The intellect is rooted in ‘to hold’, intelligence is rooted in ‘to choose’.

The intellect’s job is to chop things up, freeze things still, hold things down … just long enough for intelligence to choose, to pick, to initiate a consummation that allows the serving intellect to ‘let go’,
empty,
and wait for intelligence to send it out on its next quest.

When intellect thinks it is the be all and end all, it gets stuffed
full of the facts of life
that never get
laid …
to rest in the arms of a loving intelligence …
Fuller and fuller, darker and darker, facts
pretending to be knowledge.

Computers manipulate facts, they don’t ‘know’ anything … they’ve never made love with their facts … so sad,
They’re just facts
in a tank
As much use as a
w***
Fun … but not designed to fill
The per … am … bulator
Of design that has a hope in hell
Of planning mankind away
From harm
To a safer more living place
Walking
To dwell.

In maths … ‘k’ … a symbol
For a constant …
Now is simply …
No … plus double ‘You’
When you know,
There is a constant reference
Whilst perambulating with
The mental facts of life
That actually
There is no double You
Just You
As
‘I am’
And me as ….
I am who am.