I got up this morning knowing I was the dispassionate observer. Synchronistically, John Evans says this in the September issue of Writing and Wellness newsletter:

“Lately I’ve been thinking that if you want to write honestly, you must become an outcast or an exile or at an observer’s remove. As a writer there are at least two of you; one before you became a writer and the one you become after. As a person, you are the passionate participant. As a writer, you are an astute observer, but loyalties to the stories of friends and family are secondary considerations to writing your own story. This is not to say that the right attitude is “@#$% ya’ll, all-a-yah-all,” but it is to say that your story is not about them; it’s about you and all your story!”

And so I come here, day after day, observing Vicki’s life and mingling with her humanity and foibles and honest-to-God aloneness. I will say one thing about her. She was born honest. She erected a facade, as does everyone, but she knows it for what it is and sees through the facades of others easily. But she still falls down into reactionary chakras while I look on her with unconditional love.

She has left online communities where she has to suffer the slings and arrows of ill-mannered people, but she knows who her friends are and needs their support.

A Poem For Friends

I likes to write notes and poetry and funny stuff in equal measure.
I crack my knuckles and shake out the stress from my fingers
before hitting the mean streets of the internet.

I jump rope to warm up my heart
and play hop scotch from Friend to Friend.

I always hope they are using my words to
wake up to the beauty of who they are
even when they can barely crawl out of bed
and feel the slime of their own self-reproach.

I dance among the alphabet, picking out the
x’s and z’s because they are harder to digest than
the simple a’s and o’s.

I crack wise like I crack my knuckles, just to
see if I still can play the harp like little David
and win the war against the Goliath of my own ego.

~Vicki Woodyard

I was watching Anderson Cooper on his new daytime talk show. Did anybody else see it? He confessed to not especially liking…food! He tends to eat the same thing over and over. I found it one of the most interesting shows I have ever seen. And I ended up realizing that we are all crazy—just in different ways and to different degrees. So I thought I would share some of my lifelong craziness with all of you dear crazed folk.

I have never liked to socialize. I don’t dislike people; I just prefer to be at home alone. I can force myself to be with people socially but it doesn’t feel like who I really am. I am always relieved to come home and be quiet. I have never liked to dress up either; it feels like “trouble ahead” when I do that. I become someone other than Vicki.

I know all about people energetically immediately. Through the computer even. I can read a book almost instantly and have always, always known how to read and spell. I love written communication.

I do not like complicated plots in movies or movies that have a lot of evil characters.
I have never liked holidays. The more elaborate an occasion, the less I like it.
These confessions are just pointers to the fact that we are all crazy. C.r.a.z.y.

I don’t like people that talk, talk, talk and go off on tangents, as in “She was wearing this dress and it was made out of…uh…uh…dotted swiss…I think she got it at …uh, uh, uh. I don’t talk or write that way. Keep it simple, people. Keep it simple.

I am a neat freak. My mother says I came out of the womb prissy. There is a picture of me at about age three. I am wearing a straw Easter bonnet and holding a little purse and my mouth is pursed!

One reason I gave up forums is because so many people are c.r.a.z.y. about their brand of God. They insist on having Him served in a certain way. And they want to fill your head with c.r.a.z.y. They want to communicate to you that light workers are taking care of the planet which is leaning crazily on its axis and will likely take off for Key West just to let extra people get on.

See, I get crazy when I sit at the keyboard. At this point I am beginning to write comedy instead of true confessions. I better wrap this up before Anderson Cooper hits me with a Boston Market turkey dinner with two servings of corn and a piece of cornbread. C.r.a.z.y. B.u.t. i.n. a. g.o.o.d. w.a.y. He is my new crush. Call me c.r.a.z.y.I got up this morning knowing I was the dispassionate observer. Synchronistically, John Evans says this in the September issue of Writing and Wellness newsletter:

“Lately I’ve been thinking that if you want to write honestly, you must become an outcast or an exile or at an observer’s remove. As a writer there are at least two of you; one before you became a writer and the one you become after. As a person, you are the passionate participant. As a writer, you are an astute observer, but loyalties to the stories of friends and family are secondary considerations to writing your own story. This is not to say that the right attitude is “@#$% ya’ll, all-a-yah-all,” but it is to say that your story is not about them; it’s about you and all your story!

And so I come here, day after day, observing Vicki’s life and mingling with her humanity and foibles and honest-to-God aloneness. I will say one thing about her. She was born honest. She erected a facade, as does everyone, but she knows it for what it is and sees through the facades of others easily. But she still falls down into reactionary chakras while I look on her with unconditional love.

