The Light Kneels Beside Your Mat

The afternoon sun is high, and you are tired of smiling. You perform gratitude because you are afraid that if you stop, you will become too heavy to hold.

You wear the mask of 'fine' so no one has to carry your weight. But the light does not need your performance.

It saw you before you ever put the mask on. It knows the cost of pretending you are not drowning.

There is a story of a man who carried a broken spirit for thirty-eight years beside a pool, waiting for someone to help him in. He had excuses ready.

He had reasons why he couldn't move. But the light did not ask for his resume or his gratitude.

It asked one simple, piercing question: 'Do you want to get well?' Not 'Do you want to be useful?' Not 'Do you want to stop being a burden?' It asked if you wanted to be free. The answer does not need to be brave.

It just needs to be true. You are not a project to be managed.

You are a person to be loved. The light is not waiting for you to stand up straight before it approaches.

It is already kneeling beside the mat. It is already reaching out its hand.

You do not have to earn the right to be held.