Woven of the Same Light
There is a secret rhythm beneath the surface of things, a quiet melody that echoes through the chambers of our lives. Most days, it is so subtle we miss it, carried off by the noise of the world or buried beneath the urgency of our own pain. But when the heart is still enough—perhaps after sorrow has softened us or silence has opened us—we begin to sense its presence. It is the knowing that we are not separate. That between your life and mine there is no true border, only the illusion of one. You are not a stranger on the periphery of my being—you are within me, as I am within you. The same breath animates us. The same light stirs the ember of longing in both our hearts. The same sorrows carve their silent furrows through our days. And in those unseen places where soul meets soul, we recognize ourselves. To imagine that we are distinct and sealed off from one another is the great forgetfulness of our time. But in truth, we are woven of the same mystery. The joy I tend within myself b...
