Reward That Hurts Like Truth

Reward That Hurts Like Truth

I said I want no reward, I swear it’s true,

Yet every nerve asks, “What’s in this for you?”

The will to receive hides behind holy clothes,

Quotes the sages while tightening its nose.

I worked and I worked and expected a sign,

A taste of the Light, some proof I was fine,

But all I received was a mirror so clear,

It showed me the beast I carried for years.

The ego got clever, it learned how to pray,

How to give lip service while steering my way,

It said, “You’re righteous, look—everyone sees,”

While feeding itself on respect and ease.

The whole world applauds, says, “You serve God well,”

But inside I’m rented, still serving myself,

A servant of comfort, of honor and gain,

Calling it Torah, disguising the chain.

Then came the fall—no warning, no sound,

From heaven to trash heap, face in the ground,

No sense of descent, no shame, no fear,

Just pleasure dressed up as “life” right here.

Dead don’t feel dead, they don’t ask for air,

They don’t miss the King, they don’t know He’s there,

I lived like a cat in the garbage of mind,

Chasing warm scraps, completely blind.

And then—without reason, without a demand,

A breath from Above pulled me out by the hand,

Not with reward, not with sweetness or glow,

But with one sharp gift: the truth of my low.

Now I see pain was never the crime,

It was payment in advance for a higher time,

The hurt was a ladder I couldn’t detect,

Each rung carved from self-love I learned to reject.

The Creator is gentle, unbearably kind,

He lets me fall only to open my eyes,

He kills me just enough so I’ll want to live,

Then resurrects me with nothing to give.

No fruit grows fast, no soul comes cheap,

First comes the drought, the hunger, the sleep,

But even the barren, the wasted, the dry,

Were planted to bloom by His careful design.

So let the ego scream, bargain, and plead,

Let it curse the pain and demand its fee,

I’ll stand with the help I never could earn,

And bless every fall I was given to learn.

Because reward isn’t pleasure, applause, or light,

It’s seeing the truth and still choosing the fight,

And serving Him starts the moment I know—

I can’t serve Him at all on my own.

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It Appears To Me(If We Want To See)

It Appears to Me (If We Want to See)

It appears to me

If we want to see

Don’t look back

Increase the lack

What’s missing is not some hidden sign

It’s the will to leave me behind

The past keeps whispering, “You were right”

But sight is born only in forward night

The ego begs comfort, proof, and control

While the soul cries out for a shared hole

Not a hole of despair or private pain

But a common absence we all sustain

Don’t polish the wound, don’t dress it nice

Let it burn clean, let it demand a price

The lack is the place where truth can stand

When I stop reaching with my own hand

If I look back, I justify why I’m here

If I look forward, I tremble in fear

But fear is the gate that faith walks through

When the “I” dissolves into “we” and “you”

So don’t ask answers, don’t beg to be shown

Build the space where He’s already known

For vision arrives, simple and free

When your lack becomes ours—

it appears to me.

The Place Where Ten Become One

The Place Where Ten Become One

We were not gathered for comfort or peace,

But to expose the grip of the will to receive.

A force was required, not one man alone,

For the evil resists where it’s privately owned.

So we agreed—without contract or name—

That the goal stands above loss and gain.

And from that consent, a power was born:

To fight oneself, where the true war is sworn.

Each one included in all the rest,

No hero survives this particular test.

For the strength of the many lives only where

I dissolve my claim to being “more” or “aware.”

Annulment is not a lowering of head,

But choosing the friends’ merits instead.

The moment I rise above even one,

I sever the thread—we are no longer one.

In every ten, a whole stature stands:

Head, body, heels, and unseen hands.

And blessed is not the one who ascends,

But the one who feels lowest among his friends.

For abundance flows through the place most null,

Where the self is emptied, not spiritualized full.

Not wisdom, not fire, not knowledge refined—

But the heel that consents to be last in line.

So what do we speak when we gather as friends?

Not failures, not states, not how the week bends.

We speak of the Creator—His greatness alone,

For annulment grows where His height is known.

And yet even that greatness we must surpass,

For above reason is where adhesion lasts.

We believe He is good, benevolent, true,

Even when reason objects, confused and askew.

From the friends I must borrow this faith,

This love that survives contradiction and weight.

Not from myself—there is nothing to take—

Only from hearts that for the goal ache.

