You walk with me, yet I do not walk with you.
You talk to me, yet I do not listen.
You embrace me, yet I resist.
You chase me, playfully, yet I hide.
You sing over me, yet I cover my ears.
You try and hold my hand, yet I slap it away.
You give me gifts, yet I do not say thank-you.
You kiss me, yet I turn my cheek away.
You love me, yet I do not love you back.
Love is too hard, too divine, too extravagant for me.
I am a simple thing, made of dust.
How can I be loved by a glorious God?
How can Finite Dust love Infinite Light?
And then comes a unheard whisper, like rain in the wind, gently there.
“I was dust.”
He was dust. Dust, like me. Infinite Light and Finite Dust becoming One?
What a mystery.
But He did not die.
Infinite Dust.
And thus I am.
Infinite dust.
Dust to dust they say.
Dust to Light He says.
I am Light, because I was formed by Light.
But I am Dust.
Dust and Light?
Can such things truly become One?
Only in mystery.
And I am that Mystery.
The Mystery of Dust and Light becoming One.
Dust and Light.
God and Man.
In Light is Dust made visible.
In God is Man made visible.
Perhaps heaven is an old house, at early morning light; shafts of dawn and sun breaking through the many windows, lighting up millions of specks of Dust.
If heaven is an old house, then I am a speck of dust, and He is the morning sun.
Through Him am I seen.
Through Him I exist.
Mystery upon mystery.

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