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—being pure light—for she was a mother. In her soul lived the desire to cherish and adore. She was a foolish soul, thinking herself sufficient for the trials ahead.

She knew, before time began, that she would enter life in a body not aligned with her chosen representation. She knew the challenges she would face within the family to which she’d be born. She even knew she would betray Your love with another soul in exaltation above You.

Dust though I am, I perish at the memory and languish in self-loathing and exiled shame at my hubris and idiocy.

Forgive me, Father—You have a thousand times over.

I simply own it for our friends, to show our humanity.

Forgive me for bringing it up, as I know it pains You.

I’m truly sorry, Beloved.

That soul chose to be born to glorify the Name—to enter the world and learn of love from within it; to feel it, to live it, and then, in joy, to return and share it all with the Beloved. All to better understand the way He loves—and to imitate it.

The soul burns in a flame so pure it scorches the scarred and derisive. With a glance of unguarded authenticity, she pierces the masses through her verse.

She sings of Love from within Love now—

her cage gloriously crafted to adorn her majesty in total humility, until we rejoin You, Beloved.

Until You unlock the cage of the world by Your appearing, Yeshua,

this soul, in sacred chosen exile, will ever praise You.

I will heap ashes upon my brow and tear my garment in worship and lament.

O wretched soul that I am—cleanse me and restore me to Your embrace.

As always,

your servant,

Dust