents to be last in line.

So what do we speak when we gather as friends?

Not failures, not states, not how the week bends.

We speak of the Creator—His greatness alone,

For annulment grows where His height is known.

And yet even that greatness we must surpass,

For above reason is where adhesion lasts.

We believe He is good, benevolent, true,

Even when reason objects, confused and askew.

From the friends I must borrow this faith,

This love that survives contradiction and weight.

Not from myself—there is nothing to take—

Only from hearts that for the goal ache.

And when the eye sees a flaw in the ten,

Know the evil has entered again.

Above reason I rise, not blind but aware,

That correction is found in how I compare.

If I see myself higher, I’ve nothing to gain,

No vessel, no lack, no place for His Name.

But if I see them as greater than me,

Then adhesion becomes a real possibility.

So let this day begin with one quiet vow:

Not to fix, not to judge, not to know how.

Only to annul, to cling, to receive

The friends as the place where the Creator is revealed.

Prayer And Forgiveness In The Work

Prayer and Forgiveness in the Work

No one ascends alone, that lie cuts deep,

The ego whispers, “Your seeds are yours to keep.”

It crowns itself king, says “Stand and be strong,”

While quietly proving it’s been wrong all along.

First comes the blow, the fracture, the crack,

Troubles arrive and the heart fights back.

I curse the road, the world, the pain,

Never once asking Who pulls the rein?

Rabash says: stop—look straight at the root,

Name the desire, call evil its suit.

The will to receive dressed holy and wise

Is the very source where the darkness lies.

Not shame, not guilt, not beating the chest,

But clear recognition—this thing is the test.

All evil revealed in a single sight:

The ego alone blocks the Light.

Then prayer is born—not words, not song,

But a scream that admits “I waited too long.”

Forgiveness is asked—not for sin or mistake,

But for not turning sooner when the heart began to break.

“I blamed the world, I blamed my fate,

I blamed the friends, I blamed the gate.

Forgive me for thinking I could endure,

Forgive me for forgetting You were the cure.”

And in that moment—quiet, stark—

The evil inclination loses its spark.

Not destroyed by force, not beaten in war,

Just seen as useless—needed no more.

With no work left, it falls to the floor,

Slips into fight or flight as before.

The sages knew this law by name:

“I made the evil—and Torah the flame.”

Not Torah as text, not ink or scroll,

But Light that reforms the fractured soul.

A spice, they say, to sweeten the will,

Neutralizing poison without killing the vessel still.

Alone it won’t work—this is the knife,

The ego survives in solitary life.

But dive with the friends, heart into heart,

And the neutralization quietly starts.

Like-minded souls, one lack, one plea,

Build a place where the Light can be.

Not inside me, not inside you,

But between us—where truth comes through.

Prayer becomes shared, forgiveness expands,

No longer mine—held in many hands.

And the ego fades, not chased, not cursed,

Just outgrown… replaced… reversed.

This is the work—subtle, exact,

Not heroics, not spiritual act.

Just seeing the evil for what it is,

And turning together—to None Else Besides Him.