The Light Shines on Wet Hands

The sun is up, but the water in the sink is still hot enough to sting. You wash the single cup you never touched, scrubbing a stain that isn't there, while your hands turn red from the heat you pretend you don't feel.

This is the morning ritual: performing okayness while the skin burns. But look at what you are holding.

It is just a cup. It is not your life.

The kingdom is not a destination you reach after you finish cleaning; the kingdom is inside of you, right now, in the middle of the mess. You have been searching for peace in the spotless counter, but the peace was already there before you picked up the sponge.

The light does not require the task to be finished before it shines. It shines on the wet hands.

It shines on the burn. Put the cup down.

The stain was never real, but the light in you is.