The Soul As The Command Of The Lord Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I behold the soul not merely alive,
but eternally living—the primal fount
from which all life is poured.
From its hidden depth stream rays of noetic fire,
the first divine largesse: Kun—
the fiat of existence.

Gather your scattered self, O seeker.
Turn the eye of the heart inward
to this living nexus,
this quintessence of the Real.
It is what we are:
the mirror of the Beloved.

Heed its subtle song, its silent decree
within this frail tenement of bone and clay.
Severed from the soul,
no 'I' endures; we dissolve into void.

It mocks the sun's illusory trek—
that east-to-west, vain cycle.
That orb is but a luminous husk;
its core, too, pulses with the soul's secret flame.

No corner of the cosmos escapes its sway:
skies unfurl as veils of its manifest light;
this earth, a crucible of its alchemy;
all forms between—star, wind, and void—
blest by its pervasive, animating grace.

Yet veils whisper lies:
Existence has no pulse,
no rhythm to this dance.
Only the soul's hidden current flows.
It gifts the heartbeat's thunder,
breathes spirit as a sacred bellows,
igniting life from non-being.

While the soul's sovereign command endures—
Kun fa yakun, the Lord's eternal "Be! "—
death's shadow flees.
Immortality reigns.

—January,15,2026