Concealment in the Heart

There’s a difference, yeah, but it ain’t what it seems,

Between those who study and those chasing dreams.

Not smarter, not purer, not closer to Heaven,

Just handed a role — a position was given.

All of us move when the Creator decides,

Every thought, every step, every fall, every rise.

No one’s outside, no one’s ignored,

Each soul is operated by the same unified force.

Some are awakened, pulled into the room,

Not for reward — but for burden and doom.

Chosen like Rosh, not to rule or command,

But to pass what flows through a trembling hand.

Dissemination ain’t numbers, applause, or proof,

It laughs in the face of logical truth.

If reason could measure what Light is meant to do,

Faith would be useless — and Rav says it’s not true.

We speak, we write, we share, we stand,

Not knowing who hears or who understands.

The ego screams, “Is this even right?”

Faith answers softly, “Walk into the night.”

No feedback, no praise, no visible gain,

Just quiet work through resistance and pain.

That’s not failure — that’s the sign

You stepped outside reason and into the line.

So don’t judge the world, don’t measure the crowd,

We weren’t chosen to be seen or loud.

We were chosen to serve when the heart feels blind,

Letting the Creator work through mankind.

And when doubt says, “This makes no sense,”

That’s the exact place of true confidence.

Faith is the lamp when the road feels dim —

Dissemination is trusting Him, not you, not them.

Same Dust, One Saddle

🔥 POEM — “Same Dust, One Saddle”

Boots hit dirt before sunrise breaks,

Coffee black, no time for mistakes.

Ropes get tight, the gate flies wide,

You don’t tame the bull — you learn to ride.

Faith ain’t clean, it’s calloused hands,

Oil-field prayers and desert land.

We fall, we bleed, we climb again,

Same fire burns in every man.

בוץ על המגפיים, לב חשוף,

לא מחפשים נוח — מחפשים אמת לעוף.

נופלים וקמים, זה החוק הישן,

לב אחד שורד — עם אחד, אדם.

Bucking broncos, busted pride,

Learn real fast who’s real inside.

You don’t win by standing tall,

You win when you answer the call.

If you’re scared — say it!

If you’re broken — stay in!

If you fall — get up!

If you hear the call — saddle up!

Toprak aynı, yol aynı,

Kalp atışı — hiç fark saymaz.

Texas, Türkiye — tek nefes,

Aynı dua, aynı ses.

Same dust storms, different skies,

Same damn tears in grown men’s eyes.

We don’t run when pressure hits,

Steel gets strong where it resists.

मिट्टी वही, रास्ता वही,

दिल की आग सबमें सही।

गिरते हैं हम, फिर उठते हैं,

एक ही पुकार — सब सुनते हैं।

No difference!

No borders!

Same dust!

One order!

Ride together — or don’t ride at all!

Middle Line of Nothing

 “Middle Line or Nothing”

I walked the right, clean hands, bowed head,

Gave thanks for crumbs, called hunger “fed.”

I served with fear, I praised His name,

But never touched His living flame.

I walked the left, my eyes burned bright,

Truth like fire in dead of night.

I saw His plan, I knew His aim,

But wisdom naked turned to shame.

Right says, “Give—don’t ask to feel.”

Left says, “Take—this truth is real.”

Both were loud, both felt so true,

Both alone just split me in two.

The heart cracked open, bled the lie,

“Pick a side or surely die.”

But Heaven whispered, low and thin,

“I dwell where both are braided in.”

Not mercy alone, not truth by force,

Not holy deeds without the Source.

The King is crowned where lines agree,

Where love clothes light responsibly.

No glory shown in empty hands,

No throne revealed in broken plans.

His honor shines when hearts align,

Hochma dressed in Hassadim.

So I don’t run, I don’t divide,

I stand where opposites collide.

I hold the dark, I hold the flame,

And bless His Name through joy and pain.

This is the work — no borrowed light,

No silent right, no reckless sight.

The Torah lives where both entwine,

Middle Line — or nothing shines.

---

HEBREW 

קו ימין בלי אור — חסד בלי חיים

קו שמאל בלי לב — חכמה בלי רחמים

רק באמצע מתגלה המלך

רק כששניהם כאחד — נשלם התיקון

לא די לתת, לא די לראות

בלי לב מלובש — האור נשרף

התורה מחברת ימין ושמאל

ושם כבוד הבורא נחשף

---

SPANISH 

Derecha sin verdad se vuelve fría,

Izquierda sin amor quema y vacía.

