The Hollow Place Is Holy Ground

The question hangs in the air, simple and deadly: 'What do you want for dinner?' You smile. You nod.

You say something about pasta or salad, anything to keep the mask from slipping. But behind your eyes, there is only a hollow room where the hunger used to be.

The performance is exhausting, this daily act of pretending to be a person who has desires when you feel like an empty shell. You wonder if anyone sees the ghost behind the smile.

Here is the truth that cuts through the noise: the light does not need your menu. It does not need your performance.

It sees the hollow place and calls it holy ground. God is light, and in that light, there is no darkness at all—not even the dark behind your eyes.

You do not have to manufacture a desire to be loved. The light is already shining in the hollow, filling the space you are trying to hide.

You are not a mask to be worn. You are the light itself, waiting to be seen.