A little light a silent prayer
A Little Light, A Silent Prayer
I have never believed in blind superstitions. Life has taught me to be practical, thoughtful, and grounded. Yet, even with all my reason and understanding, I have always felt the presence of something beyond logic—an invisible force that quietly governs the rhythms of our daily lives. A higher energy, a silent witness, perhaps even a guardian, gently shaping the flow of events around us.
Life is not made up of only happiness or only sorrow. Just as day gives way to night and night returns to day, our lives are a delicate balance of joy and pain, gain and loss. We are carried forward on a great wheel that never stops turning.
Among the small, comforting beliefs I hold close to my heart, one is deeply rooted: the presence of a glowing light in front of our house at dusk. It is not just a habit or a decoration—it is a symbol of welcome, of protection, of sacred energy. I have always felt that a lamp burning at the threshold of our home in the evening brings a sense of prosperity and peace—not just in a material sense, but in the way it lifts the spirit and warms the heart.
When the bulb at our entrance fused recently, I noticed something deeper than darkness. The front of the house stood shadowed and cold, but more than that, something felt missing inside me. It was as if the home had lost a part of its soul, its quiet evening heartbeat. That gentle light had been more than just electricity—it was a silent companion, softly watching over us as day faded into night.
Today, I replaced it with a 20-watt Philips bulb. As I stood there and saw the new light slowly glowing, gently spreading its calm presence over the doorstep, my heart felt peaceful. A sense of order had returned. The house looked alive again—welcoming, watched over, and blessed.
I went a step further. I installed a timer—so the light now switches on automatically at 6 p.m., just as dusk begins to settle, and switches off at 6 a.m., bidding goodbye to the night. No longer do I have to remember to flick the switch. Now the light comes alive like a quiet ritual, greeting the evening and guarding the house through the silence of the night.
To some, it may seem like a small thing. Just a bulb, just a timer. But to me, it is more than wires and watts. It is a prayer without words. A reminder that light, however small, is a sacred thing. That even when life casts its shadows, the smallest flame—of hope, of belief, of love—can light up the dark.