The Light Beneath the Flat Eyes

The afternoon sun hits the glass just right, turning the window into a mirror, and you catch a glimpse of the person staring back. The eyes look flat.

Empty. Like someone you used to know who moved away years ago.

You don't recognize the flatness because you've been busy performing the mask all morning. But the light was there before the eyes went dull.

It is still there, under the glass, waiting for you to remember. Jesus saw Nathanael under the fig tree before Philip ever called him, knowing the real person beneath the performance.

Split a piece of wood, and the light is there. Lift up the stone, and you will find it there.

You do not need to earn your way back to your own face. The light is not waiting for you to look alive again.

It is the life inside the hollow look. The stranger in the glass is just you, forgetting who you are for a moment.

The light knows your name better than you know your own reflection.