The Truth Of Unity Poem by Mystic Qalandar

This time,
I crossed beyond the shadow of illusion —
not with force,
but as something loosening its own grip.

Silence came first,
not empty, but full—
like air after rain
when even sound forgets its need to exist.

I watched the old fabric of certainty
unthread itself quietly,
self-deception falling away
not defeated,
but simply no longer held.

And I woke—
not into brightness,
but into what had always been here.

Not as a victor,
not as one who arrived,
but as awareness without edge,
resting where there was never distance to cross.

The whispers that once called me separate
thinned into morning air.
Names, roles, the familiar tightening of "me"—
all of it softened
like ink dissolving in water too still to disturb.

What remained was not an idea,
but presence—ordinary, immediate, unclaimed.

I wandered long through inward corridors,
circling what I believed was center,
touching mirrors that only returned my face
slightly altered, slightly distant.

Then something shifted
without movement.
The gaze no longer bent inward—
it opened.

And there was no "me" looking at anything at all,
only a vast continuity
in which even looking was unfolding.

The ocean was not discovered.
It was what had been breathing
through every wave I ever called myself.

In that recognition,
what once felt like fracture
lost its seams.

Thoughts still arose—
small ripples across an unmoving depth—
but none could claim the water.

Questions came,
then paused mid-flight
like birds forgetting why they were winged.

Answers were unnecessary.
They dissolved before forming language.

Seer and seen
ceased their quiet negotiation
and fell into a single, wordless clarity
that needed no witness.

Even peace felt like a shore I had stepped beyond—
not into something greater,
but into something prior
to comparison itself.

Fear appears now only at the edges,
like an old weather pattern
no longer fed by sky.

There is no arrival, no continuation—
only a seamless unfolding
that does not ask to be followed.

I do not stand apart.
I am held
by a vastness that has no outside.

Dusk, breath, and dust
move through one another
like reflections in the same still mirror.

And in that reflection—
there is no voice claiming truth.

Only this:
what is here has never been divided.

Not I, not world—
only this
unbroken being
recognizing itself
without end.

MyKoul