Is this inner ache a sign something is wrong with me?

You feel empty, and yet you're full of a longing for something more. How can you be both? The space inside you aches, not from lack, but from a memory of abundance you think you've lost. It's the quiet suspicion that life was meant to be richer, deeper, more than the daily drain.

What if that ache isn't a problem to solve, but a homing signal? What if the hollow feeling isn't proof you're failing, but proof you were made for a feast? The hunger itself is a clue. You're not broken for wanting to be filled; you're human.

Listen to this: 'They feast on the abundance of your house; you give them drink from your river of delights. For with you is the fountain of life.' This isn't a metaphor about trying harder. It's a map to where the water already is. The river of delights isn't a destination you paddle toward. It's a current that flows to you. Your cup isn't something you fill with your own effort, straining at a well that runs dry. It's placed under a fountain of life that never stops. Abundance pours from a source that doesn't know how to be scarce. The feast is spread in the house you're already invited into. You don't have to find the table. You are already seated at it.

This fullness is already yours. Not because you earned your seat, but because your name was already on the place card. The kindness is that deep. The love is that sure. You are not waiting for life to begin. You are drinking from it now, even if your senses are slow to catch up. The truth is working its way from your head to your heart: you are satisfied, you are replenished, you are home in the overflow.

So drink deeply, beloved. The river is for you. Sleep in the certainty of the feast.