The Freshness Of Life-Bestowing Space Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I keep diving,
ceaselessly,
into the depths of my own being.
Layer upon layer of sea-darkness,
and I have seen such dreams
as no shore has yet been able to read.

But the shore—
how it lies!
It frightens me, saying:
'Let the waves calm down for a while,
let sleep descend upon your eyelids,
then begin your journey.'

But truth
was never in need of waiting.
Truth is infinite;
it cannot be confined to edges,
nor to words,
nor to fear.

Now do not call out to the dancing moon,
nor send it some message.
To see its reflection
in the garlands of stars—
that is enough.

Between the original and its reflection
there is no distance;
just as a spring
is not separate from its water,
so is light
not apart from its manifestation.
Do not call this proximity
a distance.

This wild, intoxicated soul
is still thirsty for the sweet love of eternity.
This virginal soul of greenness
still awaits but a glimpse of its source,
so that it may wake from the slumber of forgetfulness,
and for the first time
smile upon the flower of existence.

Otherwise,
how shall broken, fragile threads be joined?
How shall scattered fibers
become the warp and weft of fate?
And how shall being, cloaked in annihilation,
reach the hem of eternity
and put on the robe of primal light?

And yet...
a gentle breeze blows,
with such a rhythm
as if some angel's tresses
were waving upon the shoulders of silence.
Then the night
puts on not its darkness,
but its light.
The exultant ecstasy of love,
without uttering a single sound,
nourishes the radiance of the Truth.

And then,
in the boundless spheres of the sky,
only one pulse remains.
It feels
as though a ray of hope,
asleep in the embrace of romance,
is opening its eyes.

And in that moment,
it becomes clear:
the sea was never dark,
the shore was never true,
and the journey
was always from the source
toward the source.

—MyKoul