Precosmic Ideas Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I stand at the threshold of being,
wondering what I was made to be—
seeking the first spark,
the thought that dreamt me into form.
Conceived in silence,
veiled in mystery,
sealed within the breath of the Eternal.

No script lies in black and white,
yet every act—willed or unwilled—
unfolds as it must:
a verse in the hidden poem of creation.

No footprints stretch before me,
no road has yet been carved.
Alone, yet never truly alone, I walk—
guided by the whisper of the One
who set me on this path.

I no longer ask,
What am I meant to be?
For I feel the foundation beneath me,
and with each breath I raise new walls—
a dwelling none can tear down.
Ideas awaken within me,
seeds of the pre-eternal garden,
germinating at His command: Be.

To begin is to remember;
and soon, even the beginning dissolves.
Already, I am within the flow,
conceiving what I cannot name—
shapes and colors unknown.
For I, too, am but an idea,
dreamed within His mind.

Yet I go on conceiving and reconceiving,
as walls rise, then fall to dust.
Making and unmaking,
building and dissolving,
creating and uncreating—
an eternal dance,
a precosmic prayer.

For when I awaken to truth—
that I already dwell
within His mystic home—
I cease to crave another place.
Not the new, nor the old—
for His dwelling is infinite.
I cannot burn His idea,
nor vanish into nothingness.

I endure, for I am of Him—
perpetual, luminous, unseen.
Not ruins, but a castle of light.
And within it, I live:
the reflection of His idea,
the thought He loved into being.