Morning prayer. The chapel hush before the day begins. Candle flickers, breath misting in the half-light. The words come again— I believe. I stop. How many times have I said them? How many times have I meant them? Some mornings they rise like birds, other mornings they drop like stones. I believe— help my unbelief. Not as one who understands, but as one who clings. Belief now is not a certificate of certainty, but a slow turning of the heart, a leaning toward mercy, a yes tha

Eros once lit the stars— a holy ache in the fabric of things, pulling cosmos from chaos, and Adam toward Eve. She moved through gardens...

She was there when the ruach of God stirred the dust, a whisper of desire, a holy ache, woven into the soul. Before the fall, before the...

You shall love —with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your might— but we have learned to think instead. To dissect. To label....