The Light That Cannot Be Deleted
It is three in the morning, and your finger hovers over the delete key. To erase the words feels like erasing the history that made you write them.
As if admitting you were wrong means the pain you endured never happened. But the light does not need your draft to know who you are.
You came from the light, the place where the light came into being on its own accord. That origin cannot be deleted.
That history is written in a substance no cursor can touch. You are not your mistakes, and you are not your corrections.
You are the light that holds them both. The page can be blank and you remain whole.
Drawing from
Gospel of Thomas, John
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