As the villagers danced, more of them joining with each passing night, the orbs began to move differently. Their glow shifted, becoming softer, yet somehow more brilliant, as if they were no longer just guiding from outside but reflecting something deeper within each person.
One night, as Meera led the dance, the light from the orbs suddenly filled the entire clearing, casting no shadows. Everyone paused, bathed in the glow. In that stillness, a quiet yet powerful understanding washed over them—a feeling of warmth, love, and unity that words could never describe. It was as if the orbs weren’t just showing them the way but reminding them of something they had always carried within.
Meera felt tears run down her face as she realized the truth. “This light,” she said softly, “is not just theirs. It’s ours. It has always been within us, waiting for us to remember.”
The villagers looked at each other, their faces shining in the light. Even those who had been afraid began to soften, their fear melting into something they hadn’t felt in years—hope. The young mother who had first joined Meera stepped forward, her voice trembling with wonder. “Is this…God’s light?”
Meera smiled. “It is the Christ light,” she said, her voice steady. “The light of love and creation that lives inside each of us. The orbs are here to remind us of it, to help us see that we are never separate from it—or from each other.”
At that moment, the elder who had resisted the most fell to his knees, his hands covering his face. “I was blind,” he whispered. “I thought the light was out there, beyond us. But it’s been here all along.”
The orbs pulsed gently, as if affirming his words. Meera stepped toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “The light doesn’t judge,” she said. “It only waits for us to see it.”
The villagers stood together in the clearing, their hearts and minds quieted by the truth they now understood: the divine light within them was their connection to each other, to the earth, and to the infinite.
