The Essence Of The Self Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The self, a wanderer in the forest of forms,
has lost the map to its own citadel.
It is a current, not a thing,
an echo of a Name before time.

Faint in the illusion of separation,
it recurs, awakening
the hidden spark of the Real
within the world's tender hush.

In the heart's deep dusk,
divine ideations descend—
soft shadows where Is-ness
coalesces into pure light,
tapping the mirror of the soul
to reveal what was always there.

In this silence, the sanctum opens:
Heart-Mind, a single sanctuary.
Remembrance flows,
an ancient river returning to its source.

The self feels the gravitation
of the pre-cosmic question:
"Am I not your Lord? "
From the trembling core,
the answer rises:
"Yes—You alone! "

In that un-time,
the essence knows its hidden frequency—
its song woven into the Beloved's breath.
Here, all multiplicity dissolves,
and Knower, Known, and Knowing
are one: the Beloved beholding Itself.

— November,20,2025