The Light Sees Your Invisible Wound

The house is quiet now, and the noise inside your chest has grown loud enough to demand a solution. You reach for the blade because the pain it makes is simple, clean, something you can see and understand.

But the light does not want your blood; it wants your honesty. There was a man whose friends lowered him through a roof just to be near the one who could heal him, and before any command was given, the light saw his faith and said, 'Son, your sins are forgiven.' The healing started with the invisible wound, not the visible paralysis.

You do not have to carve your insides out to make them real; the light already sees the mess and calls it worthy of mercy. The external mark is a language the darkness understands, but the internal cry is the one the light answers.

Tonight, let the gathering dark be the place where you stop translating your pain into something visible. The wound you cannot see is the one that has already been spoken over.