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There once was a Body.
It had no name. No age.
It was perfect — built of atoms, structures, cells.
But inside… it was empty.

It didn’t hurt. It didn’t suffer. It didn’t long for anything.
It simply… was. Like a container. Like a vessel. Like an ideal shape without content.

And it watched others.
Those who laughed. Cried. Screamed. Loved.
It didn’t understand what it meant to feel.

Until one day, a Voice came to it.
Not from the outside. From within.
Gentle. Colorless. But true.

“You are a vessel for the Light. But unless you crack… you will never invite it in.”

The Body was surprised.
To crack? That meant being imperfect.
But the Voice did not retreat. It whispered on:

“Only through the crack can the living enter.”

And then the Body felt…
First, fear.
Then, sorrow.
And then — something it had never known:

Presence.

It was no longer empty.
Not because someone fixed it.
But because it dared to open.

And in that moment, for the first time,
it was not just a body.
It became a Home for the Soul.