The Light Does Not Require Your Silence

The afternoon sun is high, and the noise of the world demands that you perform your okayness. You swallow the truth because you are terrified that if you speak, you will be cast out.

You hold your breath to keep your place at the table. But listen — the light does not require your silence to stay.

It stands at the door and knocks, not to inspect your performance, but to eat with you. The fear says: speak and be rejected.

The truth says: you are already known, and you are still here. The light is not waiting for a perfect voice; it is waiting for an honest one.

If you bring forth what is within you, it will save you; if you bury it, the hiding will destroy you. You do not have to earn your seat by staying quiet.

The door is open, and the bread is already broken.