According to the Sorrow (So Is The Laugh)

“According to the Sorrow (So Is the Laugh)”

We showed up holy, hearts full of flame,

Said “Love thy neighbor” — meant “love the same.”

But halfway through the spiritual ride,

The ego stole the keys and went for a joyride.

We opened the books, Zohar on the dash,

But the will to receive said, “Let’s make it a cash.”

We wanted Dvekut, straight to the sky,

But the body said, “First let’s get coffee and pie.”

We joined the Ten, said “We annul today,”

Then argued for twenty on who gets their way.

We sang about bestowal, mercy, and light,

Then secretly counted who shined more in the night.

The spies came whispering, smooth as can be,

“Why work for nothing? Look at me — I’m free.”

“Before you were happy, fat, and well fed,

Now you’re chasing some Light you’ve never once seen instead.”

We said “No reward, we serve just for love,”

Then checked the scoreboard with the angels above.

“Are we closer yet? Did the Creator respond?”

While refreshing the app called Ego.com.

The sorrow got thicker, the prayers got loud,

We cried in the desert, spiritual and proud.

“We can’t love! We can’t give! We’re broken inside!”

And Heaven replied, “Good. Now the Kli’s qualified.”

So now we laugh while the heart breaks in two,

Because this pain is the only thing true.

No sorrow, no vessel. No vessel, no light.

No ego exposed, no spiritual fight.

So we toast to the dryness, the falls, and the mess,

To the Ten, to the wars, to the holy distress.

Because the reward isn’t comfort or bliss —

It’s finally wanting to love more than this.

Rock Bottom Is The Meeting Place

Rock Bottom Is the Meeting Place

Emptiness is the floor where I finally fall,

Rock bottom is the room with no walls at all.

Every dream I defended, every hope I rehearsed,

Either failed in my hands or was stripped by the curse.

I arrive here not strong, but ashamed to be seen,

Seeing clearly the distance between You and me.

Not because I am righteous or suddenly wise,

But because I can’t carry this lie anymore inside.

So I pray, not knowing this was all You asked,

Not perfection, not victory, not spiritual masks.

Just to need You, to want You, to speak every day,

To sit in Your presence with nothing to say.

Through ascents I discover I’m empty of light,

Through descents I uncover the depth of the fight.

The Will To Receive shows its infinite face,

And I see there is nowhere to run, nowhere safe.

No action can break it, no effort, no art,

No knowledge, no work, no clever heart.

Only one thing defeats it, and leaves me intact—

A prayer from the place where I finally crack.

Not a prayer for rewards or to feel I am “good,”

But a cry from the truth of my nakedness stood:

“I cannot love, I cannot bestow,

I cannot take one more step on my own.”

So the prayer is not asking You to come near,

It’s You who built the lack so You could appear.

You didn’t want strength, or knowledge, or flame—

You wanted a place where You could have a name.

And that name is not spoken by mouth or by thought,

It’s born in the space where the ego is caught.

Where nothing is left of the “me” that once knew,

Only a vessel that needs to become one with You.

So rock bottom is not where the story is through,

It’s the womb where the creature becomes one with You.

Three Times, One Heart

 

Three Times, One Heart 

We were broken before we even knew why,

Running from questions we couldn’t deny.

The past still whispers, what brought you here?

Was it truth, or just hunger dressed up as fear?

We said we came for the Light, for the Name,

But the heart keeps checking, what’s in it for me to gain?

And every day the body stands as a judge,

Saying, this road is too hard, you will never budge.

Yet we stay, not because it feels sweet,

But because without this, life tastes like defeat.

We learn that love is not comfort or prize,

It’s choosing the path where the ego dies.

The present is fire, a war in the chest,

Prayer in the heart, no moment of rest.

Torah as medicine, bitter and kind,

Healing the wound we don’t want to find.

And mercy is hands that forget how to take,

Lending our hearts for the others’ sake.

Not charity for a crown or a name,

But to build a world where no one feels shame.

The future is calling from beyond what we see,

Saying, you’re rich already, just trust in Me.

We haven’t sold, we haven’t arrived,

But inside that promise, we’re already alive.

So we walk with three times inside one breath,

Past as the reason, present as death,

Future as life that pulls us through,

Teaching the now how to feel what is true.

And the ego keeps lying, both low and tall,

You are nothing… then you are everything, you stand above all.

But we answer softly, not proud, not small:

We are just servants, learning to fall into love, that’s all.

Serving The Friends

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Serving the Friends

We came with hearts that only knew demand,

Each one a kingdom, each one a land.

We wanted light, we wanted to feel,

But learned the first truth: we’re broken and real.

We sit in circles, words on our lips,

But inside the ego still tightens its grips.

We speak of love, of unity’s tone,

Yet feel how alone is carved in the bone.

So we begin not with lofty prayer,

But with simple acts of being there.

To listen when tired, to show up dry,

To lift the friends when we want to hide.

We justify, even when it burns,

We bow to the lesson each failure returns.

We pray for their strength, their ascent, their light,

Even when our own hearts feel locked in the night.

We do the small things no one sees,

The boring work, the inner pleas.

We swallow pride, we cancel claim,

We choose the group over personal flame.

And slowly we notice a silent change,

Not in the world, but in our range.

Less about what we get or own,

More about building a shared unknown.

We finally see what the work is about:

Not to feel holy, not to feel devout.

Not to perfect some spiritual role,

But to make room inside the soul.

For the deepest inversion the path has shown:

We don’t build love — we build a home.