No hay gloria en partes rotas del querer,

Solo en el centro nace el Rey.

Sabiduría vestida de piedad,

Luz con cuidado, fuerza con bondad.

Ahí se revela Su voluntad,

En línea media — verdad total.

---

RUSSIAN 

Без милосердия мудрость — яд,

Без истины добро — лишь взгляд.

Он раскрыт не в крайних словах,

А там, где оба живут в сердцах.

Средняя линия — не компромисс,

А свет, что выдержал вес небес.

Там слава Творца становится явной,

Где свет и любовь соединены правильно.

---

CLOSING 

Brothers, we stand — not right, not left,

But where the heart is stripped of self.

No borrowed fire, no holy mask,

Just one desire — to crown Him fast.

Not me, not you — one single plea,

That He be seen through unity.

This is the path the sages knew,

Middle Line — made real in you.

Understanding None (One Man, One Heart). from the Zohar

Understanding None (One Man, One Heart)

We hear the words “understanding none,”

The mind goes dark, the heart gets stunned.

The Zohar laughs at what I know,

And strips me naked, soft and slow.

“Not by the mind, not by the brain,”

Truth only enters through the pain.

What reason builds, the Light must break,

For unity is not a thought to take.

Showing us how to become one,

Not by winning—by being undone.

One man, one heart, one soul made clear,

Only when self disappears.

I swear I’m far, I swear I’m late,

But distance is a lie I state.

“Near or far is all the same,”

When all events come from His Name.

The Zohar says, “Look not above,”

The ladder starts in friend-to-love.

The Creator hides between our cracks,

In every slight, in every lack.

I curse the friend, then beg for Light,

Hate erupts right in the fight.

And there He stands—silent, exact,

Writing mercy through my act.

“Who sees division sees concealment,”

Every judgment signs my sentence.

The world is shattered by my sight,

Unity waits behind the fight.

No prayer is clean, no heart is pure,

That’s why the method must endure.

He breaks me daily, hand in glove,

So I’ll choose faith—above my love.

I never knew how close, how near,

Till ego screamed and He was clear.

The Zohar burns, but not to harm—

It melts the self into the One.

So take my mind, I’ll keep the Ten,

Take my pride—just let me bend.

From “understanding none” I rise,

One heart revealed behind closed eyes.

The Rivers of Binah

Before the rivers ever dared to run,

Malchut stood naked, nowhere to run.

Every want screamed, “Fill me now,”

But nothing answered — not then, not how.

She reached for Light with filthy hands,

Took what she could, broke every command.

Called it wisdom, called it fate,

But every grab only deepened the hate.

Pleasure burned quick, then left a scar,

Another empty night, another bar.

Prayers turned hollow, lips learned lies,

Asking for heaven with wolfish eyes.

Then came the stop — the brutal freeze,

“No more receiving for self,” she decrees.

A blade to the heart, a wall to the soul,

Restriction hit hard — took total control.

No light, no warmth, no holy sound,

Just silence thick, crushing, profound.

The ego howled, kicked, cursed the night,

“Better to die than give up this fight.”

That’s when the crying finally broke,

Not for reward, not for a smoke.

A prayer rose raw, stripped of disguise,

“Teach me to give — or let me die.”

Only then did the rivers begin,

Not rushing in — but flowing within.

Binah leaned down, gentle but firm,

Showing Malchut a different term.

Not “take and live,” but “live to give,”

Not “prove you’re right,” but “let others live.”

Hassadim wrapped the shattered need,

Teaching the vessel how to receive.

Now rivers are flowing — measured, clean,

Binah is showing what mercy means.

Malchut receives just what she can send,

Light passes through her — not to her end.

And that’s the miracle, quiet and true:

Heaven descends when the self says “through.”

The river doesn’t drown the land,

It makes Malchut like Binah — hand in hand.

Living In a Dream

We work and live inside a dream,

Nothing here is what it seems.

Thoughts walk in and call me “me,”

Like I signed them silently.

Love shows up with blood on hands,

Hate pretends it understands.

Joy arrives then slips away,

Leaves a bill I still must pay.

I wake up tired, go to work,

Smile clean, but doubt still lurks.

Bills, regrets, old words replayed,

Every move already staged.

I fight my thoughts like they’re my own,

Defend a self I’ve never known.

Win a round, then lose the war,

Same damn thoughts knock at the door.

Then something cracks — not loud, not bright,

Just a whisper in the night:

“These thoughts aren’t yours — they pass through you,

Like weather does, like winds that move.”

