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The Knower Who Still LongsI know the answersānot from books,but from the quiet hushbetween each breath.Iāve seen the veil lift,watched form melt into formless,and smiledas the wave recognized the ocean.And yetā¦I still look for signsin the eyes of strangers,in the murmur of winds,in verses meant for someone else.I speak of onenessānon-duality etched into my bonesābut still, I whisperprayers at night,to a God I know is not separate,yet feels farwhen the silence gets too loud.Is it weaknessto want His handeven when I am His hand?Is it contradictionto long for assurancewhen Iāve bathed in the knowingthat there is nothing but This?I feel alonenot because I am,but because no one else seesthat Iām both the seekerand the sought.Sometimes,I envy those who cry out for Godwithout philosophy.Who collapse without shame,and are heldwithout needing to explain the Self.And still, I walk onānot toward Him,but into Him.Because even the acheis His disguise.And even this poemāthis reaching for wordsāis just another wayHe reaches for me.āThis found me tonight.And I donāt have much to say except ā yes.Iāve felt this. I feel this.Knowing the Truth doesnāt end the longing.Sometimes it deepens it.And maybe thatās the point.Even the ache is holy.