We don’t create the upper light,

We clear the space for it to ignite.

Serving the friends is not being kind,

It’s breaking the walls of the separate mind.

It’s saying connection is greater than self,

Greater than comfort, honor, or wealth.

And in that space between broken hearts,

Where no one owns and no one starts,

The Creator finds a place to roam:

Serving the friends is giving the Creator a home.

Beautiful, Not Enough

 

“Beautiful, Not Enough”

I look back now at roads I rode blind,

Every truth I chased already designed.

Every faith, every rule, every way I’d roam,

Were branches reaching back toward the same home.

I drank from wells I didn’t yet name,

Called it wisdom, called it luck, called it pain.

Now I see the root beneath every belief,

And the beauty of it all cuts sharp like grief.

Because knowing the source don’t quiet the thirst,

It just shows you the hunger was there first.

It’s gorgeous to see how the pieces align,

Still my heart keeps knocking, “Not this—something fine.”

I write from the ego, loud, cracked, and proud,

And from the small whisper that won’t shout.

Two hands on the wheel, same road, same flame,

One wants the credit, one erases the name.

The travels don’t end, they deepen the ask,

They slow down the steps but harden the task.

Passion grows steady, patience grows wide,

Persistence is born where the tears don’t hide.

So I bless every step that didn’t feel right,

Every long night spent learning to wait for the Light.

It’s beautiful—yes—but beauty won’t do,

Till the goal of creation is lived through the we, not the you.

Beginning In Lo Lishma

 Beginning in Lo Lishma

I came to the work with pockets full of need,

Looking for comfort, reward, and a place to succeed.

I opened the book with myself in the frame,

And called it devotion while feeding my name.

I learned for the light, for the calm, for the gain,

For answers to soften the edges of pain.

I dressed up my ego in verses and prayer,

And told myself holiness lived over there.

I worked for protection, for heaven, for fear,

For a future reward that would finally be clear.

I said “for the Creator,” but deep in my chest,

I was measuring progress by how I felt best.

Then the work kept working and wouldn’t comply,

Each reason I leaned on would rot and run dry.

The sweetness went bitter, the fire went cold,

And every why cracked what I thought I still held.

The mirror got honest, the ground fell away,

Even “spiritual pleasure” had nothing to say.

I saw every motive I tried to defend

Was just self-love dressed up as a means to an end.

And there, in the wreckage of reasons gone thin,

A quieter question began working within:

Not what do I get and not who will I be,

But why am I doing this—if not for Thee?

Not for reward, not to rise, not to know,

Not to feel light or escape from the low.

Only because You commanded the way,

And I choose to be governed by that—come what may.

No promise of comfort, no payment in sight,

Just faith above reason, walking blind into night.

Not because it makes sense, not because it feels true,

But because You are Cause—and I answer to You.

Lo Lishma did its job, it carried me here,

Dragged all my reasons into the clear.

Now stripped of the self I kept trying to save,

I stand with one reason I never once gave:

Not me at the center, not profit or gain,

But You as the source, and Your will as the chain.

This isn’t perfection, it’s surrender made real—

Where the work stops being mine,

and You turn the wheel.

“Highway with No Exits (Hibur)”

 

“Highway with No Exits (Hibur)”

The road has no more exits, no place left to turn,

Every sign just says “Continue” while the engines burn.

The engine of ego is overheating fast,

Red lines on the dashboard screaming from the past.

The world kli is cracking right down the seam,

Not in the headlines, but inside the dream.

Systems collapsing we thought were strong,

Now even our pleasures don’t last too long.

We’re all in the same car, shoulder to shoulder,

Different accents, same weight getting colder.

Different stories, different names,

But the same old hunger driving the flames.

Some want to jump out, some want control,

Some blame the road, some blame the soul.

Some say it’s politics, some say it’s fate,

Some say it’s God, some say it’s too late.

But there are no more exits, no place to hide,

No hero to vote for, no pill for the ride.

No invention left that can save the day,

From how we learned to treat each other this way.

The breakdown is coming, not metal, not steel,

It’s a breakdown of meaning, of what we call real.

Not a flat tire, not a blown-out part,

It’s the emptiness growing inside the heart.

We open the trunk, searching for tools,

We find technology, data, and rules.

We find medicine, weapons, and schemes,

We find distractions and digital dreams.

But none of them fit what’s broken inside,

None of them answer the ache we hide.

Because the problem ain’t out on the road,

It’s the way we sit with the weight of this load.

Then at the bottom, under dust and rust,

Under every solution that failed our trust,

We find one tool we forgot how to use,

Not to fix the world — but to change how we choose.

Connection between broken hearts,

Not agreement, not playing smart.

Not tolerance, not smiling through pain,

But learning to feel the other’s chain.

Not love as a feeling, not love as a word,

But love as an action that’s quietly heard.

To place their lack before my gain,

To build a space where the Light can remain.

We don’t fix the engine, we change the driver,

We don’t escape, we dive in like a pearl diver,

We don’t get off, we don’t outrun,

We learn how to hold each other as one.

And when the ego runs out of fuel at last,

And the heart runs out of reasons from the past,

We discover the truth we refused to see:

The crash was the door to unity.

The breakdown was the invitation call,

The crisis was mercy dressed as a fall.

The highway had no exits, no end in sight,

Because it was never about escape — only Light.

Not to flee the world, not to be saved,

But to build the Creator in the space we made.

No more exits, no other art,

Only Hibur — between broken hearts.