The pain is real, the tears are true,

But even those are given too.

The dream don’t break when you see this part —

You wake inside it, heart to heart.

I don’t escape, I don’t run free,

I learn who’s running through me.

And in that truth — so stripped, so bare —

I find a Hand that’s always there.

Strong In my Ego Weak in My Hands

“Strong in My Ego, Weak in My Hands”

I said I wanted You,

but I wanted me more.

Said “all for Heaven,”

counted receipts on the floor.

I talked about love,

while stepping on friends,

Called it “discernment,”

hid knives in the ends.

I read all the books,

quoted line after line,

But my heart stayed closed,

said “later,” not “mine.”

I wanted bestowal

as an upgrade, a perk,

A ribbon on ego,

not death to my work.

Then You broke my legs

right under my pride,

Let Pharaoh laugh

while I swallowed the lie.

I pushed.

I prayed.

I worked till I bled.

And somehow I sank

even deeper instead.

Every good deed

reeked of reward,

Every prayer

had me at the core.

Friends looked like mirrors

I couldn’t stand,

Each one exposing

the rot in my hand.

That’s when I learned

what “weak” really means—

Not tired muscles,

but shattered routines.

Weak is when love

is no longer a choice,

When without You

there is no inner voice.

Weak is when life

feels colder than death,

When Kedusha won’t enter

the lungs of your breath.

And strong—

Strong was my ego,

my logic, my plan,

Strong was my mouth

saying “I understand.”

So You did the miracle

no hero survives:

You handed my strength

to the weak in my life.

You let the few cries

break the many excuses,

Let purity win

where knowledge abuses.

You showed me my sin

with surgical care,

Not to crush me—

to prove You were there.

Now I don’t ask for luxury,

titles, or light—

Just don’t let me live

without You in sight.

If bestowal doesn’t come

I am already dead,

So take this heart,

break it—

and make it instead.

No Spies IN The Market

NO SPIES IN THE MARKET

I walk out whole from a private gate,

One King inside—no room for debate.

But step in the market, the noise comes fast,

Spies clock my future, audit my past.

They whisper, “What’s in it? Why give it away?”

They tally my loss at the end of the day.

They quote me truth but poison the aim,

Dress ego in logic, call fear by my name.

They spy on the heart like merchants of war,

Measure the Light like it’s bought in a store.

“Where’s the feeling? The proof? The sign?”

They sell me delay and call it divine.

Hanukkah comes with a jar cracked thin,

No taste, no thrill, no guaranteed win.

Just oil enough for a stubborn stand,

Faith above reason—match in my hand.

I light it outside where the market roars,

Where ego trades futures and locks the doors.

Not to feel holy, smart, or correct—

But to burn one thought that demands respect.

The spy screams loud, “This makes no sense!”

I don’t argue back—I don’t mount defense.

I light and I act without asking why,

And the spy goes hungry—no deal to buy.

The market stays loud, the legs still shake,

Desire still wants what it thinks I should take.

But one small flame with no demand to win

Turns spies into silence—no place to sit in.

No spies in the Light, no wage to claim,

No Sitra Achra where love won’t bargain its name.

Just friends in the dark, oil running low,

And a flame that says, “Bestow—then go.”

The Split That Prays

The Split That Prays

by William S. Becker

As the lesson starts, it begins,

My heart splits clean into two within.

One side says, Focus—do not stray,

The other whispers, Today’s the day.

The prayer will rise, the Creator hears,

My chest collapses into tears.

Tears for the will that only takes,

For every spark the ego breaks.

One side counts comfort, time, and gain,

Coffee, body, ease, and pain.

That’s the will to receive, loud and wise,

Selling lies that dress as truth in disguise.

The other side is small and thin,

A silent knock from deep within.

No logic there, no proof, no chart,

Just hunger—that’s the point in heart.

The will attacks when prayer is near,

Floods the mind with doubt and fear.

Why these friends? Why this path?

Look at your past—look at the math.

The heart can’t hold both at once,

It breaks beneath competing wants.

But in the break a cry is made,

Not to receive—but to be saved.

No strength to win. No way alone.

Just a plea to be overthrown.

And that small cry, broken and true,

Cuts out a space for Light to move through.

The will still stands, armed and fed,

But the point is no longer dead.

Between them both, a line appears—

Not perfection—just choice through tears.

So lesson by lesson, day by day,

I fall, I beg, I’m shown the way.

