The light of source is not afar,
Not hidden in some distant star,
It hums beneath your quiet breath,
It flickers even close to death.
Before the mind begins to speak,
Before the strong pretend they’re weak,
There lies a spark, unshaped, untamed,
A flame no shadow ever claimed.
You search in skies, in sacred lands,
In ancient scripts and weathered hands,
Yet all along, it softly glows
Within the pulse your being knows.
It shines in grief, it burns in grace,
It lives behind each passing face,
A steady fire, both fierce and kind,
The silent core of humankind.
No gate to pass, no price to pay,
No need to chase it far away—
Just turn within, grow still, allow:
The light of source is in you now.
Thank-you for reading.
Brenda Marie
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