She has left online communities where she has to suffer the slings and arrows of ill-mannered people, but she knows who her friends are and needs their support.

A Poem For Friends

I like to write notes and poetry and funny stuff in equal measure.
I crack my knuckles and shake out the stress from my fingers
before hitting the mean streets of the internet.
I jump rope to warm up my heart
and play hop scotch from Friend to Friend.
I always hope they are using my words to
wake up to the beauty of who they are
even when they can barely crawl out of bed
and feel the slime of their own self-reproach.
I dance among the alphabet, picking out the
x’s and z’s because they are harder to digest than
the simple a’s and o’s.
I crack wise like I crack my knuckles, just to
see if I still can play the harp like little David
and win the war against the Goliath of my own ego.

~Vicki Woodyard

I am at a point in my life where I pay attention to the small. I start my day quietly. I sit in silence and then have breakfast. In a hot sudsy tub of water I luxuriate consciously. I read the morning paper, make the bed and get dressed. Silence follows me from room to room. I used to have a beloved dog, but silence is even better.

I want to live each day of fall. I want to look out the window as I type and see leaves drifting to the ground. I can let my thoughts fall off the trees of my parched summer heart and look forward to going within as the days get shorter and the nights cooler.

Lighting a scented candle each evening brings me pleasure, as does coffee and chocolate. Someone said that life consists of continuous small treats. I used to feed my dog cookies after every trip in and out of the house. Now I give myself cookies, tea, nuts, whatever….

Truth spins the prayer wheel for me all day long. I have not taken a real vacation in over three years. I am on vacation every day. My bedroom is like one you might find in an inn. I have a fireplace and sliding glass doors that look out onto tall poplars. I rest after lunch and fall into bed at night grateful for such a simple yet inviting room.

Notice that I have not said a word about other people in this note.

I find myself posting less and less on my blog. Instead, Facebook offers me an easier way of posting my essays in the form of notes. More people read me there than on my blog. I would love it if you would Friend me on Facebook so you will have full access to my work.

I am writing new material every day and you may sign up on Facebook to get my notes regularly.

I am hard at work on my new book, A GURU IN THE GUEST ROOM. If you liked my first book, LIFE WITH A HOLE IN IT, I think you will enjoy this one as well.

Love,
Vicki Woodyard
Find me on Facebook and Friend me…see you there!

Matthew K of NondualityUSA had a good Tweet about detoxing from Facebook. What a lovely idea, all of you addlepated addicts of comments whizzing around like bumblebees. We are cross-pollinating each other like crazy just to get a buzzzzz.

I must admit to being an addlepated addict. I write copious notes that gush out of the broken rock of my life. How can water gush from a rock? Let me count the ways. In the form of notes, oneliners, personal admissions, impersonal wisdom, jokes, et al.

Some of us AAs need to attend meetings, but they haven’t been formed yet. That’s a good group waiting to be formed. Addlepated Addicts. Sniffing lines of comments like they were going out of style.

I am still a user so I can’t condemn the AA’s that I know. I don’t like doing the hard stuff, which I call Open Forum Abuse. There, people gather in clots and ream each other out because they “know better.” As far as I know, no one has become enlightened from a Facebook note or if they are, they are too embarrassed to admit it. The Hard Core abusers like to think they are the king and queen pins of us all, just waiting to one-up us into awakening. Awakening against our will, as it were.

Man, have I veered off-topic. Gone down a side-road, a cul de sac of commenting.
Mea culpa, mea culpa, I have sinned against those that know more than I do.
Am I contrite. Not quite.

See ya around, fellow AA’s.

Butterflies

hovering

outside

inside calm now

like a monarch

reigning over

my inner garden.

~Vicki Woodyard

We all love a good Cinderella story. We wait for “the reveal” on so many reality TV shows. I was watching Dr. Phil and his guest, the golden-throated announcer who ended up going from homeless to rehabilitated. The first thing they do, of course, of course, is to give them a nice new set of…teeth! Yes, indeedy do. Nice Hollywood teeth. So the guest and his lady love, both sporting new choppers, as camera-ready as Dr. Phil’s own set, avowed as to how they really wanted to change. This is where I got the urge to come in here and write….

