The Light Sees Your Trembling Hands
The afternoon demands a performance you do not have the strength to give. You hear your own voice say 'I'm fine' while your hands shake so violently you have to hide them in your pockets.
The world sees the mask, but the light sees the tremor beneath the fabric. It does not ask you to stop shaking or to drop the act.
It simply stands beside you in the middle of the day, holding the space where your truth is too heavy to speak. You are not failing because you are hiding; you are surviving.
The light is not offended by your pockets; it is waiting for the moment you no longer need to use them.
Drawing from
John, Gospel of Thomas
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