The Place Where All People Started.

They say that people came from light.

Not from the light that you have to turn on a lamp for, but from that old, ancient glow that already existed when there was no time or space, only silence breathed in nothingness.

There, in that light, there was a vibration — a beat, a thud, a soft wave that suddenly said:

"Let there be life."

And there was.

But life did not come with a trumpet.

Not with noise, not with a rumble, not with power.

Life came like a tiny spark in the dark, which no one sees yet, but is already there and knows that it will have a job.

Every person starts out as such a spark.

Every soul.

You too.

Me too.

Dad too.

All of us.

We did not come into the world to be great, but to bring light.

And this light is not given by the world — but we bring it with us.

From there, from the place where every soul was once at home.

When we are born, we are still full of this light — that is why we cry so loudly, because at the first moment we still remember: it is not the light that is missing, but the infinite.

Then we slowly forget where we came from… but sometimes we feel something:

in a scent,

in a gesture,

in a hug,

in the silence of the evening,

or when a loved one — father, mother, child — looks into our eyes.

Because people do not recognize each other by words, but by light.

By the piece of light that we all became.

Dad also carried such light.

He did not show it.

He did not talk about it.

He did not brag about it.

He brought it from the silence, and passed it on in the silence.

His steps were fast, but his light was patient.

In every movement there was something that cannot be taught: a piece of the place from which we started.

When we lose someone, it is not the body that is missed the most.

But the light that they carried.

The silence that they placed next to us.

The presence that made us better.

But the light that a person gave — never disappears.

It only moves within us.

That is why when you straighten your tie in the morning, when you walk down the street, when you tidy up the table, when you help someone quietly — in fact, it is not just you there.

That old light is there with you, that quiet glow, the light of your father, the place from which you both came.

And when one day you return to where it all began, a voice will greet you like this:

"You did a good job. You passed on the light."

Because man's one mission has never changed:

He comes from the darkness — to serve the light.