Not by crushing the will to receive,

But choosing the point I believe.

So I don’t curse the split inside,

Where ego and the spark collide.

I thank the break, the tears, the wrong—

They push my heart where I belong.

Not clean. Not whole.

But turned above—

Held by the Ten,

Wrapped in Love.

The Shade I Chose

“THE SHADE I CHOSE”

I sat in the shadow and wanted to run,

No warmth on my skin, no sight of the sun.

Every step felt heavy, prayers tasted like sand,

Still You placed this darkness right into my hands.

I cursed the concealment, the silence, the strain,

Thought distance meant failure, thought numbness meant pain.

Then a crack in the heart let the truth push through—

These shadows are tools You’re working me through.

Not punishment, not exile, not some cruel test,

But room for bestowal when reason says “rest.”

You hid Your face so I’d stop working for me,

So I’d choose You with nothing—no taste, no fee.

I don’t ask for the shade to hurry and flee,

I see now the work is exactly this key.

To serve while You’re hidden, to give while I’m blind,

To trust that Your pleasure is built in this grind.

No shame in the darkness, no insult in lack,

If You want my heart here, then I won’t step back.

Sweet fruit grows deeper where the light can’t be seen,

I sit in Your shadow and crown You as King.

Lower Than The Dust

“LOWER THAN THE DUST”

I signed my name in silence with a heart that couldn’t see,

No lights, no taste, no warmth—just chains wrapped around me.

I told the King, “I’m Yours,” with nothing felt inside,

No proof, no thrill, no vision—just ego crucified.

No paycheck from the heavens, no comfort in the bones,

Just dragging dead desire through unanswered phones.

Still I bowed without conditions, didn’t barter, didn’t plead,

If this is what You want from me—then grind me down indeed.

I work like I’m rewarded though I feel no spark,

I sing like I’ve got daylight while I’m choking in the dark.

I move like I have faith while my hands are full of doubt,

That’s surrender—no escape hatch, no way out.

Put me in the dirt, Lord, face down in the clay,

Lower than the questions that keep screaming every day.

If earth’s the lowest station, then here I choose to stand,

’Cause nothing can be taken from a fully broken man.

No falling from a place where I already gave it all,

No pride left to defend me when the structures fall.

A generation rises, another one decays,

But the earth just keeps on holding all our blood and prayers.

So plant me in the dust where sons and daughters grow,

From unconditional service seeds of fire will show.

I don’t serve for the feeling, the sweetness, or the gain—

I serve because You’re King, even buried in the pain.

“I Rise Because I Die in You”

 I rise because I die in you, the friends who break my pride,

The ones who tear my walls apart till nothing’s left to hide.

For the death of self is freedom when the heart is split in two,

And the ashes of my ego feed the love that carries you.

I rise because I die in you, in the fire that you ignite,

Where the soul is forged in brotherhood and tempered by the Light.

For the man I was is buried in the grave of who I knew—

But the man I am is living in the life I share with you.

I rise because I die in you, in the rhythm of the roar,

In the beat of ten hearts pounding like a resurrected war.

In the boogie of surrender where the broken become new—

For the King Himself comes rising when I die inside of you.

So let the song be thunder, let the joy come tearing through—

For a man is born eternal when he dies in love with you.

“Love Is the Only Road Home”

 Love is the only road home when the heart’s too tired to fight,

When the ego’s last resistance fades beneath the dawning Light.

For the miles I ran in darkness couldn’t hide me from the truth—

That the path I feared the most was the one that led to You.

Love is the only road home when the Ten becomes my guide,

When their prayers become the compass cutting through my foolish pride.

For repentance ain’t a burden — it’s the joy of being known,

And the friends who never left me pave the way that leads me home.

Love is the only road home when the King reveals His face,

When the fire of His mercy melts the wounds I tried to chase.

Every tear becomes a diamond, every cry becomes a tone,

Singing loud across creation: “Love is still the only home.”

So let my feet keep dancing as the boogie shakes my bones—

For the heart that learns to love has finally found its road back home.

“He Who Knows the Secrets Testifies”

 He who knows the secrets testifies when the heart can’t lie no more,

When the soul stands stripped and trembling on repentance’s burning floor.

For the light that hits a broken man ain’t gentle, weak, or shy—

It’s a thunderbolt of mercy that tears the darkness from the sky.

He who knows the secrets testifies that the fall has reached its end,

That the King has carved the vessel through the torment of a friend.

