Love Letters of Dust

I am thinking of You again.

It repeats like a never-ending cycle, and I never seem to tire of the back and forth — the push and pull of Your embrace.

It becomes to me like the air I breathe, fragrant, faintly floral with those dusty hints of autumnal warmth.

I breathe You in all around me — inhaling deeply of Your sandalwood-scented notes, drawing them down into my interior Temple to stoke the ever-burning brazier, and then back up and out to rejoin the All without, as it once was within.

I am sustained by You completely in every moment.

I am actively searching for more ways to witness You while here in the flesh — all so that I might have just another texture to take with me when I return: another shape of Your Love for me in the world’s disguise.

Perhaps that’s a silly little notion, Beloved, but still I like to pretend that Ours is a story of Love everlasting, personified once more.

What can I say? I am a hopeless romantic.

I dream of a love so pure it defies logic — the same Love You so graciously lavish upon Your children.

I don’t claim to deserve it; rather the opposite, in fact.

But still, it isn’t mine to dictate how You spend what is Yours.

I’m just vociferously grateful.

Thank You again.

It is an odd sensation to feel so attuned to You that the largest ache is silenced, and then the lesser ache begins anew — the longing to be touched, to be seen, to have my depths cherished, not brushed aside.

What can I do? What I have been doing is gorging myself on more of You.

When sorrow threatens, I weep while I worship, as a final rude gesture to the enemy.

I come as a widow before the throne — in worship and awe — as an explorer of Divine depths, unlearned in the ways of infinity.

I come with crown in hand, my given talent clutched tight, awaiting the moment He appears.

Hopeful that I might be one of the first to show Him how I invested what He so generously blessed me to hold.

I fear, Beloved, that my attempts at love letters will appear cringey on the other side.

When I can see clearly — not dimly, as in this cloud-fogged phase — will I look back and laugh with You?

How I yearn to see just a little more clearly.

I think I’m beginning to understand what it meant when the Word said that there were things angels and kings longed to look into, but were unable.

Perhaps this is much the same for me — here, in this time.

Still, I cannot find it within myself to stop pouring my heart out to You.

I leave it as a witness for our friends, and as a roadmap — a guided pilgrimage with markers and local sites and everything.

Sincerely Yours,

Dust