The Light You Keep Leaving On

There is a light you never quite turn off, in the hallway, by the door, for someone who is not coming back through it. This practice does not ask you to switch it off. With a soft voice and warm cello beneath, it lets the jaw and the chest come down from holding, and lets the light stay lit as long as the missing needs it to.

Transcript

There is a light you keep leaving on. In the hallway. By the door. In a room no one walks into anymore. You tell yourself it is nothing. Habit. Something you forget to switch off. But part of you knows. It is still waiting for someone who is not coming back through that door. Let your jaw come down from where it has been holding. Let your shoulders stop bracing against the quiet. Feel your hands and the weight of them resting in your lap. Feel your chest and how it has been carrying this without saying so. There is nothing to fix in this body tonight. Only wait to notice, And one slow breath to follow it down. You do not have to turn the light off tonight. Grief keeps some things lit for a reason. The light is not weakness. It is love that has nowhere left to arrive. So let it stay on. Let it mean what it means. Notice the ache in your throat. And let it soften just a little. Without asking it to leave. Let one breath arrive. I am allowed to keep missing what I miss. I do not have to close this before I am ready. The love did not end when the person did. The light can stay on as long as you need it. Nothing here is asking to be finished. Namaste. This was Meditai. Come back whenever you need to.