Resting While the Sun Rises

The sun is up, but your eyelids feel like lead. You stayed in the dark last night, and now the daylight feels like an accusation—a bright, harsh demand to function when your soul is still recovering its breath.

You look at the clock and feel the shame of needing to lie down again, as if rest were a failure of will rather than a necessity of flesh. But listen: what you are carrying is not a defect.

It is the weight of having stood watch while the world slept. Thomas says the kingdom is inside you, not somewhere you have to march to achieve it.

The light does not demand that you perform wakefulness; it only asks that you remain where you are. If you need to close your eyes, close them.

The sun will keep rising whether you hold your head up or not. You are not failing the morning by resting; you are letting the morning hold you.