Wash Off the World's Gaze

The day is long, and the sun is high, but you are carrying a heat that has nothing to do with the light. It is the phantom sensation of eyes still burning on your skin, hours after you have closed the door and are finally alone.

You scrub at your arms, but the gaze remains, a weight that refuses to lift even in the safety of your own room. There was a man born blind, and the world asked whose sin had darkened his sight, but the light said neither this man nor his parents sinned—this happened so the works of God might be displayed in him.

Your body is not a canvas for the world's judgment. It is a temple where the immeasurable light has chosen to dwell.

The eyes you feel are not seeing you; they are projecting their own hunger, their own need to make you small. But the One who knows you sees through the performance.

He sees the exhaustion behind the smile. He sees the person beneath the gaze.

You do not have to carry the world's look on your skin anymore. Wash it off.

The light inside you is not on display for them. It is for you.