The Threshold Of The Mystery Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Incomprehensible.
Beyond perception.
Beyond the
reach of
sight.
Past the
limit of
knowledge.

A lā-makān—
no-where,
yet the womb
of every where.

A place—
that is not even
a place.

A lā-zamān—no time,
yet all hours race
through its grace—
the still point where
eternity finds its face.

A time—
that is not even
a time.

Older than
light,
closer than
breath,
hidden within
the inward
of all things.

A silence—
awaiting
its own
voice.

A dawn—
with no
sunrise.

A movement—
so silent
it seems
eternity.

A takwin—
that primeval Kun! —
a coming-into-being
no eye
ever saw,
the Muhammadan Light's
first gleam,

yet before which
every star
and every archetype
bowed its head
in niyaz
at the Mithāq,
the covenant
sealed before dust
knew its name.

Covenant upon
covenant
folded into the hem
of Dahr's eternal robe,
like dust
on the hem
of abad—
where time
has not yet learned
to fall.

What had slept
in the 'Ayn al-A'yān—
the Essence of Essences—
awakened.

What awakened,
recognized
its own origin
as Origin.

What recognized,
became tajallī—
the theophanic flash
that shatters
every mirror.

Veils
began to lift—
the Asmā' al-Ḥusnā,
those beautiful Names,
began to fall away—

not into absence,
but into the Dhāt,
where the Named
forgets its own
utterance.

Time—zamān—
swallowed
its own shadow,
and entered dahr,
the unbounded duration
where eternity
has no need
to endure.

The world—
that 'Alam al-Mithāl,
the imaginal realm—
was freed
from its own image,
dissolving into the Barzakh,
the isthmus where
neither being
nor non-being
holds its breath.

What was,
returns
to the unbecome,
as though it had never
drawn breath
in zamān.

What is,
sheds its own
ṣūra—its form—
like a serpent
leaving its skin
at the threshold
of Wujūd.

And Ḥaqīqah—
the Real,
the unconditioned—
stands unveiled,
not as object
but as the very
act of unveiling.

Then
no ibtidā,
no intihā.

Only
its zuhoor—
the endless out-breath
of the Unmanifest—

which never
once entered
'adam—
non-being—
for non-being
was always
merely a veil
upon Being.

Incomprehensible.
Beyond perception.

How could the 'ayn—
the eye—
see it,
when it itself
is the very Sight
that sees?

How could the 'ārif
know it,
when the knower
is consumed
in the ma'rifat,
realizing (taḥqīq)
that knowledge
was never
separate from
the Known?

Take the final khaṭwah—
the step
of fanā', extinction—

then nothing
remains,
no seeker,
no path,
no abode,

save that
Rāz-e-Muṭlaq,
the Absolute Mystery—

whose secret is
that it has none.

—MyKoul