The ignorant one says:
“God is over there.”
And places the sacred at a distance.
The half-awake one says:
“I am God.”
And senses that nothing is truly separate.
The awakened one says nothing.
Not because words are lacking,
but because they are no longer needed.
Who would speak,
and to whom?
The last one neither knows nor does not know.
Not from ignorance,
but because knowing has fallen silent.
He holds no belief.
He holds no doubt.
He seeks no answers.
He is not someone
who has arrived.
He is simply here.
Like breath happening by itself.
Like the stillness between two thoughts.
There, both God and human
cease to be two.
And what remains
needs no name.
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