my mind has struggled with YAHWEH,
he who struggles with nothing;
so he gave me a heart that was a stairway into the heavens.
he says, “Come up here,”
but still i sit in the dirt.
you have made me here, Papa.
it is both my substance and my home.
he says, “I love you,”
but still i fear the night.
if you are the light, Yeshua,
then why does the darkness still surround me?
he says “See what I see,”
but still i remain blind.
do i need to cry louder than Bartimaeus,
so that you come and give me sight?
the unworthy wanderer 