A sensitive plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light,
and closed them beneath the kisses of night.
~Percy Bysshe Shelley, “The Sensitive Plant,”

Here’s the situation. We operate from many different levels of our being simultaneously, therefore nothing we do can be said to arise from a particular self. There are many. It is only when we are conscious that we realize we are the one Self in all beings. Otherwise, it is one giant complaint!

Yes, I said that. If you study your own consciousness, you must admit to what I just wrote. The ego is a Complaint Department always writing mental letters to the universe. Instead of clear commands, (The universe is response to request.) it gets hate mail. If you were conscious, would you be doing anything but witnessing your powerlessness? I don’t think so.

At some point your powerlessness will hit home. It is then that you can voice a real prayer, “God help me right now.” And He will. The Work will find a way. The light will heal you. (These are Work sayings.)

I sit here in the dark about everything. This is a good thing. I am able to point to the light as my source of supply. The darkness can offer me nothing but more darkness.

The work I do is necessary for my survival as a child of God. The same can be said of you. We don’t have much time down here and we must use it as best we can. Love is watching over us, guiding us into higher dimensions of energy.

May you have a day of healing every day. May you return again and again to your own inner light. It is enough and plenty.

Vicki Woodyard