Climbing The Mountain Of ME

 Climbing The Mountain Of ME

A man walks proud, says, “I’m strong, I’m fine,”

But trips on the same old wants every time.

He swears he’s good, he means no harm,

Then grabs for self with a greedy arm.

A hill shows up, but it’s no small mound,

It’s a mountain of “me” piled high on the ground.

Each thought for self, each secret deal,

Stacks one more rock the heart must feel.

He fights that hill, slips on the clay,

Curses the dark that blocks the way.

Shouts at the sky, “Why me? Why now?”

While feeding the beast he won’t disavow.

Then comes the spice, so plain, so light,

Not a sword, not a grand big fight.

Just words of Torah, a quiet flame,

That slowly tames the inner shame.

The evil voice don’t die or flee,

It just sits down more quietly.

Still grins, still waits, still wants its share,

But now there’s help in the air.

So man keeps walking, bruised but true,

With love in sight and work to do.

The hill is self, the path is above—

A brutal road, all wrapped in love.

Our Only Demand

 We gather to connect, not for comfort, not for fame,

But to build a place where the Creator can reveal His Name.

There is no other goal, no side road, no clever disguise,

Only the bond between hearts where the true connection lies.

He holds us together in ways we don’t yet feel,

Gives us the texts, the path, the hunger that is real.

Like arms around a child that we’re too numb to see,

His embrace is constant, but we lack the sensitivity.

Everything in me, every thought, every fall, every climb,

I attribute to Him, in the Ten and alone in time.

Each friend a doorway, each moment a hidden sign,

That nothing in this life was ever truly mine.

Until the day arrives when the veil is finally torn,

And the revelation within the connection is born.

A person must yearn, must ache, must plead from deep inside,

For the moment the Creator no longer has to hide.

At first I search for the friend, for a hand I can hold,

For warmth in the circle, for hearts that are bold.

But slowly it changes, the picture becomes clear,

Through the friend’s form, the Creator appears.

The difference fades between the friend and the King,

As light through a vessel begins to sing.

And what finally remains when the searching is through,

Is the Creator revealed in the friend standing next to you.

The Judge In My Chest

 The Judge in My Chest

I put on a robe like I’m holy and wise,

But the judge in my chest sees straight through the disguise.

I rule in my favor, I bend every law,

Then gasp in pure shock at the faults that I saw.

I pound on the table, “I’m righteous! I’m right!”

While feeding my ego all day and all night.

I sentence the world for the things that they do,

Then quietly pardon the same things in me too.

I call it “bestowal,” I call it “the climb,”

But most of the time I’m just serving my slime.

I polish my halo, adjust it just so,

While hiding the horns that continue to grow.

The truth is a mirror I try to avoid,

It shows me how much of my love is employed

To serve only self with a sweet holy grin,

While whispering prayers through a mouth full of sin.

I judge all the friends like I’m seated above,

Yet starve them inside of the smallest of love.

Then cry to the heavens, “Why don’t I feel light?”

While blocking the door with my own inner fight.

But the Judge never shouts, never strikes, never shames,

He just holds up the truth and calls me by name.

“Look close, stubborn heart, this ruling is true—

The one you must sentence is always just you.”

And covered in laughter, in mercy, in grace,

Love stands there smiling me straight in the face.

No gavel of anger, no cold iron rod,

Just truth wrapped in warmth from the hands of my God.

Covenant to My Ten

 Covenant to My Ten

From our connection comes rejection, nowhere to hide,

I pledge to stay standing right here at your side,

When ego rises and pushes apart,

I will not run from the work of the heart.

When distance appears and the darkness is shown,

I will remember I’m never alone,

For every resistance the soul must face

Is the Creator preparing a place.

I pledge now to hold to the line,

To see all your greatness and make it mine,

To bow to the friends when pride wants to win,

And ask for the strength to include us within.

If anger or judgment begins to arise,

I’ll fight for our love, not the ego’s disguise,

I’ll pray for your hearts before praying for me,

That in our connection the Creator will be.

No matter the fall, the shame, or the strain,

I p;edge here to return again,

To build what we can’t as one man alone—

A place in our bond where He makes His home.

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.