And when the eye sees a flaw in the ten,

Know the evil has entered again.

Above reason I rise, not blind but aware,

That correction is found in how I compare.

If I see myself higher, I’ve nothing to gain,

No vessel, no lack, no place for His Name.

But if I see them as greater than me,

Then adhesion becomes a real possibility.

So let this day begin with one quiet vow:

Not to fix, not to judge, not to know how.

Only to annul, to cling, to receive

The friends as the place where the Creator is revealed.

Prayer And Forgiveness In The Work

Prayer and Forgiveness in the Work

No one ascends alone, that lie cuts deep,

The ego whispers, “Your seeds are yours to keep.”

It crowns itself king, says “Stand and be strong,”

While quietly proving it’s been wrong all along.

First comes the blow, the fracture, the crack,

Troubles arrive and the heart fights back.

I curse the road, the world, the pain,

Never once asking Who pulls the rein?

Rabash says: stop—look straight at the root,

Name the desire, call evil its suit.

The will to receive dressed holy and wise

Is the very source where the darkness lies.

Not shame, not guilt, not beating the chest,

But clear recognition—this thing is the test.

All evil revealed in a single sight:

The ego alone blocks the Light.

Then prayer is born—not words, not song,

But a scream that admits “I waited too long.”

Forgiveness is asked—not for sin or mistake,

But for not turning sooner when the heart began to break.

“I blamed the world, I blamed my fate,

I blamed the friends, I blamed the gate.

Forgive me for thinking I could endure,

Forgive me for forgetting You were the cure.”

And in that moment—quiet, stark—

The evil inclination loses its spark.

Not destroyed by force, not beaten in war,

Just seen as useless—needed no more.

With no work left, it falls to the floor,

Slips into fight or flight as before.

The sages knew this law by name:

“I made the evil—and Torah the flame.”

Not Torah as text, not ink or scroll,

But Light that reforms the fractured soul.

A spice, they say, to sweeten the will,

Neutralizing poison without killing the vessel still.

Alone it won’t work—this is the knife,

The ego survives in solitary life.

But dive with the friends, heart into heart,

And the neutralization quietly starts.

Like-minded souls, one lack, one plea,

Build a place where the Light can be.

Not inside me, not inside you,

But between us—where truth comes through.

Prayer becomes shared, forgiveness expands,

No longer mine—held in many hands.

And the ego fades, not chased, not cursed,

Just outgrown… replaced… reversed.

This is the work—subtle, exact,

Not heroics, not spiritual act.

Just seeing the evil for what it is,

And turning together—to None Else Besides Him.

The Thoughts I Swear Are Mine

The Thoughts I Swear Are Mine

I wake up swinging before my feet hit the floor

Heart on guard like it’s been here before

Every sound a threat, every glance a test

Every breath measured—no time to rest

Coffee tastes like worry, news tastes like war

Even silence feels loud to the core

I call it instinct, I call it “me”

But it’s always choosing who I should be

Fight if I’m cornered, flee if I’m weak

Win the argument, or don’t even speak

Every memory sharpened into a blade

Every joy taxed, every pleasure delayed

I swear these thoughts are mine alone

Built of flesh and blood and bone

Don’t tell me different, don’t cross that line

Ain’t nobody telling me these ain’t mine

But watch it closer—real slow, real tight

Same reactions morning and night

Same heat in the chest, same closing jaw

Same story repeated like unbroken law

It tastes like fear with a prideful grin

Smells like control dressed up as “win”

Feels like pressure behind the eyes

Like I must defend just to stay alive

Then one day—nothing holy or bright

Just tired of losing the same damn fight

I see the anger before it speaks

See the panic before it peaks

And for one small breath—thin as air—

I’m not inside it… I’m watching it there

The thought still shouts, the feeling still roars

But I’m not pinned to the floor anymore

No fireworks, no haloed sound

Just a little space where I’m not bound

The ego screams, “GET BACK IN LINE”

Because it knows… it’s losing time

Not dying, not broken, not cast away

Just no longer ruling every day

And in that crack—so quiet, so small—

I don’t need to fight

I don’t need to fall

There’s a taste I’ve never known before

Not victory, not settling a score

It’s soft like water, steady and warm

Not shaped by fear, not needing form

No enemy here, no self to defend

No story to win, no point to bend

Just life moving through what I used to claim

And suddenly nothing needs a name

That’s when love shows up without a sound

Not as a prize—but as solid ground

And I finally see, with no disguise…

The thoughts still come

They’re just not who I am.

