Ancient Ash, Old Dust

The ancient ash marks a weary brow.
This is not shame but blessing.
Line on line a simple cross;
Marked as one of God’s own.
Return to Me.
This is a gift.
Observe and consider,
you are not more or less than you are.
Named BELOVED
Soak away the smudge.
Chip away the barnacles that obscure
your adopted name.
Throw off the coverings.
They weigh you down.
Dust swirls in the light.
To dust, to dust, to dust…
you shall return.
We buckle under the weight,
and forget the blessing;
The miracle of what God can do
with the old dust.
Where the cosmos was gathered.
God-breathed, man-born.
We feel it in our dry bones,
and it rattles us.
He is not afraid of dust and ash
within you.
The Most High whispers,
Return to Me.