The Christ-Universe Within Part I

There is an intentionality to the writing I take part in.

I do not enter— or if I do, mistakenly— into writing without praying first. I lay the groundwork before I do anything, to ensure it remains at His feet. I see my writing as an exploration, an opportunity for interactive communion with the Christ-universe within me. I anchor myself moment to moment in the reality of His immanence and present Presence.

I take great care to investigate the inner workings of my emotional self through the words you read on these pages. I use them almost like a chalkboard—one of those old ones from the 80’s, dark forest green. I still remember the clouds of dust rising when we clapped the erasers together in the early sun, the fine powder catching the light, talc in our noses. So silly, yet sacred now in hindsight. That kind of chalkboard is how I see my writing: an opportunity to be both mirror and landscape portrait.

I come to you, my friends, because the impulse to curb my loneliness through community is not merely a need but a longing fulfilled by your joy in partaking. I write of the Christ-universe within, that aperture through which we glimpse the Father suspended in time, carefully watching. The swirling constellations around You within us become a community of shining lights, dancing in a perfect circular loop around Your sustaining Light.

I see the saints as nebulae—the ones who have come and the ones who will come after. I partake of sacraments as sorrow and offer intercession as rain. I offer my all each day for You, Beloved, and for you, friends anew. Each moment another choice. Each choice another suspended instant of perfection lived in Your timelessness.

You reminded us, after all, that we are not guaranteed beyond this moment. We live suspended like insects in amber—fossilized jewels, our bodies acting as lamps of varying translucence, refracting Your greater Light. And all the while, You blaze, standing within the Father, shielding us from our own foolishness.

You act as the stopper against self-incineration of the soul, for You have seen and live within the Father perfectly. I shake at the thought. I would run in with wings aflame, flesh peeling off like ribbons in some macabre carnival, laughing as my bones turn to my namesake—dust. Yet You protect us all, the devout and the profane alike.

It is no wonder You shine so.

You are the Door—the lens by which all may come before the Father. You protect with Your very essence, like a mother hen her chicks. The High Priest indeed, Beloved. Still, I must be honest: let’s go get incinerated together in Him… huh, Beloved?

I know, I know—you will not allow it. That’s why I openly name myself a fool.

Anyway, this is it for me in written word, at least for now. I will continue the dialogue I always do—with You, within me.

Sincerely,

Dust