The War of Permission

⚔️ The War of Permission

(Inspired by Baal HaSulam, Shamati 142)

I stand between two kingdoms, torn and bare,

One whispers “love,” the other “despair.”

The Creator hides in the fog of gray,

Where nothing’s forbidden, but hearts decay.

No sin to name, no mitzva to praise,

Just choices wrapped in ego’s haze.

My mind screams “mine,” my soul shouts “His,”

And between the breaths — the battlefield is.

I swing my sword of trembling will,

But the foe I face wears my face still.

He smiles when I fall into thought’s abyss,

He kisses my cheek — then bites with bliss.

Some days I’m a saint, some nights a thief,

Some hours faith, some hours grief.

Each neutral act becomes a war,

Each glance, each breath — a holy scar.

When I lose, the loss is near —

A whisper of pride, a drop of fear.

But when I win, the heavens roar,

And holiness claims a patch of more.

The gray turns gold, the fog ignites,

The mundane bows to higher lights.

The “mine” dissolves, the “His” remains,

Through blood and sweat, through holy pains.

So, Creator, keep me in this fight,

Where nothing’s wrong, yet nothing’s right.

Let every doubt and silent tear

Expand Your realm within me here.

For I will battle till I see —

The war was You, disguised as me.

🔥 The Fourteenth Commandment

We rise from ashes, ego’s tomb,

Each heart a spark, once drenched in gloom.

He calls from depths where light was slain,

“Unite as one — or rot in pain.”

The Fourteenth cry, a blade of flame,

Cuts through the soul that seeks its name.

For He won’t dwell in flesh or bone,

But in the bond, where He is known.

No man ascends by self alone,

The ladder’s built from hearts of stone.

Each step—another friend embraced,

Each fall—a love we’ve not yet faced.

The Shechina waits where hatred dies,

Not in our mouths, but in our eyes.

She weeps for those who pray apart,

And hides her light from every heart.

Baal HaSulam screams, “Awake, you blind!

The Lord’s not found in books or mind!

He’s born when vessels intertwine,

When I and you dissolve in line.”

So grind your pride until it bleeds,

From broken men, the flower feeds.

From shattered kings, the Kingdom grows,

And mercy burns where judgment froze.

This is the call, the sacred wound,

To build the world from souls entombed.

For in our love, the Light appears—

The sum of all our deaths and tears.

So let Him enter, fierce and pure,

Through hearts made low, through faith unsure.

The Fourteenth Law, the fire’s art—

To forge one soul from every heart.

⚔️ “The Field Within” — A Kabbalistic Mahābhārata

 

A war was born where silence screams,

Inside the soul that splits its dreams.

The right hand prays, the left hand steals,

The heart forgets what the spirit feels.

The Kauravas rise — a hundred lies,

Each one born where the ego cries.

They promise gold, they promise fame,

But every crown burns with shame.

The Pandavas stand — the will to bestow,

Five senses cleansed by the light they know.

They tremble still, for truth cuts deep,

The self must die before souls can reap.

Arjuna weeps, his bow hangs low,

“How can I strike the ones I know?”

Krishna smiles — the secret revealed,

“You never kill — you only yield.”

“For bodies fall, but the soul can’t fade,

It was by love that all was made.

Fight not for gain, nor fear the loss,

Your sword is faith, your shield is cross.”

“Act without fruit, let go of the claim,

See Me in all, and all the same.

When giver and gift no longer part,

The war will end inside your heart.”

The chariot rolled on sand and flame,

Each wheel carved out the Holy Name.

Dharma and Torah met as one,

Under the heat of the inner sun.

For Baal HaSulam would softly say,

“Love your friend — it’s the only way.”

And Krishna whispered through the din,

“The field you fight is the field within.”

Each slain desire became a prayer,

Each fallen foe — a friend laid bare.

The ego bled, but the soul stood tall,

In losing self, he gained it all.

Then Krishna vanished — or did He stay?

For light remained though form gave way.

Arjuna saw — no death, no sin,

Just endless love where war had been.

“The Low Will See”

They mock and sneer as I walk by,

Their words cut deep, yet I don’t cry.

For in the dust where I am thrown,

The King of Kings makes me His own.

He lifts not those who boast and shine,

But souls that break to match His line.

The proud look down and lose their sight,

The low look up and see the Light.

My crown is crushed beneath their feet,

My name erased—His will complete.

For when I die to self and fame,

The Lord Himself will call my name.

Let them despise, reject, and scorn,

From their contempt, new life is born.

The Lord is high—He hides from pride,

But dwells within the ones denied.

So strip me bare, remove my face,

Until I’m clothed in His embrace.

The high stand far, the low will see—

In dust and shame, He dwells in me.

“Seekers of the Face”

When I first sought You, I was blind in need,

Begging for crumbs from my own greed.

I called it love — it was hunger in disguise,

A thief praying softly beneath holy skies.

I wept, “Reveal Yourself! Let me see!”

But my plea was still “Give to me.”

The heavens were silent — I cursed the air,

Not knowing You heard, yet waited — there.

You whispered, “Child, your cries are true,

But they still reek of wanting for you.

I’ll lend you My ear, but not yet My face,

Till your heart learns to ask for My grace.”

So You broke me — tore my prayer apart,

Split my tongue from my selfish heart.

Judgment burned; mercy wept within,

Till both were sweetened, and light broke in.

Now I seek not Your gifts, but Your will —

To fill what You fill, to be still as You’re still.

I don’t want joy — I want to give You mine,

To mirror Your face, and erase the line.

So when You seek Your seekers, find me there,

Among the fools who learned to care.

For I was cursed — till I learned to bless,

Till my cry became love, and my lack turned to Yes.

Wine That Burns the Fool

I sipped the cup of heaven’s light,

And thought, “I’ve conquered endless night!”

The wine sang loud — “You are the king!”

And pride began its deadly sting.

I stumbled drunk on holy flame,

And whispered prayers that fed my name,

While truth stood silent at the gate,

And let me drown in self-made fate.

For this is wine that blinds the soul,

It crowns the half, but kills the whole.

It makes you think you’ve reached the peak,

While faith grows faint and will grows weak.

Oh, how I begged for more delight,

Till darkness stripped away my sight,

And in that void, the sober pain—

I learned what “Torah” means again.

It isn’t joy that fills the glass,

But tears that help the poison pass.

And when the heart to dust is torn,

The real wine flows — the soul reborn.

So drink, my friend, but drink with fear,

Let love be clear, and self disappear.

For only he who’s crushed and true,

Can taste the Light the drunk once knew.

Closing Prayer of the Congress

Creator of all, we lift our eyes,

Grateful for love that never dies.

Through lessons deep our hearts did grow,

Above all reason Your light did flow.

We annulled ourselves, we learned to bend,

To feel the friend, no start, no end.

We joined as one, inclusion true,

A vessel formed, prepared for You.

With zeal and fire, enthusiasm bright,

We rose together into Your light.

Our hearts were opened, flowing free,

A river of love, eternity’s sea.

Now as this congress comes to a close,

A fragrance of unity forever grows.

One prayer ascends, so pure, so strong,

A chorus of souls, one endless song.

Bind us, Beloved, forever in You,

Each friend a mirror, each heart made new.

May joy keep burning, may love never part,

For You dwell forever inside our heart.

---