Fierce Grace

Kali has come to visit me for an extended period of time. Fierce grace, as Ram Dass calls it. My body too weak to leave the house. My mind too restless to accomplish anything. My emotions volatile and my energy very low.

Underneath the churning waves I sense the fierceness of this time in my life. Nothing unnecessary.

I will be posting less. For what it’s worth, my self-respect would be happy about that. It needs a deeper validation than how many people like what I write.

My work is not for sissies. It is always a deep intention to shock you a little. That is how I learned from Vernon Howard. “I will be showing you that no one loves you but God.” If I turn away from that truth too long, I am forced into the fire.

So I will see you down the road. “The lane of love is narrow,” goes the old Sufi saying. It sure is. It sure is.

Vicki Woodyard

The Rocks of Reality


To the Angels

Dear Angels,

Why on earth am I going through this deep purification?

Because you are toning down your life and allowing us to tune it up for you. This takes an extreme amount of suffering.

What do you want me to write now?

Tell us the story of your big “hit” by us.

I caught a virus that turned into the hospital and now I am home too weak to get anything done. All I can do is rest. My voice is affected. My hearing is affected. I am isolated and suffering.

The street is being dug up. My Mac is turning itself off repeatedly. It is Thanksgiving and there is nothing but emptiness around me. That sucks.

Angels: The vortex is carrying you down to the rocks. On the rocks you will find a place of refuge.

I don’t get it.

You don’t have to get it. You must endure it. You were warned in a dream about rocks and shown rock climbing would be your way out.

Your message to the world is one of utter rejection that will lead to inner redemption. It is a cold and lonely hallelujah. Spit out the words to one and all. Never hold back. Be yourself in all of its powerful weakness. Reject all those who would reject you. Your life is not fooling around with you. It is knocking you onto the rocks of reality. Some will hear this message you are bringing. Most will not. You are no icon of intellectuality. You are pure light funneled through a microscopic hole called ego.

Your illness is out of your hands. So is everything else.

A friend asks a question….

 If you cared to expand a bit on here about what it is you finally got, I’d love to read it. Don’t want to assume I know what you mean…

I finally got that we are powerless over the script the ego keeps writing for us. It keeps pushing us into falseness in order to keep our safe place in society going. It is a primal urge.

In this case, I have been ill for almost a month with a virus that just wouldn’t quit. When it started out, I was fairly respectable in my presentation. But I made 2 trips to the doctor, 1 to Urgent Care and a trip to the ER. I have wretched, shit, sweated, run a fever, etc. When things hit the fan, the persona takes a huge hit.

The ego facade does not hold up when the body is under fire. I made a few deep connections with nurses and the clean-up crew. I was peeing, shitting, calling for more underwear, vaseline, zinc oxide for my posterior. It was total bedlam in my room. Then I got to go home on Thursday night. Today is my birthday. There was no cake; I had no interest in getting one. I am debilitated and hopefully under reconstruction. Interestingly, I can still write rapidly and coherently enough to click “Send.”

Today I know I am being “refitted” for some kind of new experience. It was all a waking dream. The view out my hospital window was of the heating/cooling system. The P.A. drew a picture of my stomach and it looked eerily like a photo I managed to take of the view out the window.

When we got home, the street I live on had lots of trucks with their headlights on. There had been a cut somewhere in the cable or something like that. I have looked out my kitchen window and seen a Ditch Witch in the yard across the street working all day long. The time it will take to complete the project of installing new electrical system on our street is indefinite. They will not be through until January or February. I am told it will take me a while to recover from this. I must keep away from crowds. As a dear friend told me, it is as if I am in the womb right now.

One thing I have never doubted is my ability to write. I have agonized over my books not selling, filled with hope that they would be. That being the case, anyone who reads my words and is open to their meanings will prove it is a God-given ability over which I have no control. The right people will find them and wrong people won’t recognize them.

The next stage of my journey is profound self-love. The more I love myself, the quicker I will heal. True for us all. My sister sent some old photos of me in my birthday card. I put one out on the hutch. I was so adorable. When did I lose that?

Vicki Woodyard

A Prayer for Sinking, sorta….


So I have been taken on a rocky road for almost a month now. Sick as a dog, exhausted, hospitalized, sent home to heal. Felt so weak I just lay and cried. Got up and tidied up the house, tried to focus. All I can focus on is the breath.

Called Don Theo, who is working on me long distance. A great blessing to have him in my life. He is a teacher who does not teach and a friend who does not live around the corner.

So I just listened to Cohen’s song “You Want It Darker.” Someone made an artful video to accompany it. Here is a brilliant comment made by someone who just listened to it.

“This is a beautiful and apt tribute to the man who raged and prayed at his God and did not gentle into that night go. He and Bowie both upon imminence and pain of death said fuck you and bless me I’ll create to my last breath and all the worlds I’ve created by my living breath, my prana, these exhalations of word and song still proliferate like so many galaxies and self spawning universes and I too am now ready to sit beside the councils of Olympus and Himalaya and Kilimanjaro and Harney Peak. I’m ready Lord. You want it darker? Hell, you got it!”

This is where I am now; I can identify. I will create until my last breath. Hallelujah.

Vicki Woodyard

The Deep Emptiness


There is a deep emptiness here on every level. Physically, emotionally and mentally. I am in a fog of weakness. “My strength is made perfect in weakness.”

The one thing I can do that helps is to breathe consciously. Other than that, nothing. Anger and rage have exploded from the depths of the subconscious. It is time to release things that are holding me back.

The mystery holds delight while the everyday knowing collapses.

Tomorrow is my birthday. Then Thanksgiving and Christmas. Nothing I can do to make anything happen. It is just happening on its own schedule now.

