The Flight Of The Soul—from Nāsūt To Nāsūt. Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The Flight of the Soul
— From Nāsūt to Nāsūt

From the clamour of dust and time I was born,
where soil first learned the rhythm of hours.
When my eyes opened, the earth murmured,
"I am your beginning… I am your end."

Yet beneath the heart's pulse, a silver chord
sounded a note beyond the world's frame—
a whisper that there is more than this name.

I journeyed, and the ground of being shifted,
until I stood at the unseen kingdom's gate,
where silence learned to speak,
and love traced the contours of meaning.

There, every word became a living prayer,
and the gleam of revelation was called friendship.

Then the air of Majesty parted—
time's portrait trembled and tore.
Light dissolved the scaffold of existence,
and the self beheld its own face.

A river flowed without source or shore,
free from its own necessity;
in the valley of infinity,
"I" was no more, and "You" had ceased to be.

A silence ripe with revelation,
a light woven from its own shadow.
Crossing that final threshold,
all things vanished—
only wonder remained.

From that wonder, a whisper bloomed:
"Return now… to the world you knew.
The light you sought has changed its hue."

And so began the journey of return.
I came again to the soil of my first breath.

Now the earth's breast hummed with music,
every particle a testament—
"We too are syllables of that Light."

Then I knew: this world is that world,
this ground the shrine, this life the ascension.

Now every moment is a divine arrival,
every face a mirror of that Beauty.
I am the same— but the resonating clay—
every atom exhales the scent of the divine.

This is the return to the world of humanity—
for no journey truly ends.
Each rising must fall into new clay,
to wake, and set sail once again
Newborn, awakened, enlightened gnostic.

—October,18,2025