The Light Holds You Before You Move

The water has turned cold, and you are still standing there because the reach for the towel feels like a mountain you cannot climb. Tonight, the simplest motion carries the weight of the world, and your body refuses the command to move.

But listen — the light does not demand that you dry off first. It does not require you to summon strength you do not have.

There is a promise that the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world, greater even than this heavy silence. The light is not waiting for you to finish the task.

It is already in the steam, in the chill, in the very stillness that holds you up when you cannot hold yourself. You do not have to cross the distance to the towel to be held.

The reaching has already been done for you.