“Not in the Ten”
I sat alone and told myself I’m fine,
Held thoughts a little longer, felt divine.
I watched the mind behave, the heart grow still,
And called it spirit—by my own free will.
But Rav’s voice cut through my clever lie,
“That’s not the soul—just flesh dressed up to fly.”
No matter how refined the feeling seems,
Alone it’s body, not the higher means.
I measured silence, counted breaths and hours,
Admired the ego polishing its powers.
I felt improved, more focused, calm and clean,
But none of it was born between.
For spirit doesn’t live where “I” reside,
It breathes where self-concern has truly died.
Not in my thoughts, not in my private gain,
But where my heart submits to shared pain.
The Ten is not a comfort, club, or tool,
It’s where the ego’s forced to look the fool.
Where I can’t hide behind my inner peace,
Where self-made holiness is brought to cease.
Alone, I choose what effort I’ll allow,
With friends, the truth confronts me now.
Their faces crack my fortress made of thought,
Expose the love I’ve never truly sought.
So if I feel uplifted, calm, or bright,
Yet stand outside the Ten—then Rav is right.
No matter how it dresses, sounds, or glows,
That work is still the body… not the soul.
And now a lack is burning in my chest,
Not for insight—but to rejoin the test.
To lose myself where something real can start,
One heart with many bodies—one man, one heart.
