The Flute Of The Hidden Mystery Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Listen—can you hear it?

Some mystic flute sounds—
the pure language of the Unspeaking,
breath before breath,
word before word.

A thread of light
slips through the veil
and leads me
toward the hidden Rose.

Somewhere in the garden,
beyond the threshold,
something is calling.

I close my eyes
and listen.

Is it you,
my dear Friend,
my Lord,
veiled in the low
and high tunes
of the flute?

Each breath—
a theophany.

Each silence—
a hidden Name.

And somewhere
within the flute,
I hear my name.

The world is never empty;
every silence
holds a secret,
every sound
a trace of the Eternal Mystery.

Where are you?
What are you?
How are you?

The questions dissolve
before the listening.

For the knower
was the known,
and the seeker
was the sought.

And now,
through the flute,
something is voicing me.

Green as a flame
that burns without consuming,
you appear as light—
even in the dark,
even as the dark.

You are far beyond my reach,
yet nearer than thought,
nearer than the breath
I call my own.

Through my sight,
my listening,
my speech,
my thinking—
you are there.

And when darkness comes,
I do not turn away.

The seed must die
to become the tree.

Perhaps this is why
your name
sounds like my name—

or mine like yours.

A primordial Name
before names,
before the illusion
of "I" and "you."

Let the shadow fall.
Let the I-ness dissolve.

Not into emptiness,
but into the Presence
that was never absent.

Go to this flutist, O MyKoul.

Go now.

What is stopping you?

Not the road,
not the distance,
not the world—

only the dream
that dreams it is awake.

A sleep within sleep,
a forgetting within forgetting.

Let yourself go—

not into nothingness,
but into the All
that wears the mask of nothing.

Walk toward awakening,
toward a consciousness
that no longer clings
to its own name.

There,
the flute is not separate
from the flutist,

nor the listening
from the sound.

There is only
the Mystery—

the flute,
the flutist,
and the listening,

One.

—MyKoul