The Man Who Sold His Beams
He came to the path with fire in his chest
Certain his wisdom was better than the rest
He spoke about love, connection, the light
But inside his ego prepared for the fight.
The Ten sat together like brothers in line
Each one carrying a spark of the Divine
But his will to receive began its routine
Searching the cracks in the human machine.
“Look at that friend, he’s lazy as hell.
That one talks big but his heart you can’t tell.
And that one over there, what a fraud in disguise.”
Thus spoke the sweet voice of the inner spies.
At first he believed it—every damn word.
The poison felt smart, logical, assured.
He sharpened his judgment like a polished blade
While the bridge to the friends quietly decayed.
Then the darkness arrived like a cold desert wind.
The lessons felt empty, no warmth within.
The Creator went silent, the heart turned to stone
And suddenly he felt completely alone.
He cursed the Ten. He cursed the path.
He cursed the Creator in quiet wrath.
“Maybe they’re wrong. Maybe I was fooled.”
Thus the will to receive sat laughing and ruled.
But buried beneath all the dirt and the screams
A tiny voice whispered, “Sell the beams.”
Sell the beams of the house you built in pride
The roof of judgment where the ego hides
Sell the walls made of clever thought
Sell every lie the ego bought.
He fought that voice with teeth and bone
“Why should I bow? I stand alone!”
But the heart kept breaking night by night
Until he collapsed in the lack of light.
Then finally broken, ugly and bare
He whispered a prayer through exhausted air:
“Creator… I see what my ego has done.
I burned every friend one by one.”
“I judged the ladder meant for my climb.
I spat on the gift of the Ten divine.
Take all my beams, every plank of pride—
Leave me nothing… but let me stand inside.”
And something shifted, quiet and deep
Like warm rain falling through fields of sleep
The friends he judged now shined like the sun
Each one a piece of the Holy One.
Their flaws became mirrors he finally saw
Each crack revealing his own inner law
And instead of anger a strange love grew
For the broken friends who carried him through.
He saw their effort, their trembling fight
Each one crawling toward the light
Ten wounded souls refusing to flee
Building a place for Divinity.
He wept like a child who’d finally seen
Why heaven is built from a shattered Ten
And why the Creator hides His face
Only to dwell in that fragile place.
Now he walks lighter, stripped of schemes
Living in a house with no more beams
No roof of judgment, no walls of pride
Just open sky where the friends reside.
And when the spies come back to scream
He smiles and whispers the ancient theme:
“Take my house, my pride, my dreams…
But never again
will I keep
those damn beams.”
