Psalms In The Heart

 Climbing The Mountain Of ME A man walks proud, says, “I’m strong, I’m fine,” But trips on the same old wants every time. He swears he’s good, he means no harm, Then grabs for self with a greedy arm. A hill shows up, but it’s no small mound, It’s a mountain of “me” piled high on the ground. Each thought for self, each secret deal, Stacks one more rock the heart must feel. He fights that hill, slips on the clay, Curses the dark that blocks the way. Shouts at the sky, “Why me? Why now?” While feeding the beast he won’t disavow. Then comes the spice, so plain, so light, Not a sword, not a grand big fight. Just words of Torah, a quiet flame, That slowly tames the inner shame. The evil voice don’t die or flee, It just sits down more quietly. Still grins, still waits, still wants its share, But now there’s help in the air. So man keeps walking, bruised but true, With love in sight and work to do. The hill is self, the path is above— A brutal road, all wrapped in love.

 We gather to connect, not for comfort, not for fame, But to build a place where the Creator can reveal His Name. There is no other goal, no side road, no clever disguise, Only the bond between hearts where the true connection lies. He holds us together in ways we don’t yet feel, Gives us the texts, the path, the hunger that is real. Like arms around a child that we’re too numb to see, His embrace is constant, but we lack the sensitivity. Everything in me, every thought, every fall, every climb, I attribute to Him, in the Ten and alone in time. Each friend a doorway, each moment a hidden sign, That nothing in this life was ever truly mine. Until the day arrives when the veil is finally torn, And the revelation within the connection is born. A person must yearn, must ache, must plead from deep inside, For the moment the Creator no longer has to hide. At first I search for the friend, for a hand I can hold, For warmth in the circle, for hearts that are bold. But slowly it changes...