the exhaustion of remembering how to feel anything at all
The afternoon stretches out, a long gray corridor where the only task left is to remember how to feel anything at all. You move through the motions, but the heart feels sealed shut, numb to the sun and the shadow alike.
There was a man bent double for eighteen years, seeing nothing but the dust at his feet, until the light called him forward and straightened his spine. You do not have to force the feeling back.
You do not have to manufacture a response. The light is already in the wood you split and the stone you lift.
It waits for you to stop trying and simply be. The numbness is not a verdict.
It is the silence before the thaw.
Drawing from
Luke 13:10-13, Gospel of Thomas 77
Verses
Luke 13:10-13, Thomas 77
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