Spiritual Intellect Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Who truly sees
truly knows.
Who claims to know
has not yet learned to see.

To see is this:
to behold the whole
before the mind
draws its sword from the sheath
and parts the waters;

before multiplicity appears,
though the One
has never been divided.

The Absolute receives the world
without judgment,
without names,
without burden.

Then learning begins.

Names gather like dust,
meanings harden into stone,
preferences take root in shadow—
and duality assumes
the face of truth.

Yet the seamless reality
was never broken.

This is the secret:
the unity of being.

The One is—
veiled only
by the forms of its own expression.

'This is beautiful, '
says the partial mind.
'That is not.'
'This is mine.'
'That is foreign.'

So speaks the partial mind,
weaving conclusions from arguments,
mistaking the mirror
for what it reflects.

The spiritual intellect
has never gone anywhere.

It is silent—
untouched,
vast as the open sky,
present behind every cloud;

the witness before thought itself,
the nameless light before every name,
the stillness from which all knowing is born
and to which all knowing returns.

Do not fight your preferences.
See through them.

See beyond the mind
that judges, compares, and divides.

Return to the seeing
that was always yours,
before the first thought arose
and whispered,

'What is this? '

There,
the seer and the seen
are not two—

only the One
beholding itself.

— MyKoul