Many Are the Afflictions

 Many Are the Afflictions

I tried to walk clean, but the body screamed louder,

Every step toward bestowal made the weight heavier, prouder.

When I worked for myself, the road felt wide and smooth,

But aiming at You lit a fire the ego couldn’t soothe.

Each time I chose truth, the wicked woke up inside,

“What’s this work for you?”—the same old knife in my side.

Day turns to light, and the shadow grows tall,

One mitzvah forward—then I’m split again, half and all.

The evil doesn’t rush me; it’s measured and slow,

Revealed only as much as the good I can show.

You don’t break me at once—you know what I can bear,

You hand me heavier weights because You know I’ll care.

I thought I was failing, the work harder each day,

But You were training my vessels, shaping the way.

The pain was the Kli, the lack was the cry,

No light without hunger, no soul without why.

I begged You to save me, to end this fight,

But You waited for wholeness—left, right, then light.

Not cruelty—precision, not silence—design,

Each prayer stored safely, counted in time.

I wanted peace now, to finally rest,

But You said, “This world too must be dressed.”

Not only bestowal, not only the next,

But even reception corrected, annexed.

So if I suffer, it’s proof I’m in,

You only expose what I’m meant to mend.

Many afflictions—but none are in vain,

You deliver me fully… through every pain.

Praying For The Ten

Praying For The Ten 

Wake up in the morning and say my prayers

Head to the kitchen ’cause my coffee’s there

Sit on the porch in my rocking chair

Praying for the Ten, putting love in the air

Sun coming up, world still quiet

Ego talking loud, but I don’t buy it

Heart feels heavy, mind ain’t clear

So I lean on the friends that I hold dear

Some days strong, some days weak

Some days I fall, can’t even speak

But I remember why I’m not alone

We build one heart from broken stone

I don’t pray for gold, I don’t pray for fame

I pray we stay true through joy and pain

If I lose my way, pull me back again

I live, I breathe, for the Ten

The Light Was Never The Problem

 

“The Light Was Never the Problem”

The Light never asked if I was ready to see,

It burned the whole time — the fault was in me.

I screamed at the heavens, “Why don’t You reply?”

While hiding a vessel too cracked to comply.

I’m not master of thoughts, they strike like a blade,

I don’t choose their arrival, I choose how I’m played.

The screen is the battleground, thick or refined,

Not Light that is lacking — but will in the mind.

I begged for restriction, I cursed at the flame,

But Rabash stood firm and dismantled the game:

You never restrict what was never confined,

You restrict what you are — not the Light you can’t bind.

So I grind down the ego, refine what I feel,

Build strength in the Masach, make intention my shield.

The Light doesn’t stop — it was waiting all along,

For a vessel grown humble, corrected, and strong.

“I Hear דבקות (Dvekut) Calling”

 

“I Hear דבקות (Dvekut) Calling”

I hear דבקות calling — not soft, not sweet,

It don’t whisper comfort, it drags my feet.

It don’t ask me nice, it don’t let me hide,

It pounds on my chest saying die while alive.

I fall straight into מלכות, cracked and bare,

No excuses left, no prayer prepared.

Just a hole in the heart where the truth leaks through,

And a scream that says I can’t do this — You do.

Then בינה steps in like a mother with steel,

Cuts off my taking so I finally feel.

Not mercy for ego, not love for the lie,

But the strength to stop grabbing and still not die.

חכמה flashes — too bright, too fast,

A flood with no question, no future, no past.

It don’t explain itself, it don’t slow its flame,

If I try to hold it — it burns up my name.

And כתר don’t argue, don’t bargain, don’t bend,

It just asks one thing — are you with the Ten?

Not your story, not your pain, not your spiritual sound,

But whose will is crowned when no one’s around.

So I strip off the masks, the roles, the plea,

I stop trying to be “low” so they’ll look at me.

I annul without drama, include without fear,

Let the life of the Ten pass straight through here.

And right there — between us — no label, no claim,

Not owned, not taught, not trapped in a name,

דבקות breathes warm like a shared last breath,

Connection louder than life or death.

We Come With Everything (Congress Time)

 

WE COME WITH EVERYTHING

We are not coming for comfort, applause, or display,

We’re coming because our souls found the way.

