The Light Sitting in Your Silence

It's mid-afternoon, the long middle of the day, and someone asks you a simple thing: what do you want? And your mind goes blank.

Not because you don't have preferences, but because you've spent so long carrying everyone else's weight that your own voice has gone quiet. You feel hollowed out, like a room where the furniture has been moved and you can't find the door.

But listen — the light does not demand an answer right now. It just sits with you in the silence.

There was a man who had been paralyzed for thirty-eight years, lying beside a pool, waiting for someone to help him in. When the light found him, it didn't ask for his resume or his reasons.

It just said: get up. Your inability to answer is not a failure.

It is the space where the light is already moving. You do not have to generate the desire from scratch.

The desire is already there, waiting for you to stand up into it.