Rest When You Are Empty

You have given until there was nothing left to give, and now the morning comes with a quiet weight in your bones. There is no need to rush to be useful again, for the sun itself rises without asking permission to shine.

Someone once stopped on a beach and cooked breakfast for a friend who had failed, who was exhausted, who thought he had lost his place—and the light said simply that the work could wait. Your worth was never in the doing, and it is not lost today when you are empty.

The light within you is not a taskmaster demanding more; it is the rest you have been searching for, waiting for you to finally stop and receive it. Open your hands.

Breathe. You are held even in the stillness.