Evening’s Sacred Dissolving
I face my mirror in the evening’s sacred hush, where familiar contours of self begin to blur at the edges. Here, in this liminal light, I feel clothed with a veil caught in divine breath – lifting, falling, dancing between what was and what might be. How does one surrender the knowing to embrace the mystery of being beheld by Love?
Some days I want to pin down the floating edges, to still these billowing notions into something more defined. I catch myself chiselling this emerging belonging, as if sacred required permission to name what is holy.
Does Love need a witness to be true?
Vessels of Clay, Whispers of Wind
Some days I want to soften her edges, this desert wanderer emerging from my flesh. To dress her in garments that blend with sand and shadow, yet every attempt to tame this sacred flame feels like trying to catch wind in vessels made of clay. The more I try to arrange what Spirit lifts, the more my heart knows to be still. It remembers what my cautious mind forgets: that some revelations can only arrive in the lifting, that truth often dances most truly in spaces between our certainties.
Between Worn Paths and Windswept Footsteps
I stand divided between vastness and valley, between knowing and being known. Like a nomad between rests, I wander this sacred tension, my feet trusting both the stability of worn paths and the freedom of trackless sand. Here, desire for acceptance meets unflinching authenticity, and the Spirit breathes anew.
What if my very wandering is part of the holy?
What if this dance between covering and unveiling is itself a sacred act? Here in the borderlands between certainty and mystery, perhaps I’m learning what mystics have always known – that sometimes faithfulness looks like standing in the question and letting our uncertainty unfold.
#SacredBecoming #DivineBreath #LiminalFaith #HolyUnfolding #EmbodiedTheology #SacredResistance #DesertWisdom #BetweenWorlds #SpiritualNomad