Before tickets or plans or a date on the wall,

This meeting was written inside of us all.

Bring what is broken, bring what feels thin,

Bring doubts that still echo and storms from within.

No strength is required, no mask to maintain,

The Ten is built only from truth and from pain.

Your seat in the room is not random or spare,

A place in the Kli only you can repair.

If you think you are empty, that’s precisely the key—

The lack that you carry is how we are free.

Sit with the friends, even silent, even worn,

A shared inner future is quietly born.

No one above and no one below,

Just hearts learning how to bestow what they know.

This isn’t a weekend, a lesson, a stage,

It’s a vow to stay bonded from age unto age.

To choose love again when the feeling grows thin,

Until “me” disappears in the love of the Ten.

We come for the friends who don’t yet feel strong,

We come to hold space when the road feels too long.

And something eternal will rise when we do—

The Creator revealed between me and you.

A Prayer the 99% Don't Know They're Saying

 

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A Prayer the 99% Don’t Know They’re Saying

We heard there’s a Torah, rules carved in the sky,

Six hundred thirteen ways to live, or to die.

Two kinds, they say—some yes, some no,

But nobody taught us how the inside should go.

They told us, “Do good. Don’t cross the line.”

“Be careful. Be proper. Be holy. Be fine.”

So we learned how to stop, how to shut, how to hide,

But no one explained what to do with the fire inside.

Two hundred forty-eight say, Stand up and give,

Move your heart forward, choose how you live.

Three sixty-five say, Don’t take for yourself,

Hold back the ego, put it back on the shelf.

But here’s where we stumble, here’s where we freeze—

We stop doing wrong… then stop doing anything.

We call it control, we call it restraint,

But slowly our color all turns into paint.

We withdraw from the fight, withdraw from the mess,

Withdraw from the love that demands our “yes.”

We don’t steal, don’t shout, don’t cross the line—

But we also don’t give, don’t risk, don’t shine.

We sit there thinking, “At least I’m clean,”

While our heart grows distant, quiet, unseen.

No harm, no sin, no obvious crime—

Just a life untouched by connection or time.

They call it adhesion—clinging to what’s real,

Not escaping the world, but learning to feel.

Not floating away, not hiding in law,

But loving through limits, with awe and with flaw.

Because stopping desire was never the goal,

The goal was to aim it, to give it a soul.

If restraint makes you smaller, colder, alone,

That’s not holiness—that’s fear wearing a crown.

So here’s the prayer we never learned how to say:

“Teach me to stop taking—but not walk away.

Teach me to hold back—but still stay near.

Teach me to love without using or fear.”

Let my “don’t” guard my heart, not lock it tight.

Let my “do” bring warmth, not ego or might.

Let my silence be chosen, not born from retreat.

Let my steps move toward others, not back to my seat.

If I’ve been calling withdrawal ‘being wise,’

Open my eyes, Creator—gently, not hard.

I don’t want to be right while my heart disappears.

I want adhesion that shows up in years.

Not above life.

Not outside the room.

But inside the struggle, where love learns to bloom.

Amen—

not from the mouth,

but from the place that still wants to belong.

Striking The Screen

 

“Striking the Screen”

Thoughts hit my skull like a hammering rain,

Round and around, same doubt, same pain.

If this was false I’d sleep just fine,

But truth don’t rest where the ego signs.

The mind demands proof, a reason, a feel,

It wants a receipt, something stamped as real.

But the screen stands firm, I swallow the blow,

Faith clenched tight where the answers won’t show.

No sweetness here, no glow, no spark,

Just grit in my teeth and a walk in the dark.

I don’t feel the King, don’t taste His weight,

Yet I stay on the road and don’t renegotiate.

Every strike says “quit,” every whisper says “bend,”

But the screen says “hold” and I won’t rescind.

Above reason I crown Him, silent and still,

And that hidden choice fills the upper will.

No more, no less — exact is the law,

What I raise above mind returns as awe.

First in concealment I pay the price,

Then truth descends, measured, precise.

So beat me with thoughts, let the whole world shout,

This screen stays standing — that’s what joy’s about.