Torn Between Desire and Fate

Torn between desire and fate

Filled with rage and hate

Wanting to break totally free

From all this evil inside of me

I wake up tired before the day begins

Fighting the weight of my wants and sins

Bills on the table, blame in my head

Words I regret that I wish I never said

I say I want truth, but I bargain for ease

I pray for connection, then beg for my peace

I swear I’m done running, then turn at the gate

Cursing the road while I tempt my own fate

The ego screams loud, “This pain isn’t fair”

It counts every loss and keeps perfect repair

It says, “You deserve more—why suffer this way?”

So I feed it excuses and call it a day

But somewhere between the collapse and the cry

A quieter question slips gently by

“If not for yourself, then who will you be

When the work demands honesty?”

I start to see cracks where the light gets in

Not fixing the mess, just owning the sin

I stop asking why this weight is mine

And ask how to walk it one step at a time

The rage slows down, becomes something raw

Not a weapon to swing, but a truth that I saw

The hate turns inward, then loosens its grip

When I stop demanding the world make the shift

And then—without warning, without a sign—

I feel a warmth that was never mine

Not earned by effort, not bought by pain

But waiting between us again and again

There is none else here—no blame, no foe

Every push, every pull was You all along, I know

My part was never to win or be strong

Only to choose You when I was wrong

So take this heart, still shaking, still torn

Still learning how to be newly born

I bring You my effort, my will, my plea

And You give back love that carries me

Not because I’m pure, or finished, or wise

But because You were there behind my cries

And in that love, steady and true,

I finally rest—between me and You.

If Not Me Then Who

If Not Me, Then Who

In the beginning of the work

I wake before the light,

Hands already clenched in habit,

Bracing for another fight.

If I am not for me, then who?

No voice replaces mine,

No one carries my resistance,

No one crosses this line.

The day collects its payment first,

Bills, bodies, time, and pride,

I promise I’ll be better today—

By noon, that promise died.

I speak of faith with a bitter tongue,

Say “trust” but check the lock,

I pray for light while guarding

Every corner of my stock.

I want the end without the road,

The crown without the fall,

I want to love without surrender,

To give without losing at all.

The ego does not go quietly,

It fights like it’s the truth,

It calls surrender weakness

And humility abuse.

It counts my hours, tracks my gain,

Keeps score of every slight,

It says, “Protect yourself first,”

Then calls that wisdom, not fear, not fright.

This stage is dry and unforgiving,

No poetry, no glow,

Just teeth clenched through responsibility

With nowhere else to go.

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Somewhere between the grind and grief,

Between collapse and breath,

I notice effort does not save me—

But it moves me toward depth.

My thoughts aren’t innocent anymore,

They carry weight and aim,

Each one bends my direction slightly,

Feeds a different flame.

Effort isn’t changing heaven,

It’s tuning where I stand,

Like leaning into the wind just right

So the sail might catch command.

The action doesn’t build the road,

That path was always there,

But effort adds velocity

To how I travel it—aware.

Each choice adds acceleration,

Each refusal slows the pace,

I learn that neutrality is fantasy,

Stillness only masks escape.

I fall, I rise, I misalign,

I curse and then I pray,

But now the work feels less like punishment

And more like how I stay.

I start to sense a partnership,

Not spoken, not declared,

Where effort meets a hidden Hand

That was always there.

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And then the ending comes disguised

As something very small:

The need to own the outcome

Finally starts to fall.

There is none else besides Him—

Not after I give in,

But after every effort shows me

I was never acting alone to begin.

My work did not replace Him,

It revealed where He stood,

Waiting behind my resistance

Like love always would.

This love doesn’t flatter ego,

Doesn’t rush or demand,

It lets me break, lets me fail,

Then quietly takes my hand.

It forgives before I finish sinning,

Waits longer than my doubt,

Fills the space where “me” once ruled

Until “we” quietly breaks out.

I see now nothing was wasted—

Not anger, not delay,

Every step I took “for me”

Was guiding me this way.

I was never pushed aside,

Never left to fend alone,

I was taught to move, to choose, to try

Until effort led me home.

If not me, then who—to act.

There is none else—so trust.