When the Light Is Too Bright
This reflection traces how presence and grace live in tension: between clarity and kindness, between comfort and awakening,
between the Christ who soothes and the one who stirs.
Wisdom is how you live.
This reflection traces how presence and grace live in tension: between clarity and kindness, between comfort and awakening,
between the Christ who soothes and the one who stirs.
A quiet remembrance on how every inhale is borrowed and every exhale is a gift — a reflection that begins in a shared bed, expands through family, and ends in communion with all that breathes.
Jesus isn’t just the Redeemer.
He’s the Reviver—the Protagonist of Time,
walking backward through the chaos
to make sure love still makes it to the end.
The Trinity is not only Father, Son, and Spirit—it is also written in us as love, forgiveness, and kindness. One eternal, one fragile; one source, one echo. Together they form the shape of infinity, with Christ at the crossing where heaven and humanity meet.
Sometimes grace feels easier with strangers than with those we love. Strangers carry no history, but beloveds carry memory, longing, and wounds. Across traditions, this paradox is seen not as failure but as the cost—and the wholeness—of love.
Hustlers have become role models, teaching exhaustion as ambition. Unless we choose presence over hustle, we risk passing down scarcity instead of care.
Not skills. Not senses. Just six choices we make every day—three that make us more human, and three that slowly pull us away from ourselves.
“The soul must abandon all her own understanding and dwell in the dark.”
— Meister Eckhart
Not everything we inherit is worth keeping. This is the thread I choose to pass down—grace, faith, and love—woven into a pattern strong enough to hold what was dropped.