The Light Is Already in the Water

The water hits your shoulders and you realize you are just going through the motions. Standing there, scrubbing away the night, but feeling nothing. It is just another task on the list before the mask goes on. You have forgotten how to feel warm. You have forgotten how to be held.

But listen — the light does not require you to feel anything right now. It is already in the water. It is already in the steam. Split a piece of wood, and the light is there. Lift up the stone, and you will find it there. Even here, in the mundane rush of a Tuesday morning, the sacred is soaking into your skin.

You do not have to manufacture warmth. You only have to stop pretending you are cold. The light is not a feeling you earn; it is the ground you are standing on. Go home to your friends. Tell them how much the light has done for you. Not what you did for the light. What it did for you.