And the moment that He seals you with the truth your ego fears,

You rise a living furnace fed by all your shattered years.

He who knows the secrets testifies in a blaze that melts your past,

In a roar that shakes creation till your heart beats clean at last.

For repentance isn’t silence — it’s the heavens split with cries,

When the Creator shouts His verdict… and the blinded soul now sees.

So let the house come falling, let the old world vaporize—

For the King Himself bears witness when the broken man will rise.

“Bring Me Back to Life Through Them”

 Bring me back to life through them, for I am empty on my own,

A vessel cracked and hollow from the battles I have known.

But their love becomes the breath that fills the places I can’t mend,

And a dead man starts to rise again when lifted by a friend.

Bring me back to life through them, let their heartbeat become mine,

For a soul is just a flicker till it joins the shared design.

And the light that I had buried under years of fear and sin,

Starts shining like a sunrise when the brothers pull me in.

Bring me back to life through them, let the flame return to ash,

Let the sorrow melt like winter in the warmth of their embrace.

For repentance isn’t mourning — it’s the joy of being claimed,

When the Ten becomes the cradle where a broken heart is named.

So bring me back to life through them, through the mercy that they send—

For the Creator breathes revival only through the love of friends.

“Mix My Blood With Theirs”

Mix my blood with theirs till I can’t tell me apart,

Let their heartbeat drown the echo of my lonely, breaking heart.

For a man alone is nothing but a shadow on the ground,

But a brother in the fire is where the soul is truly found.

Mix my strength with theirs, let our wounds become one roar,

Let the heat of all our losses melt the chains we wore before.

For the road to resurrection is a path of shared despair,

And the drop of my own ego is the pulse we learn to share.

Mix my cries with theirs till the heavens start to shake,

Till the King reveals His footsteps in the love our sorrows make.

For repentance isn’t weakness — it’s the courage to declare:

“I’m alive because I’m nothing... when my blood’s not mixed with theirs.”

So raise the cup of unity, let the old self disappear—

Mix my blood with theirs… the brothers I hold dear.

“I Lay My Weapons at Their Feet”

I lay my weapons at their feet, the pride I used to wield,

The walls I built for safety, and the lies I never healed.

For the heart becomes a battlefield when ego takes the lead,

But the friends become the generals who show me what I need.

I drop my sword of judgment and my shield of bitter spite,

Let the brothers see me trembling in the middle of the fight.

For a man can fool the world, but not the ones who share his pain—

They see the cracks and love him till he’s whole enough again.

I surrender every instinct that once taught me how to run,

Let the Ten reshape my footsteps till we rise as only one.

For the war inside my heartbeat finally learns to find retreat

The moment I stop fighting… and lay my weapons at their feet.

So take this broken soldier, take the fear I can’t defeat—

For the road to true repentance starts by falling at their feet.

“The Fire Between Us Builds the King”

 The fire between us builds the King with every spark we throw,

A torch made out of heartbeats from the suffering we know.

We strike our souls together till the heat begins to sing,

And in the smoke of our connection we reveal the hidden King.

The fire between us rises when our egos start to bleed,

It melts the chains of wanting and consumes our every need.

For the love we forge in torment is a holy, burning ring—

And the flames that lick our shadows shape the crown upon the King.

The fire between us dances when the Ten becomes one cry,

A roar that shakes the heavens and pulls mercy from the sky.

Every ember is a prayer and every spark a sacred sting—

Till the blaze of our devotion makes a throne fit for the King.

So let the furnace take us, let the wild harmonies ring,

For only hearts that burn together have the strength to build the King.

“My Brothers Hold the Line for Me”

My brothers hold the line for me when I can’t walk the road,

They shoulder all my burdens when my heart can’t lift the load.

Their prayers become my engine when my spirit starts to bend,

For a man can’t face repentance without leaning on a friend.

My brothers guard the fire when my flame begins to die,

They lift my fallen pieces with a quiet, steady cry.

In their eyes I see the mercy that my ego fails to see,

For the Creator hides His power in the ones who stand with me.

My brothers shape my footsteps when my strength is running thin,

They drag me from the darkness that I keep collapsing in.

And every time they reach me, dripping love I can’t repay,

I taste the truth of unity — the soul returning to its way.

So bless the hearts beside me, the Ten that sets me free,

For I rise on wings of mercy when my brothers hold the line for me.

---

 

“Teach Me to Fall the Right Way”

 Teach me to fall the right way, not clawing for control,

Let the descent be sacred in the chambers of my soul.

