HU, Silence, and the Threshold of Wordless Knowing

 

This piece emerged after listening to a spiritual talk in Bahasa Indonesia on the practices of the Awliya—a moment of deep resonance that seemed to echo the very path I’ve been walking silently for years. As a Zen student, artist, and seeker of the Truth, I often find myself at the edge between silence and speech, being and expressing. What follows is a reflection, not just for others, but for myself, as I stand at a threshold of new understanding.

HU, Silence, and the Threshold of Wordless Knowing

God is a difficult and elusive subject, especially if one is still trapped in the dual-thinking mind. I say this not as a critique, but as someone who has walked for years in the in-between: between knowing and unknowing, speaking and silence, form and formlessness.

Recently, I listened to a spiritual talk in Bahasa Indonesia on the deep practices of the Awliya—the saints, the Friends of God. The entire talk revolved around two great pillars of the inner path: the invocation of the Name HU and the practice of Silence.

It struck me deeply. More than resonance—it felt like recognition. What the speaker was describing was not foreign or new. It was as if someone had been reading my own thoughts and writing them aloud. Everything I have tried to express over the years through this journal, through these blog entries and sketches of the soul—it was all there, distilled and spoken. The path I’ve walked in solitude, echoed back with unexpected clarity. A divine affirmation. Synchronicity at its most precise.

The name HU first came into my consciousness years ago through the writings of Ahmed Hulusi, where it was described as Allah’s secret name—the breath of the Divine, the soundless sound, the mystery at the heart of Being. Later, in the Hermetic series I’ve been listening to, HU surfaced again—this time described as the sacred name hidden within Western esoteric traditions. This convergence surprised me then, but I see now it was never meant to surprise—it was meant to confirm.

The same current flows beneath all forms. HU is not just a word. It is breath. It is Presence. It is the voice of Silence itself. And Silence—not mere quiet, but that vast, still field behind the senses—is not absence but fullness. The Awliya dwell there. Not above us, but within us, wherever presence is total and the self dissolves.

Now, here's the paradox.

If I were not committed to writing down my experiences—if I hadn’t taken on this self-imposed vow to document the spiritual unfolding for others who might one day stumble upon it—then I could rest fully in that silence. I could disappear into it, like a salt doll walking into the sea. No need for commentary. No need for form.

But that’s not the path I’ve chosen.

I write not to explain, but to point. Not to teach, but to share. This journal has always been an act of love, a candle flickering on a dark path. It is for the wanderer who has also felt the edge of this mystery, who has caught the scent of the Beloved on the wind and wants to remember.

Still, I see the trap. Perhaps it’s not the writing that burdens me, but the risk of getting lost in the words. Even sacred language can become a net, and what I am seeking—or rather, what is seeking me—cannot be caught. Only felt. Only remembered.

I find myself trying to describe the indescribable, not in futility, but in reverence. This is not an attempt to make sense of nonsense—this is the attempt to give form to that which transcends sense. To brush up against the Wisdom that is beyond Wisdom.

Gate gate, paragate, parasamgate… bodhi svaha.
Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone utterly beyond... Awakening, ah!

That mantra doesn’t instruct—it dissolves. It breaks the mind’s grip. It doesn’t speak of arrival—it speaks of surrender. And that’s where I find myself now—not with answers, but with a wordless knowing that deepens in silence, even as I try to articulate it here.

So maybe I am not in a conundrum. Maybe I am simply at the threshold of a new understanding of my own mind. Speaking not against silence, but from it. Letting HU rise and fall on the breath—not to define God, but to dissolve the illusion that there is anything but God.

I write because the silence overflowed. I speak because there is no one speaking. I share not to be understood, but because something inside me was touched and cannot remain hidden.

HU… the breath, the name, the return.

(This reflection brought to mind the Buddha's wordless teaching at Vulture's Peak—a reminder that the deepest truths are not spoken, but shown in stillness.Like the flower held aloft, this too is just a gesture.)

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