The Light Flows Through Your Cracks

The day has finally stopped moving. You are sitting in the quiet, and the silence feels heavy because you have poured out everything you had to give.

There is nothing left in the cup. You feel hollowed out, as if the light inside you has been used up by the demands of the last twelve hours.

But listen closely — the light does not run on your supply. It is not a battery that drains when you serve.

There was a woman who bled for twelve years, spending every coin she had on doctors who could not help her. She reached out from a place of total emptiness, touching just the edge of a robe, and she felt the power leave him to heal her.

He did not scold her for having nothing left. He called her daughter.

The light flows most clearly through the cracks of your exhaustion. You do not have to generate it.

You only have to stop trying to hold it together. The gathering dark is not where the light goes; it is where you finally let go.