Bring your attention to the center of your chest. Not the idea of it — the sensation. The warmth there. The subtle pulse. It may feel dense at first, or quiet, or unremarkable. Stay anyway.

As you breathe into this space, notice what begins to soften. The jaw. The shoulders. The place behind the eyes. You are not doing something to yourself. You are simply stopping the doing that has been covering something.

Let your awareness travel slowly — from the chest down through your belly, into your hands. Feel the warmth in your palms. Your light does not live in concept. It lives in sensation, in the body that breathes, in the heat that rises without asking permission.

Thich Nhat Hanh taught that when you touch this moment fully, you touch everything that has ever lived. He did not mean it as poetry. He meant it as instruction. What you are contacting right now — in the warmth of this breath, in the steady pulse at your center — is the same luminosity that has moved through every being who ever stopped long enough to feel it. He called this interbeing, and he located it exactly here: in the body, awake, present, unhidden.

You are not building your light. You are remembering it.

Stay a moment longer. Chest warm. Breath slow. Palms open or resting soft.

What would it mean today to let this remain unhidden — not to perform it, but simply not to cover it?

Your light is not something you earn. It is something you stop hiding.

Carry that into the morning.