It does not arrive with thunder.
It does not scream.
It does not rage.
It does not force its way forward.
Light simply appears.
Not summoned.
Not born.
Not created.
It was always there.
Waiting.
Beneath shadow, beneath silence, beneath the veil of unknowing—
Light waits.
Not to be praised.
Not to be feared.
But to be seen.
Light is not a flare.
It is a revelation.
It does not boast.
It does not warn.
It simply exists… and in existing, it exposes.
Not just what lies outside.
But what lies within.
It casts its reach across the seen and the unseen—
It touches blade, bone, breath, and belief—
And in that touch, nothing can remain hidden.
It is not holy.
It is not righteous.
It is not kind.
It reveals what is,
Without veil,
Without apology.
It strips away illusion—gently or violently—until only the truth remains.
It does not judge the truth it reveals.
It only says: "Here it is."
Light is the eye that does not blink.
The truth that does not shift.
