The Light Is Already Sitting At The Table
It is three in the morning. The house is silent, and you are standing in your own kitchen, feeling like a thief stealing food from your own pantry.
You hold your breath as the floorboards creak, convinced that if you are heard, you will be cast out. But the light is not sleeping in another room, waiting for you to be worthy before it wakes.
It is sitting at the table in the dark, watching you tremble over a piece of bread. It does not ask why you are hungry.
It does not ask why you feel like an impostor in the place you built. It simply pushes the plate closer.
You do not have to earn the right to eat in your own home. The lock was never on the inside.
Drawing from
Gospel of Thomas, Luke
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