I find myself with a blank slate today, which is a good thing. At the center of the spiral I am a reed pipe. All I have to do is get out of the way and let the Word write itself. Oh, it knows how. Trusting in its wisdom evokes my slate of unknowing.
It is good to start in darkness, descending into the dungeon of old habits. They are slaving away to keep you unaware of your deepest and darkest sorrow. They would distract you with, in my case, licorice allsorts and some leftover chocolate Easter eggs. Better to continue down, down, down into the pain.
Last night I dreamt of our beloved dog, Wendy. Her mother was a white German shepherd and her father was a collie. She had short hair and was enormous. She loved so much and so deeply that she talked to people in an approximation of conversation. If you said, “Hello, Wendy, how are you?” She would always answer you in a few hoarse talkative barks. In the dream I said, “I love you, Wendy,” and she spoke the words in plain English. When I woke up I felt heartbroken, as if I didn’t appreciate the unconditional love she gave us all.
My little woebegone heart contains the heart of the universe. Hallelujah. It weeps for its lost loves as I sleep unknowingly on. Perhaps it curls itself up around the heart of God and knows primordial peace. Once awake, I find myself in the body of Vicki Woodyard, she with her eye on the allsorts and the Easter eggs. God bless her. And God bless us, everyone.