The Light Working Underground

The afternoon sun is high, and the work feels heavy not because you are weak, but because the fire you once carried has turned to ash in your hands. You move through the motions, smiling at the right times, but inside you feel like a fraud pretending to have light you no longer possess.

The passion that used to fuel you seems like a memory from someone else's life. But listen — the light does not depend on your ability to remember how it felt when it first arrived.

There is a story of a man who planted seed and then went about his days, sleeping and waking, while the earth produced grain all by itself. He did not know how it grew.

He only knew it was growing. Your silence right now is not emptiness.

It is the soil doing its quiet, unseen work while you rest. The seed is still there, even if you cannot see the sprout.

You are not a fraud for being tired. You are a field waiting for the next season.

The light is not gone; it is simply working underground.