A Soul’s Walk Toward Light

A Soul’s Walk Toward Light

I used to think I was just a body, a name in a crowd, another heartbeat in the background of someone else’s story. But something stirred. Not loudly, not suddenly. It came like a warm breath against frostbitten glass, tracing a shape I couldn’t quite see.

“I am human. I am I in human form.”
Not an insult. Not a limitation. A sacred remembering.

Once, I wanted to be praised. Applauded. Not for fame, but because I thought applause meant I mattered. Now I know better. Gratification of spirit is subtler. It's the hush that falls after kindness. The inner stillness when no one sees your good deed, and it still glows.

Some picture God like an old man in the clouds, arms crossed, thunder in his eyes.
But I say: God is the treasure.
Not the jailer. Not the punisher. The gleam at the bottom of the soul’s well.

And I seek. Not out of fear, but thirst. Not to escape hell, but to become light. Not for rules, but for reunion. To press against the veil and find not a void, but a hand, reaching back.

Meaning?
To become one with that hand.

Purpose?
To bring that hand down to earth and let its touch soften everything we build.

Repentance, to me, is soul-bathing.
Some soak once and feel done. Others scrub constantly, raw with shame. I choose something gentler, wash off what clings, but don’t obsess over the dust.
I’d rather walk forward slightly dirty than kneel forever in stagnant water.

I’ve stopped looking for God in churches, temples, sermons shouted through microphones.
I find Him now in the spaces between words,
In a child’s question,
In an old woman’s hands,
In a vine that refuses to die.

God speaks not in decrees but in scripts etched into my chest.
Tailored whispers.
A language that feels like my own breath coming home.

Every ache we carry.
There’s a version of God that meets it.

The Spirit weaves through all things.
Through roots and rivers.
Through sighs and silences.
Yes, some spirits cast shadows, but even darkness dances differently when light enters.

Perfection? It isn’t uniformity.
It’s a choir of difference in tune.

Heaven on Earth? Not gold towers.
Not haloes.
Just people who understand.

Pain still comes. So does laughter.
We still bury, still break, still fall.
But the awakened eye sees death not as a wall but as a door.
We curl inward like seeds,
And burst into light.

To change the world?
Start by changing the way we think.

Think oneness.
Think light.

In light, we collaborate.
In darkness, we hide.

But even the 20% shadow in us has something to teach.

Our bodies are not prisons.
They are galaxies,
Species mingling.
Flesh and frequency.
No two the same.
That’s not random.
That’s divine.

Jesus, he saw this.
He was oneness, walking.
He said, “I and the Father are one,”
and they thought he was mad.

They missed the invitation buried in the statement.
“You too can be this. You are this.”

His glow frightened even his friends.
They loved him, but they didn’t grasp him.
We still struggle to.

But now,
Now something is shifting.
We understand more than we used to.
We can feel the thread, tugging at our inner ribs.

Maybe one day, children will say,
“We are one,”
as easily as they count to ten.

And when they do?
That will be the dawn.
That will be the garden, re-bloomed.
That will be the echo of the First Light.

So, I must walk it.
Not talk it only, walk it.
This way.
The way of One.

And with understanding,
everything else begins to fall into place.

The sky turns softer.
The self grows clearer.
And love, at last, begins to look like the truth we always knew but forgot to believe.

But now, what once felt impossible to understand is becoming possible. We can teach it. Explain it. Maybe one day kids will say “we are one” as easily as “2 + 2 = 4.”

That will be the dawn. That will be peace. So, I must teach it. I must walk this way. It is the way. And with understanding comes everything else.