My book is an honest look at how it feels to be down and out in your own home. Down and out, emotionally, that is. How it felt to camp out with a dying man with a death sentence on him. How it felt to sift through my emotional junk just like a hoarder might do, clinging to my idea of how things “should be.” Oh, I was a real prize.

You see, I was on the spiritual path. I was being tamed by a really good horse whisperer. Only thing was, I couldn’t hear Him or see Him. I just saw everything through a blaze of anger and from a pit of despair. Oh, I cleaned up good. That was part of my strategy. Do a good job, take care of business, don’t let ‘em see you crack.

Seven years later, I am almost out of the woods. That light that I refer to in the book’s title is real. I also write about chunks of me falling into the sea. That part is true as well. Just recently a big chunk of Vicki apparently broke off—calved, floated into the ocean.

I don’t know what is next except one day at a time. I shall always remember the days when one day at a time was way too much. Days of transfusions, bad news, death just around the corner, no one to bear my burdens for me.

There is still no one to bear my burdens for me. For any of us. That is why I take such good care of Vicki. I have vowed to do my best by her. This is her second chance at life. She better not screw it up. To that end, I walked away from open forums simply because I don’t enjoy them. Not enjoying something is good enough reason to leave.

The love that is mirrored back to me here is just what the doctor ordered. I am taking it regularly and hopefully, giving it right back.

Words are not the thing. Words are the tools of the thing.

I walked along with her this evening. It was interesting to say the least because she has no idea I am there, always there. She was a bit more relaxed than she was early this morning. She woke at 4:30 and at a little after five she was proofreading her entire manuscript. Oblivious to everything but the screen. I floated around above her, sensing something greater trying to come through her eyes and fingers and heart. What do I know? I am just here to witness her struggle on the gravity-bound earth plane.

She drove to Tuesday Morning and had a nice talk with the woman behind the counter. They hit it off immediately. It was clear as day that the two of them were vibrating at a very high frequency. Like dolphins they were clicking some kind of code and it felt good as I watched the interchange. She left with a pumpkin biscotti candle and came home.

She’s eating too much junk food. Tootsie Rolls and Hershey Kisses. But I think the stress she is feeling is a minor thing. She is very excited about bringing her book into the world. It’s like a baby for her. She has just now pulled the trigger on it and paid her publisher to give it the green light. I hover around her, knowing wordlessly that she is never without an astounding support. It breathes her and laughs her and cries her.

This evening she took the long walk around the neighborhood. The September light struck her body lower than the August light did. She raised her head to look at magnolia seed cones and felt a bit sad. Then she saw the old man out raking in his front yard. “I haven’t see you in a while,” he said.

“I just haven’t walked much in August,” she told him. He said “I wish my wife could get out and walk like you. She’s having knee surgery in two weeks. She has a big thing behind her knee.”

She asked for details but he didn’t seem to know. He just said that he wished his wife could get out and about. Said she had fallen last year dragging a Christmas tree down the stairs. She said “I don’t even put up a tree anymore.” Then she said she would put the two of them in the light and she walked home.

Back inside she got reacquainted with the TV and the couch and the kitchen counter. I wish I could say to her, “You are so not alone. I am here to catch you when you fall.” 

________________________________
September 10, 2011

Dear Ones,
My book, LIFE WITH A HOLE IN IT, has been out one year today. I am deeply pleased about finally bringing it into manifestation. It has gotten great reviews.

Scott Kiloby, Author of Reflections of the One Life, Love’s Quiet Revolution, and Living Realization, says: “This is good reading. It made me smile and laugh. The words are drenched with love and a sense of humor along with reverence and awe for the mystery of life. I recommend this book!”

Greg Goode, author of Standing As Awareness, says: “A close-to-the-bone book about love, death, loss, and…love. Heartbreakingly honest, brave and inspiring!”

John LeKay, Nondualitymagazine.org, says “LIFE WITH A HOLE IN IT is a must read for anyone interested in conscious suffering…written with brutal unflinching honesty, wit and wisdom and in the spirit of divine grace. This is the story of a brave woman’s journey of finding oneness in her own quiet inner voice.”

Word of mouth helps sell books and I am a tiny drop in the ocean of published books. If you can give my link to a friend, buy more than one copy, or if you have any other ideas to help me sell it, let me know. My little book will need some help in finding its way into the hands of those who will cherish it.

A first book is like a first baby: You want people to love it. Thank God I don’t have to feed it and burp it.

All reviews and comments appreciated. It’s been a year, perhaps since you read it. Any thing you’d like to add?