The Light Waits For Your Nervous System

The touch comes, and your body remembers before your mind does. You flinch.

You pull away. And in the silence that follows, the shame rushes in to tell you that you are broken beyond repair.

But listen — the light does not demand that you stand still. It knows the weight of the chains you are still wearing.

There is a truth that lives inside you, deeper than the reflex, deeper than the fear. It says that mercy, peace, and love are yours in abundance, even when your hands are trembling.

Even when you cannot bear to be held. The flinch is not a rejection of the light; it is just the echo of an old war.

You are not defined by the moment you pulled away. You are defined by the love that remains, waiting patiently for your nervous system to believe it is safe.

The light is not offended by your flinch; it is simply the space where you will eventually rest.