Death Dust

A poem for the entering into of the mystery of the Lenten season

photo by Mika Baumesiter on Unsplash¹

Dust-Maker by Lahni Blair

Life’s first breath is merely death in disguise— we each are but dust in the corridor of time.  

A clock hand ticks round,
how long ‘til we’re found—

the path of the serpent still haunts the cold ground.

Darkness screams out, it demands our attention;
flowers burst through the earth—
who can bear this grim tension?

The winds blow the dirt, clouding our vision;
we all wear the stains of Adam’s decision—

of satan’s incision.

As it goes, “…ashes, ashes, we all fall down…” 3

Face to face with our mortality, we gasp for air
in this land of restless futility.

The corridor long before us, Lord;
do you still hear our song—

as it goes, “…ashes, ashes, we all fall down…”

Shadows surround us, we fear what they whisper; forgetting that Eden has secrets
that glister.

Here in these days, this sacred tradition, rending our hearts and turning to listen.  

The Spirit is stirring, our hearts are returning, reminding this death dust— 

our Christ is emerging. 

 “…Ashes, ashes…” — we fall to our faces, He’s gone from the tomb now to find us and chase us.  

Where have we gone, to whom are we going— 
Lent’s sacred questions now suddenly growing.

The darkness is stirring the dust of these bones;
our days here are numbered—

to whom else would we go?

The Spirit is stirring our death dust to rise—
our final breath is the gateway to life.

The clock is still ticking with the clang of death’s drum, but we know the mystery of the Savior who comes.

Let’s walk through the darkness ‘til we meet
the sunrise on high—

Lent is our window and the dust-maker is nigh.

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On this Ash Wednesday, may we be reminded of the words in Genesis 3:19,

“For you are dust,
And to dust you shall return.”

As Wendy M. Wright says in her beautiful and compelling book The Rising: Living the Mysteries of Lent, Easter, and Pentecost,²

“The season of forty days will draw us into a movement of both chaotic and creative. We enter into the rhythm of disequilibrium—indeed, of dying—essential to the formation of new life.”

May we each let our death dust rise as the Spirit stirs our souls within the mystery of this sacred season—a rich gift that has been passed down to us from those who have walked before us.

1. https://unsplash.com/photos/rV9m9-a5_mE

2. The Rising: Living the Mysteries of Lent, Easter, and Pentecost https://a.co/d/93keYAt

3: From the traditional English nursery rhyme “My Fair Lady”