Something steadier than thought lives underneath the noise of a person's days, and it does not flicker the way opinions and moods do. It burns quietly, like a small flame in a dark room, and when attention rests on it the darkness loses its hold. The mind cannot manufacture this steadiness. It can only be turned toward and trusted.
Heeding that light is not straining to understand it. A person simply lets it shine, and by staying near it the inner room grows less dim. Then the promise begins to keep itself. The dawn does not arrive from somewhere far off. The day star rises within, and the one who waited discovers the light was already theirs, waking now in the heart.