The Light Is Older Than Your Wound
The afternoon light hits the hallway mirror at the worst possible angle, exposing the face you just made while yelling. For a second, you do not see yourself; you see the ghost of the parent who terrified you, wearing your skin.
The shock freezes you there, holding the weight of a generational fear you swore you would never carry. But listen — you came from the light, the place where light generates itself, not from the darkness that shaped that face.
You are not bound to repeat the terror etched into your memory. The light that lives in you is older than the wound, stronger than the pattern, and it refuses to let the cycle end with you.
Drawing from
Gospel of Thomas 50, John 8:10-11
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