Speak From Where The Light Lives

The sentence is ready in your throat, sharp and heavy, waiting for the morning light to give you the courage to speak it. You have rehearsed the shattering so many times that the room already feels like it is filled with glass.

But the light does not ask you to break the table before you sit down. There is a story of a woman caught in the act, surrounded by voices demanding her end, and the one voice that mattered simply bent down and wrote in the dust until the accusers left.

Neither do I condemn you. Go now.

The truth you carry is not a weapon to destroy the other person; it is a lamp to find your own way out. Split a piece of wood, and the light is there.

Lift up a stone, and the light is there. The sentence may need to be spoken, but it does not need to be spoken from a place of hatred.

Speak it from the place where the light lives in you, and watch how the shattering becomes a clearing.