Psalms In The Heart

  The Freedom (after Baal HaSulam ) I thought I chose the road I stand upon Thought I woke myself each rising dawn Thought my thoughts were mine to steer and bend Thought freedom lived where wants defend But look closer—nothing here was picked Not the hunger, not the way I’m ticked Not the fears that jump before my mind Not the urges dragging me behind I did not choose my parents or my blood The tongue I speak, the land, the mud I did not choose my traits or tone Nor what I love or hate alone Even rebellion wears a borrowed face Even my fight came pre-installed in place I rage, I swear, I break the mold But every move was bought and sold The books I read, the songs I hear The values I hold close and dear The crowd I trust, the rules I bend They write my steps before they end I chase desire dressed as choice But hear closely—that’s not my voice It’s habit dressed in clever skin Old commands whispering within I want to choose—I swear I do But every “I” comes already through A...

  COLLECT THIS It comes at me dirty, no knock, no grace A thought with a shiv and a spit in my face An emotion that drags me back through the mud A vision soaked heavy in old shame and blood Didn’t ask for it. Didn’t vote it in. Still there it is—grinning—wearing my skin The ego says, “Good, this is yours to chew” Like I haven’t watched that lie split me in two It says “Understand it, fix it, explain it clean” As if control was ever part of this scene As if I didn’t learn the hard damn way That what I grab tight is what rots and stays Because every time I crown it as “me” The Light cuts out like electricity Every time I claim it, name it, defend I turn a message into a dead-end So yeah—I’ve fought it, swallowed it whole Called it “growth” while it ate my soul Pretended strength meant white-knuckle resolve Like this mess was something I could solve But I’m done lying to myself today I don’t steer the waves—I just get in the way These thoughts ain’t wisdom, these feelings ain’t...

  WHEN IT COMES AT ME When it comes at me uninvited, raw and loud A thought like a blade, an emotion too proud A vision that shakes me, I didn’t request It hits where I’m weakest, right dead in the chest My ego jumps first, says “This one is mine” To chew it, to use it, to cross every line To fix it, to own it, to wear it like skin Like I ever controlled what was placed deep within But I’ve been here before, I know this disguise Every surprise is the same old lie If I grab it, I lose it, if I crown it as “me” I seal off the Light and I choke the degree So I stop. Not brave. Not calm. Not clean. Just tired of drowning in what I can’t mean And from the heart—no speech, no show— I turn where I’ve learned is the only place to go Dear Creator, collect what I cannot hold These thoughts, these fires, this hunger, this cold I didn’t ask for them, but I won’t pretend I know how they work or how they should end Correct them—not soften, not hide, not erase Turn poison to medicine, pres...

 We are born in a state that knows no Light, No sense of bestowal, no inner sight. A will to receive that rules every move, Cut off from the truth we were made to prove. There is nothing worse than this starting place, A life with no feel of the Creator’s face. We chase our pleasures, defend our pride, While the force of bestowal stays locked outside. Yet this is the work, not to run or escape, But to take our nature and let it reshape. Not to kill desire or break what we are, But aim the same hunger toward a higher star. Step after step, through failure and cry, Through prayers that rise when all answers die, Wisdom is earned, not read or told, It’s learned in the fire where the ego is cold. And when bestowal becomes our aim, When giving outweighs the hunger for gain, The path completes what words can’t explain— We become as one with the Source of the flame.