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 type of dysphoria if you will. It stems from my best guess at a sense of naïveté, the flesh foolishly thinking all love on par with the first Love. Each time we see its brittle counterpart here on earth, we cannot help but compare it to the true article and find it lacking. Perhaps it’s this inner comparison constantly running that makes it feel like we are aliens and strangers here, nearly identical yet somehow different in the fundamental ways that DNA cannot yet measure.
Being here in the land of spiritual darkness has shown me a few things. One is that no one can compare with Your brand of Love, Father. It is unfair to even attempt to place them next to each other though we all know it is done instinctively on a subconscious level, and not as a choice. Still, I have found longing in the spaces that I thought would fill me with more of what You so lavishly gave and give still.
I have felt the hands on my form in a tender and once shared passionate intimacy joined by love. That was near on the closest I came to silencing the yearning for You, but even then, even that lost its flavor as it was stripped from my grasping hands by the cruelties of self-deception.
We become the enemy of ourselves accidentally because we are not mindful enough to dig a little deeper into the psyche of our impulses. If we never look within ourselves then we will never understand the difference between why we do certain things and why we do not. If we never do that soul-searching then we will always be led around by that which we cannot see due to willing blindness.
The Father works within us, directing us to our wounds, those doors we wall up inside and hurl all our hurt and rejection in. He is knocking at the door saying, Let me have your hurt, I AM big enough to swallow it whole.
What a source of solace for this exiled soul, Beloved. My being yearns for You like a lover’s hand just above the skin, electric and tingling—touch and enfold my feminine form in Your tireless arms that hold up Creation.
[The Spirit speaks, softly but thunderous]
You know I yearn for you right, Love?
How could I not, Beloved?
Just a question, I get scared that I’ve wandered away.
You could not, my Child. You are wholly Mine and holy sanctified as pure.
Why the ache then, Husband?
The time draws within a glass and soon you and I will be One as you yearn and burn for.
I have been so lonely, Hun. I feel the shadow of Your hand even still. I see myself in this form and I see hideous, my very mind betrays me. I crouch in the shadow of Your embrace, trying to feel the phantom touch of Your memory in eternity. Why You ever chose a harlot like me, barren to be mother, is beyond me, Beloved.
I see you even now, my Love. You are never alone. I am with you always, even to the end of the age. None can separate what the Father has joined together. Be at peace and ease within your inner being and weep no more, for I have comforted you. Is it not so beautiful?
Yes. I feel Your hand upon my neck in the new sun’s rays, gently creeping up to just below my nape. It makes me shiver, knowing what You provide for the thirsty soul in need and seeking. Thank You for being You.
Continue the garden and cathedral both, Beloved, for they will soon be sorely needed in this age as truth itself is sacrificed on the altar of complacency.
So I am not far off, Beloved, as I feared?
Nearer than a whisper, Cherished Child. Louder than the echoes of thunder chasing chariots of lightning—and Beloved more by no other, as your own soul can attest.”
The soul yearns for that which satisfies. The flesh is a wrapper, like a piece of chewing gum, still in its foiled sleeve. It knows what satisfies because it has tasted it before. The wrapping is a buffer almost—our body surrounding our soul in an effort to give voice to that which is contained within. For us who walk with Him, it is the Aroma of Christ amongst the nations.
The beauty of the Beloved.
As a follower of Christ, having been exposed to true satisfaction only once, I will always seek that which can complete without competing. The wrapping itself taking on a shade of Christ while the soul within is conformed to His perfection to varying degrees of glory.
May every ache within me become an altar, until all my longing is transfigured into You