The Soul Knows Before The Mind

 

The Soul Knows Before the Mind

We open the book and the words feel dry,

Ten Sefirot speaking way up in the sky.

My mind starts barking, “You don’t belong,”

“You don’t get a thing—move along.”

But the work never asked for clever or smart,

It asked for a grip with a trembling heart.

Not grasping the map, not seeing the road,

Just standing still where the Light is bestowed.

The ego screams loud, “You’re wasting your time,”

“These worlds make no sense, these lines don’t rhyme.”

But the soul stays quiet, steady, and sure,

Drinking what reason could never secure.

Fear says, “If you don’t get it, you’re lost,”

Faith says, “Sit still—this growth has a cost.”

Not coins, not pride, not intellectual gain,

But the burning surrender of not having a name.

Each word hits places I cannot define,

Not entering thought, but carving the spine.

Something is moving, aligning inside,

While reason stands helpless, stripped of its pride.

The system is faithful, exact, and alive,

It feeds what the soul needs—not what I derive.

So I shut up the judge, the critic, the thief,

And stay in the room with a thread of belief.

Understanding comes later—after the break,

After the ego’s no longer awake.

First comes the Light, unseen but precise,

Then comes the knowing—paid for in price.

So I listen, confused, yet rooted and still,

Not chasing a concept, but bowing my will.

Because growth isn’t proof, and truth isn’t loud—

The soul learns best when the mind isn’t proud.