Truth Walks Through My Dreams Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Truth walks through my dreams,
lighter than a memory—
a solitary spark adrift in its breath,
radiant, beyond the shape of things.

It summons me home,
into the silence before the first Word,
into the hush that breathed before creation.

Sometimes it is the wind,
wandering the unseen corridors of being,
ringing bells no world can hear.
Their vibration stirs a hidden resonance
in the hollow of my soul.

That tremor reminds me:
I am still a vessel of reflection,
though I no longer recall
whose face I was made to hold.

Sometimes it wears
the vestment of stillness,
robed in hues of all-knowing—
the bearer of light,
its fragrance rising like sea-salt
where the chill of earth meets
the yearning of horizon.

It is the bliss of the deep unknown,
the tenderness within the foam of being—
so near it burns,
so vast it cannot end.

When it bows close,
its whisper dawns like a prayer of light:
"You are the perception
through which I behold Myself.
By My word—Be—
I took form in you."

The words fall inward,
too infinite for the ear,
too lucid for the mind.

Once it entered in such quiet
that illusion folded away,
as twilight dissolves before the sun—
perhaps forever,
perhaps within one held breath.

And yet I confess:
the dream of separation
left a sweetness
on the tongue of remembrance—
its soft echo, its hollow peace.

Now when its breath touches my sleep,
the fallen leaves of self awaken,
turning in an unseen wind—
tenderly reborn, greening.

Spring rises through barren branches;
every vein remembers
its root in the One.

And when it calls now,
I do not move—
there is no distance left to cross.

The borders of the heart have dissolved.
Only the mirror remains,
steadfast before the luminous Face—
the silence of Truth,
beholding Itself.

—October,26,2025