Correcting Our Nature

 We are born in a state that knows no Light,

No sense of bestowal, no inner sight.

A will to receive that rules every move,

Cut off from the truth we were made to prove.

There is nothing worse than this starting place,

A life with no feel of the Creator’s face.

We chase our pleasures, defend our pride,

While the force of bestowal stays locked outside.

Yet this is the work, not to run or escape,

But to take our nature and let it reshape.

Not to kill desire or break what we are,

But aim the same hunger toward a higher star.

Step after step, through failure and cry,

Through prayers that rise when all answers die,

Wisdom is earned, not read or told,

It’s learned in the fire where the ego is cold.

And when bestowal becomes our aim,

When giving outweighs the hunger for gain,

The path completes what words can’t explain—

We become as one with the Source of the flame.

When The Road Breaks Open

 When the Road Breaks Open

You pack your bag with a shaking hand

A congress calling, a promise you planned

The heart says go, the mind says wait

Bills on the table, time running late

You swear this time you’ll make it through

You told the friends, you said you’d be true

But the road don’t care what vows you said

It throws you steel that leaves you dead

A car on the lift, the clock runs fast

“No parts till Monday,” they say at last

Two hundred dollars, that’s all you’ve got

And the retreat’s fading right on the spot

Now comes the moment no one sees

Not faith in words, but bent-knee pleas

You sit alone, your chest caved in

Not asking to win — just not to give in

Your heart don’t pray with fancy lines

It cracks and leaks between the whys

“I promised them… I wanted You…

I don’t know how, but help me through”

No deals, no strength, no clever play

Just truth that burns the self away

And right there where the hope feels dead

Something moves you never led

Three minutes pass — no more than that

The shop door opens, a turn of fact

The owner walks like it’s no big thing

Says, “Found the part… won’t charge a thing”

No labor bill, no reason why

Just mercy dropped from the open sky

An hour later you’re tearing in

Like a soul reborn, scraped thin

You don’t arrive clean, proud, or whole

You come in fire, you come in soul

Not because you were strong or smart

But because you asked with a broken heart

This is the road to every congress gate

Not perfect plans, but crushed-down weight

Obstacles stacked till you finally see

You don’t come by will — you come by plea

The trick ain’t courage, grit, or might

It’s turning to Him in the darkest night

When nothing works and you can’t pretend

That’s when the help is sent

So if the road starts falling apart

If life leans hard and splits your heart

Don’t curse the blocks, don’t turn away

That’s the door — that’s when you pray

Because the Creator waits right there

Where the heart breaks clean of self-care

And every congress begins that way

With nothing left — and a cry that stays

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.