Two Actions in The Dark

 “Two Actions in the Dark”

When the light fades out and the heart feels tight,

And the road ahead disappears from sight,

The fall is not to break the soul apart,

But to pull a prayer from deep in the heart.

Do not agree with the dark that you feel,

Do not accept it as something that's real,

Hold to the friends, to the path, to the plea,

And cry for the One who sets you free.

Rope of Love

 we fall into a hole and cant get out

go ahead scream and shout

it does no good because the hole your in

is the separation you feel within

that separation between the Creator and you

because we let desires of reception seep through

we dug it deep with every selfish plea

till the light was hidden, and we could not see

we claw at the walls with hands full of fear

but the way out was always quietly near

not by strength, and not by might

but by turning the heart back toward the light

for the hole was never made of earth and clay

it was built from the times we turned away

each thought for self, each moment of pride

stacked the stones that sealed us inside

but the second a prayer breaks out from the core

a crack appears in that prison floor

and through that crack a thin light streams

awakening forgotten dreams

then hand in hand with the friends we call

a rope of love is lowered into the hole

and pulling together, heart by heart

the climb to adhesion can finally start

Reading Between The Lines

 Reading Between the Lines

The Torah comes quiet, it don’t shout or shine,

But it slowly starts draining what once felt like “mine.”

The strength that felt solid begins to feel thin,

Like a war you keep fighting but never can win.

You sit with the pages, the words feel so deep,

Yet something inside you just wants to go sleep.

The body gets heavy, the thoughts start to roam,

The will to receive says, “Just leave it, go home.”

But Rabash is whispering under the sound,

“It's not your true strength that is being worn down.”

It’s the pride that is cracking, the self standing tall,

That strength has to weaken so love can be called.

You read and you read but the letters don’t say,

The real work is hidden in what fades away.

The harder it feels, the more empty you stand,

The more you're being shaped by a higher hand.

Alone you grow tired, your fire burns thin,

The battles feel heavy, you can’t seem to win.

But sit with the friends and the air starts to change,

A power appears that you cannot arrange.

The Ten holds the current, the Ten holds the flame,

You borrow their strength though none say a name.

A look, a word, or a silence that stays,

And suddenly strength comes back in quiet ways.

The Torah exhausts what was never meant to last,

The armor of ego, the walls from the past.

It weakens the part that insisted “I can,”

To make room for the work that is built through the Ten.

Between every sentence, between every line,

There’s a breaking of “me” and a forming of “we” over time.

The words tell a story, but the silence explains,

Why losing your strength is where real power remains.

So when you feel empty, worn down to the bone,

That’s the place where no one can stand on their own.

And right there the secret Rabash gently sends:

The strength you lost alone… returns through the friends.

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.