The Light Waits Beneath Your Mask
The phone buzzes on the table, and a simple question lights up the screen. Your chest locks.
Not because you don't know the answer, but because the truth feels too heavy to type without shattering the mask you've worn all morning. You stare at the glowing rectangle, paralyzed by the fear that if you answer honestly, they will see how lost you really are.
But remember where you came from — you came from the light, the place where the light came into being on its own accord. That origin cannot be erased by a text message.
That origin is still your root. The light is not asking for a performance.
It is waiting for you to put the phone down and breathe.
Drawing from
Gospel of Thomas, John
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