The Ride Within

“The Ride Within”

I wake in the morning and brush my teeth,

Run a brush through my hair and shake off sleep.

I stumble to the kitchen for a bitter brew,

No grinds, no grounds—just a hollow view.

So I laugh at fate, make a brand-new pot,

Steam rising like prayers from what I’ve got.

Step outside with a smoke in hand,

Dreams and ashes fall in the sand.

The Tri-Glide waits, chrome heart aglow,

A beast of freedom with a holy flow.

I kick her to life, the thunder roars,

Like Malchut pounding on Heaven’s doors.

Each mile burns ego from bone to bone,

The wind screams truths I thought I owned.

Every car I pass, every stretch of sky,

Strips another layer of “I.”

The road becomes the parchment scroll,

Where the Creator writes across my soul.

Each curve, each hum of spinning steel,

Cuts away the lies I used to feel.

My Ten rides beside me, unseen but near,

Their hearts in my chest, their voices clear.

We climb the hill of faith above reason,

Through storms of doubt, through every season.

I twist the throttle—Hitbatlut ignites,

Annulment burns in the wind’s white lights.

Hitkalalut follows, the merge of flame,

No “me,” no “you,” just one Name.

Hitpahalut—oh God, the spark explodes,

Love floods the asphalt, the highway glows.

The roar becomes a silent song:

“There is none else besides Him”—all along.

By the time I stop, I’m no longer me,

Just a vessel of longing, endlessly free.

The Tri-Glide hums down to a prayer,

The friends, the path, the love—all there.

And in that stillness, brutal yet kind,

The Creator smiles through the dust in my mind.

For every ride begins in despair and pain—

But ends in the heart, where only Love remains.

The Debt of the Light

 “The Debt of the Light”

I begged, I wept, I called His name,

and suddenly the heavens came.

A flash of warmth, a holy breeze—

I thought I’d found eternal ease.

But the Light that comes without my sweat

is a loan the soul will soon regret.

For every spark I did not earn

must burn me back until I learn.

The prayer was sweet, the labor spared,

but later came the weight I dared.

The debt collectors of the night—

They take from me my borrowed light.

The heart must bleed to make a Kli,

the vessel forged in agony.

Each tear a coin, each sigh a fee,

for Love’s true home is poverty.

So don’t believe what shines too fast,

the Light unearned will never last.

Labor till your bones are numb,

till every “I” is overcome.

Then when the darkness starts to sing,

and ego dies beneath its sting,

the Light returns—but now it’s yours,

engraved in toil, not Heaven’s stores.

Only he who pays in pain

can keep the joy that’s born from strain.

The debt of Light is love’s decree—

I labored, found—now I believe.

The Dot that Burns Forever

“The Dot that Burns Forever”

I stand in the night with no lamp in my hand,

A slave to a will I don’t understand.

The light has fled, the songs all died,

And still I whisper, “There’s nowhere to hide.”

I am a dot, black, alone, unseen—

No white around me, no in-between.

The proud fall high, the wise go blind,

But I stay tied in one knot, mind to Mind.

They call me beast, they call me dust,

They mock my faith, they crush my trust.

Yet in this ruin, a secret grows—

The darker the wound, the brighter it glows.

No more do I beg for abundance or show,

For what comes and goes is not mine to know.

I serve in the ashes, I breathe in the pain,

Till exile turns into Eden again.

For I am black but beautiful, scarred yet whole,

A vessel cracked open, revealing the Soul.

The Shechina sighs through my broken chest,

“I live in the dust—but here, I rest.”

So let me stay empty, humble, and small,

For that’s where the Aleph enters all.

And the dot—once dead, once lost, once shamed—

Becomes the spark through which worlds are named.

Only Good To Israel

“Only Good to Israel”

I wanted to see, to know, to rise—

To tear through heaven with open eyes.

But the Light whispered, “Close them tight,

Walk blind through My endless night.”

