Resting in the Light While You Weep

The house is quiet now, and you are holding your breath so the sound of your grief won't wake anyone else. You lie perfectly still, terrified that moving even an inch will betray the tears soaking the pillow.

But the light does not need you to be silent to be near you. It is not frightened by your shaking.

There is light within a person of light, and it lights up the whole world—even when that world is a dark room and a silent face. You do not have to perform composure for the dawn to arrive.

The sun rises on the weeping just as surely as it rises on the joyful. You are not hiding from the light; you are resting in it.

The tears are not a barrier. They are the water that proves the seed is finally breaking open.