Dust’s Digital Cathedral

The Whisper That Tried to Undo Me

I’m going to break every wall down here and share how my walk with God, my greatest Love, plays out. The humanity behind the mysticism. The thinker behind the thoughts, if you will, in an ongoing effort to ground myself in humility before the Beloved. I admit I’m

The Psalm of Surrender

I come as one naked and undone. Baring no gifts but tattered tassels, No sweetness save ash as sugar On our thirsting parched tongues.   I come as one with nothing, Empty hands slashed savagely Self inflicted wounds upon my soul, Flayed slowly invisibly, over decades.   I come as one with

The Love That Consumes

Just prose. A fragment of faith and flesh wrestling toward love. Take from it what feels true to you. “It is the soul in love with what the body cannot comprehend…” It is the soul in love with what the body cannot comprehend that creates a sense of disconnection. A

For the Children I Will Never Know

Sit with me, I ask. Hold that silence and tension. Feel it expand and contract— the fissure of soul when self is sundered. I am in the ache now, Beloved, sitting in ashes as mourning for the children I will never know. Gathering the strands of stillborns, clutching them to

When Dust Weeps and Heaven Rains

Weeping Dust by Dust I feel it today like a weighted blanket just beneath the skin. The baked-in heaviness earned from many seasons shared. My soul, so full of its bittersweet tang, I take another shot, chasing regret with sorrow’s whiskey warmth. It rests in the spaces between my

Dear Autumn

Hey baby girl, Long time, no talk, huh? It only seemed fair that I write once more of my eternal love for you, seeing as it is the season you were named for after all. I feel you in that tingle in my fingertips as I type this. A bit

How to Recognize His Touch

It Began with a Hunger When you taste the eternal once, nothing else will ever satisfy. I began to think to myself about how You work—and who knows, perhaps it was You stirring that very reflection within me. I think our readers will find that the closer we become

Psalm of The Name

She stands solemnly, muscled arms crossed, gazing into the distant evening’s clouds. Her back straight, this time in a waffled navy thermal, standing atop a nondescript hill. We recognize her at once. Once you have met her, you always know. It’s a feeling she gives off — a solidity

The Storm Has Come Again

The Storm Has Come Again (Love Letters of Dust) I could pen a letter to a friend far away. Or I could sit awhile and just shelter, Hide my silvered head from the rain falling sideways. Perhaps I could just live like this under the brooding, Wind-whipping, slashing, and splashing

The Love that Stayed

Love Letters of Dust: The Love that Stayed The rain misted in rhythmic sheets, dancing almost with the fitful streetlights. It came in waves—constant—highlighted by the glare refracted and multiplied into myriads of falling tears as rain. I felt it then, Beloved. That same sense of You and

Lamentation of Longing

The Fool Named Dust I feel it in my shoulders, the strength that exists there, for no one to touch save an unfeeling garment. And I lament the loss of youth, the pouring out of a chalice cracked, bleeding beneath the beautiful boundaries of self. What of my form— the

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

Addict of Yeshua

It began with a single whisper, Spoken so seductively and pure, It bedazzled this poet’s eternal soul. It progressed with a tender touch, Offered so thoughtfully it made me stutter, Its gentleness something I was unaccustomed to. Then it turned to an embrace overshadowed by awe— When home hugs

Dear Beloved,

Epistle: Tuned Toward the Source There are devices made to be hyper-tuned to a specific frequency, such as a seismograph— perhaps less surprising that man can function in much the same way when oriented toward the Source. It is always about orientation, an attitude of the heart, if you will.

From the One within the Hiddenness: The Epistle of Reason

From heavens opened, a single ray of light dazzles through a clouded sky, rain heavy with promise, a prophecy upon the land below.   The All in All observes. Hiddenness cloaks Majesty so Glorious it would cremate flesh and bone were it glimpsed by the unholy— pulverizing the soul into subservience

Psalm of Orientation

“It is all for You.”   When the soul ceases striving and begins orbiting again around the Source, even silence becomes worship.   It is all for You. Everything we say—and crucially—everything we do not. It is all for You.   Once we were children. We thought as children. We reasoned

Psalm of The Martyr’s

Psalm of the Martyrs   When the faithful are buried, heaven hums their song.   So many and too much the souls lined in rows. Like dirt heaped on heads, brows they work. Whilst standing in the damp earth with fellows, Shovel in hand digging down to depth for decay, Our own

Psalm of Refuge

Psalm of Refuge You are my refuge. When fear cries out in darkest night, You are my surety. When the wolves rise as internet trolls, You are my shield. I rest in no other arms. You are the spring. Where waters flow for the thirsty doe afield, our souls drink

The Sacred Psalm of Dust

The Sacred Psalm of Dust Foreword I am not sure how I know it, but I just feel it in a deep, intrinsic way that I was with Him before time was first perceived. I know that it makes no sense, because there are only the loosest links in Scripture

Sing For The Souls Slain in Silence

Sing for the souls slain in silence, Like a hush before our breath, Lain in shallow unmarked graves, Hidden till the end of time, Till judgment calls their blood As witness to testify to the Name, As it ever was, so shall it be again.   Now I bring my cry

Would That I Were

Would that I were a windy breeze, tickling the tails of tall river rush, fickle cattails browning in decline, up through the trees and above the leaves.   We would rise— invisible and present perpetually— surveying the scene as no eye can behold, for self occludes the lens of perspective. Better,

The Epistles of Fayetteville VI

Her Name Is Dust A confession from the world below — the poet remembers the vow she made before breath and dust met.   There once was a soul exiled by choice, sent on mission to the world below. Her Name is Dust.   Her soul was feminine, though she had no gender—

The Epistles of Fayetteville V: Terror in Testimony

Hey Beloved,   Today was a tough one. For the first time in my forty-five years in this country, I witnessed something that truly shook me. I cannot believe we live in a place that engenders fear of people being disappeared—one day they’re here, and the next, gone without

Psalm of Dust III — The Vocation

I write because I must.   When the Spirit moves, Dust cannot stay silent; language itself becomes breath made visible.   I write because I must. I am compelled to do it — like a moth circling flame. There is no reasoning with the path that unfolds when You move within me.   There

A Letter To My Father

Hey Dad, I used to look up to you when I was little. I remember your arms — tree trunks beside my tiny twigs — and the surety you carried before I was old enough to see the cracks beneath the surface. I wanted to be like you once. I believed every