I clawed for wisdom, begged for flame,

But found myself naked, without a name.

My crown fell off, my throne was dust,

And all I had left was simple trust.

The proud heart screams, “I must understand!”

But the pure one kneels, empty hand in hand.

To shrink is to live, to fall is to grow,

To be nothing is all the Light will bestow.

Israel—Yashar-El, straight to the core,

But only when “I” is no more.

The head becomes holy when bent to the floor,

And the mind turns flesh when the stone beats sore.

This path breaks men who wish to shine,

It grinds the gold till only love’s refined.

We walk on glass, yet call it sweet—

Each wound a prayer beneath His feet.

He takes the heart of stone, still warm,

And molds it through storm after storm.

Till flesh remembers how to feel,

Till silence becomes the highest appeal.

So curse me low, Creator dear,

Burn every pride I hold near.

Strip me down to Israel bare—

A soul that knows You’re everywhere.

And when I am dust, without a plan,

Let me whisper, “Now I understand.

The good was not in what I knew—

But in being nothing... before You.”

The Crown of Dust

“The Crown of Dust”

I was born in mud, beneath the throne,

Dreaming of crowns that were never my own.

I raised my head to steal the sky,

And found the pain that makes men cry.

Pride is a torch that burns the hand,

It builds a tower on sinking sand.

The higher I reached, the harder I fell,

Until my name was a whisper in hell.

But when I bowed, and kissed the floor,

I felt His robe—was mine no more.

In ashes I stood, yet clothed in flame,

For He who is high gave me His Name.

Now dust I am, yet glory I wear,

Not from myself, but from His care.

Man’s pride will break—his heart must bend,

To rise through shame to the pride that has no end.

Build Me a Screen

“Build Me a Screen”

I rise and fall in the same damned hour,

Kissing the dust, then tasting power.

My heart screams, “Take!” while my soul whispers, “Give!”

How can such opposites in one beast live?

I’m drowning in self, in a flood of desire,

Every thought a spark that feeds the fire.

Creator, I’m filthy—this vessel’s insane,

Every pleasure I touch becomes poison and pain.

So crush me, reshape me, melt me to clay,

Till Your hands can mold this beast Your way.

Don’t let me serve You for comfort or fame—

Strip me to nothing, burn out my name.

Give me a screen made of tears and steel,

Let me feel others more than I feel.

Let their joy be my pulse, their sorrow my cry,

Let my pride be the smoke that clouds the sky.

I want no reward, no heaven’s applause,

Just to stand as a wall for Your holy cause.

Teach me to take not a drop for my own,

But to shine back Your Light till Your love is known.

Bind me to friends who mirror Your face,

Who live in the fire yet call it grace.

Let our union be the hammer and flame,

That forges Your Name where there once was shame.

And when I fail—and I know I will—

Don’t erase the war, just strengthen my will.

Let me rise again, scarred but clean,

Until I am the screen—

And You are all that’s seen.

Bind the Longing

“Bind the Longing”

The road is long ‘cause my heart’s gone numb,

The load too heavy, my will struck dumb.

I drag commandments like chains through clay,

Cursing the dawn that lights my way.

I dress for Heaven but beg man’s nod,

Serve the crowd instead of God.

My lips say “for You,” my eyes say “for me,”

I’m a liar kneeling at a broken tree.

He whispers, “Bind the silver to your hand—

Not the coin, but the longing, understand.”

So I clutch my emptiness like a dying spark,

Let shame carve prayers in the dark.

For even a fool can ache to yearn,

To want to want—till hearts return.

Till all my silver melts to gold,

And one desire swallows the old:

Give this only! Let me cry,

Raise Her from dust—don’t let Her die.

The Shechina weeps in my hollow chest,

I’ll carry the burden, deny no test.

If the way be far, then I’ll crawl, not run,

With blood for ink till the will is one.

And when my last strength bends and breaks,

May my longing be the path it makes.