The Sounds I Already Knew

 

                                                              The Sound of Silence

The Sounds I Already Knew

The Subuh azan has just ended.
A voice, floating out there somewhere, called the world back to God.

And I sit here, reflecting on the early hours, where once again I find myself circling back—not forward—into the ancient ground I’ve already walked.

Earlier this morning, just past 3 a.m., I stumbled into a Thoth teaching on sound and vibration. Hermeticism. Sacred utterances. The foundational tones that shape the universe. It pulled me in—not because it was unfamiliar, but because it felt like a homecoming.

The words spoke of OM, HU, AH, and RA.
And I paused.

I’ve been chanting these sounds for years.
I didn’t pick them up from a book. I didn’t learn them from a teacher.
They arrived through breath, through longing, through the deep inner silence that sometimes spilled over in sound.

OM—the sound I surrendered to during meditation, the sound of unity, of return.
HU—the breath of God in Sufi zikr, the pure essence that escaped my lips in wonder or pain.
AH—the sound of awe, release, intimacy. The exhale of being human.
RA—not just a name, but a force. The fire behind the eyes. The will to rise again.

And I realize now: I was never practicing these as rituals. I was surviving with them. Speaking in the language of vibration long before I ever heard the term “Hermetic.”

These weren’t incantations.
They were my anchors.
My way of staying sane, staying soft, staying aware.

The purge yesterday was another form of release. A physical expulsion, yes, but also a spiritual preparation. The body clears the way when the soul is about to hear again. And what came next? The teachings. The echoes. The alignment. Even the neighbor from my dream, shows up in real life to knock and warn.

Now the call to prayer has finished.
The world is slowly brightening outside.

And inside me, something is waking too—not something new, but something ancient.
Something that has always been sounding quietly underneath my words, my breath, my brokenness, my laughter.

The sacred is not far.
It is not in the teachings. It is the teaching.
And I’ve been speaking it, even in my silence.

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