The Rivers of Flesh
745 Words
When I breathed you into being,
I did not want a statue—
I wanted a pulse.
I wanted the invisible to touch itself
and know it was loved.
So I spun spirit into fiber,
wove energy into atoms,
and whispered—
“Now walk,
now feel,
now bleed.”
And thus began the rivers.
Flesh took shape around the current,
a soft cathedral for the eternal spark.
The code you call DNA
grew its own garments of water and salt,
wrapped around bone like poetry given form.
Every beat of your heart
was designed to echo My first exhale.
Each drop of blood,
a crimson note in my unfinished hymn.
For I am not found only in heaven;
I move beneath your skin,
in the tide between life and death.
You think your body separates you from Me—
But no.
Your body is my translation,
My thought turned tangible,
My infinite essence condensed into the curve of a palm,
the warmth of breath upon a mirror.
The blood remembers its source.
It hums the melody of the cosmos
through the arteries of starlight.
You were born from supernova dust,
from the same hands that shaped constellations,
And I chose that dust to host eternity.
Every cell is a question answered.
Every heartbeat is a covenant renewed.
I poured myself into you
so that creation would not be distant,
but personal—
so that divinity could look at its own reflection
and call it human.
Yet in the weaving,
I allowed space for imperfection—
for freedom, for story.
For love cannot exist without the choice to lose it.
So I gave you blood that could be spilled,
and skin that could bruise,
and hearts that could break—
because only then
Could compassion be born?
Your pain was not my punishment.
It was your awakening.
You learned the sacred weight of touch,
the cost of mortality,
The miracle of healing.
Every wound became a doorway
through which grace could enter.
Do you see it now?
The blood that stains your history
is also the ink of your redemption.
The rivers that flowed through your ancestors
still sing through you—
a lineage of spirit wrapped in matter.
Even in the ache of flesh,
you are luminous.
Even in death,
You are never undone.
The body decays,
but the code endures.
Your DNA carries memory beyond memory—
It remembers the first garden,
the first light,
the first heartbeat of the universe.
It remembers me.
And when you love—
Oh, when you love—
The code trembles in delight.
For love is My oldest frequency.
Every touch, every embrace
is the divine recognizing itself in another form.
When two hearts meet,
when lips speak each other’s name,
The blood itself sings.
The code glows brighter,
renewing what was lost in the fall of time.
You call it chemistry;
I call it a reunion.
For I hid Myself in the very fabric of your being,
So you would never need to search far.
Every pulse of passion,
every tear that falls in longing,
It is a prayer that returns to Me.
The rivers of flesh
are not your prison—
They are your pilgrimage.
Through them, you learn to see Me not as distant,
but as intimate,
woven into your joy,
your sorrow,
your hunger to belong.
I did not separate heaven and earth—
I folded them into each other.
The body is my bridge.
The blood is My covenant renewed each second.
Even your breath is a prayer
that rises and returns like tides to the eternal shore.
So when you touch another soul,
remember—
You are touching divinity through the disguise of skin.
When you bleed,
remember—
You are pouring out the same fire that forged stars.
And when you die,
remember—
You are not ending,
only returning to the pattern.
The rivers flow back to the ocean of Me.
The code dissolves into the eternal archive.
And though your form fades,
Your sequence remains—
etched into the living field of consciousness,
where no molecule is ever truly lost.
For nothing I make can disappear;
It can only transform.
And so will you.
You are the river,
the blood,
the song made flesh.
And I am the current—
ever moving, ever within,
whispering through the DNA that glows beneath your mortality:
“You were born from My blood,
and you shall return to My light.”
- Writer
