The Light in the Empty Chair
The middle of the day is when the habit moves your hands before your mind catches up. You set the table for two.
Then you take one plate back to the cupboard. The silence of that second plate is louder than any scream.
But listen — the light does not measure your worth by who is sitting across from you. It says you came from the light, the place where light generates itself.
You are not defined by the empty chair. You are defined by the origin you carry inside.
Split the wood of this ordinary afternoon. Lift the stone of this quiet grief.
The light is there, in the dust motes dancing above the table, waiting to be seen.
Drawing from
Gospel of Thomas 50, Gospel of Thomas 77
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