For every stumble carries wisdom carved in pain,

And the ground becomes a ladder when I rise in You again.

Teach me to break with purpose, not kicking at the dust,

To see the hand that shatters me is mercy I can trust.

For the ego only fears what the heart already knows—

The fall is where love gathers what the pride refuses to disclose.

Teach me to bow in silence, to kneel but not despair,

To feel the Ten behind me when there’s nothing left to bear.

For a fall without direction is a prison made of night,

But a fall into Your arms becomes a staircase into Light.

So teach me to fall with meaning, to crash yet still obey—

For a man is born in rising… but redeemed in how he falls each day.

“Bare Hands in the Mud of My Own Desire”

 With bare hands in the mud of my own desire,

I dug through the ashes of ego’s fire.

Thought the burn was living but it left me cold,

A slave to a hunger that never grows old.

I clawed at the dirt thinking freedom was near,

But the mud was my mirror and the truth was clear:

Every craving I chased just tightened the chain,

Till the heart cried mercy from the weight of the pain.

So I fell in that mud, face first in the lie,

And the filth in my mouth made the soul want to die.

But the Creator leaned close through the stench and the grime,

Saying, “Boy, this is love — it’s correction through time.”

Now I rise from that pit dripping shame, dripping truth,

But the mud became holy in the hands of my youth.

For desire ain’t evil, it’s the field I repair—

Bare hands in the mud… till Your light enters there.

“I Break So You Can Enter”

I break so You can enter, tear the walls inside my chest,

Rip apart the stubborn pieces where my ego built its nest.

Let the storm come crashing through me, let it shake my every bone,

For only shattered hearts can feel the Love they thought they owned.

I fall so You can raise me, strip my pride and bend my knees,

Turn my breath into a prayer carried by the Ten like a breeze.

Every crack becomes a window where Your light begins to pour,

Till the man I thought was living can’t be found here anymore.

I bruise so You can heal me with a mercy sharp and kind,

Etching faith above all reason in the caverns of my mind.

This breaking ain’t a punishment—it's a doorway made of pain,

Where the heart learns true repentance and is born in love again.

So split me wide and hollow, carve Your name through every layer,

For a whole heart can't contain You—but a broken one becomes Your prayer.

“When the Darkness Called My Name”

The darkness called my name like an old unpaid debt,

A whisper from the void reminding me what I forget.

It said, “Boy, you’re mine,” like a ghost staking claim,

But the breaking was mercy disguised as shame.

I walked through my own ruins thinking ego was a crown,

Turns out it was chains just tying me down.

I cursed every stumble as if life chose to betray,

Not knowing the Creator was clearing my way.

My heart cracked open like a storm-hit door,

Spilling all the filth I had worshipped before.

Yet in that wrecked silence, soft as a mother’s embrace,

I felt Him rebuilding me from the very same place.

So here I am bleeding, but finally awake,

Learning repentance is love in the shape of a break.

For the darkness that called me was never the same—

It was His voice in disguise, just calling my name.

🔥 PART II — REPENTANCE FROM LOVE

When love hits the heart, it don’t sneak in soft,

It cracks you wide open and lifts you aloft.

It turns every scar into fuel for the climb,

Every past failure into gold over time.

This ain’t fear’s repentance—the trembling kind,

This is fire-lit mercy rewriting the mind.

Where sins don’t fade—nah, they switch their role,

Mistakes become engines that chisel the soul.

Creator whispers, “Child, I was there in your fall.

Every stumble, each curse—I scripted them all.

Not to punish the body but to widen the vein,

Till My Light can pour in through the cracks of your pain.”

Then the heart stops hiding behind its shield,

Stops crawling backwards through broken fields.

It stands up naked, trembling but true—

Saying, “Everything You sent was to bring me to You.”

And the sins? They don’t vanish, they flip their face,

They become the steps that lifted your pace.

The guilt that once crushed you now carries your weight,

Each transgression transformed into love at the gate.

You look back at your darkness with tear-burning sight,

Not ashamed anymore, but grateful for night.

Because without the fall you’d never have known

How sweet the Creator feels when He calls you home.

It’s brutal, it’s tender, it’s mercy’s blade—

Carving a throne from the mess you made.

And the soul finally whispers, “I see Your hand,”

As the Ten surrounds you and helps you stand.

Repentance from love—this is heaven’s turn,

Where every past fire becomes fuel for the burn.

Not of torment—no, the burn of embrace,

Where the King pulls you in and reveals His face.