The Light Does Not Require Your Enthusiasm

The day is ending, and with it comes the inventory of what you could no longer feel today. You remember the last time excitement moved through you like blood, and now there is only a terrifying static where that feeling used to live.

It feels like a part of you has been amputated, leaving you to perform the motions of a life you can no longer taste. But listen — the light does not require your enthusiasm to remain inside you.

There was a man who sat in the tombs, screaming and cutting himself, convinced he was beyond reach, and the light did not ask him to muster up joy before speaking his name. It simply saw him.

It called him friend. And it sent him home to tell people what had been done for him, not what he had achieved.

Your numbness is not a verdict. It is a season the light is walking through with you, waiting for the first green shoot to break the soil.

The feeling may be gone, but the capacity for it was never yours to lose — it is the light's to restore.