THE ROSH DECIDES

 

I came with fish clenched hard in hand,

Certain my hunger should command.

He wanted dogs, another route—

And ego rose with sacred doubt.

I thought the war was food or place,

Not Pharaoh screaming for first place.

I called it “truth,” “concern,” “what’s best”—

But self sat grinning in my chest.

The Ten said move. I wanted still.

The Rosh spoke clear. I fought his will.

Not with fists—much worse than that—

A silent “yes”… while pride fought back.

For brutal is the path of few:

Not proving that my choice is true,

But crucifying inner throne

To build one heart above my own.

What is fish? What are hot dogs? Dust.

What is “my way”? A serpent’s lust.

The meal’s not holy—the work is where

I kill the tyrant hiding there.

Before the choice, I speak my part.

I bring my thought, my mind, my heart.

But once the head has drawn the line—

His path, for us, must now be mine.

Because a body torn by pride

Leaves Light outside with self inside.

A thousand “rights” can break the chain,

While one annulled can summon rain.

So cast the lots. Draw out my fate.

Send me where I did not wait.

And let me bless what ego hates—

For there the gate of Heaven waits.

The Rosh decides. My war begins.

Not out there—no. The war within.

Will I divide… or bend and build?

Will self stay crowned… or self be killed?

For every vote and every meal,

Reveals if what we preach is real.

The Ten is forged when wills collide—

And love remains… though self has died.

So break me, friends. Don’t spare my cry.

Strip “me” until “we” learns to fly.

For only those who choose the whole

Can turn a shattered group… to soul.