This is not a note on how to awaken. Poppycock. This is a note on being brought low while sensing it will all turn out just fine. I have to endure the passing of time.

I have not spent my life on the path for nothing but for everything. Appearances count for nothing. Water is being given me and it is the water of life. I must drown in it, not fighting against it.

This is not a note of loss but of light. The theme of my life. Broken pieces patched together until a letting-go of everything is forced upon one.

I am feeling hopeful of learning the lesson about my strength being useless to me.

Vicki Woodyard

Forsaken, almost human….

There were no offers to donate to the site. Nevertheless it will continue because it is what I love to do. I am quite weak but will post in spite of that. This work helps me on some invisible level. My prayer is that it will help others in the same way.

I am reading up on this enteritis thing online. It seems to take everyone lots of time to recover. I am prepared to stay home for a long period. The load on Rob is heavy, as you might imagine. Our relationship is strained but strong. Paradox is both painful and unavoidable.

Yesterday a friend came and brought lasagna, salad, dessert and treats. An amazing visit ensued. Drawn by vital forces, we talked over two hours in spite of my weakness. She illuminating issues I had been struggling with in a remarkable way. “There is no such thing as chance or accident as far as human souls are concerned.” The light shines in darkness.

The main thing for all of us to do is surrender in the midst of the screaming chaos. Then miracles happen. I have walked through a different door now. It is one in which I must just let things happen. I cannot drive or shop. I am dependent for now on others. But I can write. I find that amazing.

Drilling down into the filth of the subconscious is inevitable at some point in everyone’s journey. That is where I am now.

I hope you reach a darkness so deep that you drown in it. That is what we all must do. As Leonard Cohen wrote in “Suzanne,”

“And Jesus was a sailor when he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching from his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain only drowning men could see him
He said all men will be sailors then until the sea shall free them
But he himself was broken, long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human, he sank beneath your wisdom like a stone”

Amen, dear Leonard. Amen.

Vicki Woodyard

I need your feedback….

Still very weak from the virus and hospital stay. Gotta stay away from crowds until my immune system builds back up. When I don’t post, no one visits, so once again I am considering what to do next. One person donates on a monthly basis and that is quite wonderful. Occasional donations come in, but it might be best for me to stop doing it on such a hit or miss basis.

The wisdom that comes through me is not me and yet it is. Paradox rocks. I love writing but I do not play the non-duality game.

If you want the blog to stay, let me know. It may not be for free anymore. This new birth happening in me is going to take a while.

Listen to this video again and comment. Would you be willing to make a regular small donation?

The Beloved in Disguise


There is a weight on every heart. It is borne in many ways, most of them unhealthy. I think it is the inborn sense of guilt, something to do with biting the apple. The fig leaf is the weight we all use to conceal our unnamed guilt.

I write from that weight because it is too heavy to be hidden. It screams out within the walls of our inner asylum. It wants to be set free from the constraints of the mind. It is the mind that invented the fig leaf.

All advertising is aimed at this weight, for we all want a bit of lightness in our lives. It comes in the form of creams or cocaine, gambling or charitable giving (a fig-leaf disguised as something worthy).

The advertisers have their own fig leaves, of course. No one escapes from the weight.

What brought this essay on? A relative I have not kept contact with suddenly lost their autistic child, who was only 18. I went to the funeral home Tribute Page and there I sat mesmerized by the beauty of this boy. It was clear to me that he had been the Beloved in Disguise.

He had been the teacher seen as “different” in order for him to do his work. Now he is gone, leaving light trails everywhere.

Of course my little girl was a teacher, too. The weight on my heart has been written about in countless ways. I am a wounded warrior, but so are we all.

The weight we drag around has nothing to do with this world, although it seemingly does. It really has to do with us not revealing our damage to the world more clearly. The world is rotten to the core. The fig leaf can never solve the problem.

I write this imprisoned by the weight of love. The damage done cannot be undone, so I must sing it until the day I die. There is nothing but love here in these typing fingers, these conveyors of truth.

How do we redeem ourselves? We can’t. It must come from a much higher level that the ego. We must be saved by those that cannot save themselves. A price must be paid.

These beautiful children are way-showers and we must endure their departures from this earth. They have earned their entrance back into The Garden. Now they are seen clearly as they are. As Keats said, “Truth is beauty. Beauty is truth.” That is all we need to know.

Vicki Woodyard

The Skeleton Begins to Dance


“We shouldn’t worry about making plans for they fall through with regularity. You already know that. The only wise plan is to become a better person. And that plan falls through, too. Grace is the plan of plans.”

I wrote that to a friend, thinking she was other than myself! That is one telling of the cosmic joke, isn’t it?

Bare awareness beckons me these days. Crooks its finger at me and whispers, “Come….”

Dare I fall into the arms of this skeleton? This bony scariness that is the remains of what used to be?

All dreams die here. All knowledge turns to dust. And the skeleton begins to dance.

Vicki Woodyard

Flight


I should have known better, should have done better. If I had listened to my heart, I would have stayed home and rested on the night I caught a virus. This is one of the final teachings that challenge us as human beings. We know but we hesitate to live our knowing. It feels threatening and unkind to other people.

I was born a knower and a seer. I successfully put myself last in order to be tolerated by people that didn’t even love me. This is the path the world wants us to take. Thank God for people like Leonard Cohen who knew this deeply. Never serve the world. Never try to change it. Just take your piece of the puzzle and mine it for a lifetime.

So I sit here still recuperating from this virus. That one decision to go out cost me a trip to see my sister and my health. I am getting better but have a long way to go. I would like to honor the witness within that watches me doing the wrong thing. Endlessly doing the wrong thing.

I am here to let everything fall away until the ground I stand on falls away as well. Flight is still possible.

Vicki Woodyard