The Tuning of the Soul

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46 : 10

I am looking for You now, within.

Trying to quiet the striving mind

long enough for stillness to root itself in my marrow.

Listening becomes a whole-body devotion,

as You already know, Beloved.

There is a tension first,

a confession held in muscle

that must be massaged into surrender.

This practice feels like embodied mindfulness,

but lit by yearning,

a posture of expectancy

softened into receptivity.

I know if I wait long enough

for my mind to tire of itself,

it will fall silent.

So I wait:

in the writing,

in the watching,

in the breath.

Shoulders carry the ache of devotion,

chin tucked toward heart,

as though cradling the center of myself

like a tuning fork aligning to Your resonance.

I yearn for the Word

with the fullness of my created being,

outer frame slowly mirroring inner flame,

body becoming liturgy,

posture becoming prayer.

This is incarnational embodiment,

the clay yielding to the Potter,

making of this vessel a temple

fit to house surpassing worth

and reveal its radiance.

It begins with desire.

The soul calls.

And flesh, incapable of hiding its origin,

cannot help but echo its destination.

So I sit in the silence.

I await the stillness.

Heart tender enough to break,

strong enough to bear glory.

Trembling hands rest on Eternity’s pulse,

feeling Spirit flood and settle,

a holy wind stirring the Fire upon my altar.

Within, a consecrated sanctuary rises.

My prayers ascend like incense.

My body becomes cathedral:

Pews like rooted thighs,

the roof my ashen hair — thatched and humble,

my arms pillars guarding sacred doors,

Yeshua the foundation,

resting in the corner like a gentle monarch,

rocking slowly,

smiling,

waiting for me to tune myself

to His frequency.

So I sit.

I listen.

I yearn.

I attend.

I wait.

Prayer — both weapon and solace.

Blood — both victory and sacrament.

Flesh — frail, surrendered, given either way.

Amen and Amen.

Speak to us, Yeshua.

Dust