Why Your Light Matters: The Beauty Of Being Deep

Do you ever feel as though you're here, but not really seen, you’re part of the world, but somehow invisible to it? Life keeps moving. People pass by, busy with their days, rarely pausing to reflect. And yet you exist. You’re here. You know you belong, and still… You don’t.

Maybe it’s because most people never ask the deeper questions. Life distracts us with emails, errands, distractions and entertainment. We’re numbed by external noise. But I’ve always been someone who feels deeply, who thinks deeply. Some people say, “You’re too deep,” like that’s something I'm supposed to apologise for. But for me, depth is not a flaw, it’s the only place where I can breathe.

I’ve spent my life diving into what I thought were deep waters—into friendships, conversations, even faith communities, only to smack my head on the bottom of the pool. That’s what it’s like with shallow people. You go in open, vulnerable, searching for meaning, and instead, you find yourself stunned by how quickly you hit the floor. A life lived only at the surface level.

I’ve come to see that some people simply haven’t asked themselves the harder questions. They haven’t had to sit in silence and face their own shadows. It’s much easier to keep skimming the surface. But for those of us who are wired for depth, the shallow end feels suffocating.

God calls us to let our light shine, not hidden, but placed high on a lampstand, for all to see.

"Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead, they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven." — Matthew 5:15-16

This verse has always struck me. Not because it’s about forcing myself to be seen. Light isn’t meant to be hidden; it just is. It’s supposed to illuminate. The truth is, only those willing and open to see will truly recognise that light. Not everyone will. Most won’t. The shallow pass by with a shrug, dismissing it as “nonsense” or “belief.” But the curious? They pause. And the deep—they recognise the light in you, because it’s in them. They know your pain because they’ve been there too.

"The wound is the place where the Light enters you."— Rumi.

This morning, I had a vision during my prayer, and I was shown that the only one who truly needs to see the beauty of the lampstand is you. In a world distracted by shallow celebrity and entertainment, God is calling you to look within, to see the craftsmanship of your soul, the intricate detail that was carved out in the dark, the strength you formed in silence. You were raised to shine, not to compete or perform, but to be a presence of light. And presence doesn’t shout. It doesn’t hustle. It just glows- it just is - Especially in the dark.

"You do not need to light the lamp of the sun. You simply remove the clouds."
— Zohar, Kabbalah

That’s why walking through darkness is necessary. You have to be forged in it. You have to feel and experience it. Because when light rises out of darkness, it carries a different kind of brilliance. It’s earned, not stolen, not handed down to you on a plate, or borrowed. In the brightness of day, when all our lives are exposed to the light, we begin to see what was hidden—all the flaws, pain, the parts of us we’d rather numb, dodge and avoid. And that’s all part of the process, too.

"We must be willing to let go of the life we planned to have, for the life that is waiting for us."— Joseph Campbell.

Growth demands honesty. And honesty requires light. None of us can become who we’re meant to be while hiding pieces of ourselves in the shadows. And it’s okay to be where you are, even if that place still feels confusing, unfinished, and uncertain. I still have these moments.

I remember a time when I lived in a built-up neighbourhood. In the evenings, I’d take walks to see the stars, pass the trees or gaze at the moon. As I passed each house and flat, I’d glance through the windows and notice something so uniform—families and individuals gathered around the TV, watching the same show, "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here." That soft blue glow emanating from each living room, everyone connected to a different world than my own. In that moment, I felt like I was living in a maze of sameness.

It wasn’t judgment I felt, but awareness. Like I was above the maze, seeing it from a new perspective. Everything looked safe, comfortable, familiar… but also duplicative. And then something shifted in me. I realised I didn’t want to live on autopilot. I didn’t want to follow the same script someone else had written, and it meant walking a different path. Like the program everyone was watching, I too wanted to say, "I'm out of here." It was a strange but insightful realisation.

Lately, I feel like I’m stuck in a repetitive loop, seeing the number 8, 88, circling the same path, cycling through old patterns. Childhood wounds. Beliefs I no longer want to hold onto, but can still struggle to break the karmic chains and release. It’s sometimes disorienting. It’s fast. It’s constant. And yet, the process is also a sacred one. We have to contract to expand. Go backwards to revisit our old repetitive patterns to move forward.

"In the pursuit of the Tao, every day something is dropped."— Tao Te Ching

Right now, I don’t have all the answers; we never do. But I’m learning to trust that we don’t need them. The lampstand is still here. It’s holding the light, steady and silent. Old ways of doing things and patterns no longer sit. Something new is coming, though we don’t always know what it is. The struggle is always wanting to know when the path is foggy, but that’s the lesson: trusting when you can’t see, carrying the lamp, and moving one step at a time through unknown territory.

I wasn't taught faith or religion. I meditated and prayed my way into these understandings, later realising everything I’d come to was already written about in all the ancient texts, all of which speak nearly the same message. That’s when you know that only those in a place of readiness, who ask and open themselves to more, will receive.

"For we walk by faith, not by sight."— 2 Corinthians 5 7️

🕯️ JOURNAL PROMPT:

“You were raised to shine, not to compete or perform, but to be a presence of light. And presence doesn’t shout. It doesn’t hustle. It just glows, it just is- especially in the dark.”

Reflect on the following:

Where in my life have I hidden my light out of fear of not being seen or understood?
What does it mean for me personally to ‘shine on a lampstand’?
Which parts of my darkness (pain, confusion, silence) may have been a forging ground for my divine brilliance?
Where in my current life am I still living in sameness? What is calling me?
How do I differentiate between a surface-level life and one rooted in my soul's purpose?