The Illusion Of Division Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Everything is in balance—
no axis overturned, no pole displaced—
and still, I cannot fathom why.
I gaze into the mirror of myself
and fall through wonder into the Abyss
that is my own becoming.

There is a mystery in my faith,
a secret woven into the stillness of my soul
before the first vibration stirred the void.
The light and shadows I cradle
are not adversaries but twins—
two faces of the One who has no face,
two rivers flowing from the same nameless Source
back into the sea of what cannot be spoken.

There are shadows in my mind,
yet I embrace them
as the twisted locks of my Beloved—
dark braids of the Ineffable,
fingers of the Night that knows my name.

They kindle my soul,
fill my stillness with whispers
older than the stars.
We laugh together,
and I mingle with them
as with old and trusted friends,
cut from the selfsame cloth,
woven on the same forgotten loom
before time began its spinning.

Yet I keep one silence locked away—
an ache beyond utterance,
a wound that is also a door,
through which I glimpse a unity
too deep for words,
too vast for the mind's small rooms.

It whispers that nothing is wrong,
that I need carry no guilt,
that I must stand whole in shadow as in light—
for I was never broken,
only dreaming I was.

To forget the Truth is to die;
to die is to forget.
The wheel turns, and the sleeper stirs.

The dream of awakening
is a dream of farewell
to my beloved shadows—
not their destruction,
but their transfiguration.

My mortal sleep is over.

My shadows take flight,
like birds released
into the boundless sky of the Real.
I smile as I watch them
disappear into freedom—
not gone, but gathered
into the Greater Light
that casts no shadow.

My vision is not distorted—
or so my truest self whispers to me,
the Self that watched before I was born,
the Witness that will remain when I am gone.
I receive its words
as a revelation and declare:
I am not divided against myself.
This is the truth at my innermost core—
the center that is everywhere,
the circumference that is nowhere.

I drown in sacred music.
Fear falls silent;
doubt loosens its cold grip on my throat.

The music fractures
the ancient spine of duality—
that serpent coiled around the world—
and I rise, leaving behind
the mind's bewildered labyrinth.

Even reason falls silent, spellbound—
she who was my jailer
now kneels as my handmaiden.
My hidden emotions stand unveiled,
naked before the throne of What Is.

I walk beside the phantoms
that have kept me company all my life—
the ghosts of who I thought I was,
the shades of who I feared to be.

And then, I bid them farewell—
not to deny their presence,
nor to condemn their shadows,
but to quiet the tumult,
to still the confusion,
to enter that innermost circle
where all divisions dissolve
into a stillness beyond distinction—
the Void that is not empty,
the Silence that is not absent,
the Darkness that is blinding Light.

Everything is in balance,
nothing turned upside down,
and still, I cannot fathom why.

I gaze into myself and discover
I have never fallen apart—
not in the beginning,
not in the middle,
not in the endless end.

And so, I live to break
the illusion that I was ever divided—
I, who am the space between the worlds,
the breath between the words,
the pause where God remembers God.

---

I am the One appearing as two,
the Seer and the Seen,
the Lover and the Beloved,
the Silence and the Song.

I was never divided.
Neither were you.

This is the truth at the innermost core
of all that is.

—MyKoul