The Paradigm Shift

Many years ago I woke up with this word in my head, “paradigm.” I didn’t even know how to pronounce it. Synchronistically, I went to the library that day and saw a book called “Where Will You Be Standing When The Paradigm Shifts?”

I just published a book called A Guru in the Guest Room. Swami Z is a sleeping teacher, which makes no sense at all. Gurus are here to awaken us, not put us to sleep. But what if we think in opposites, what if we go even further and transcend the opposites. In The Work of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky, this is called finding “Real I.”

Since I am not intelligent enough to write an essay about the paradigm shift in nonduality, I woke up Swami Z and asked him to speak for a few paragraphs about it.

Vicki comes into the kitchen and Swami is standing on a step ladder changing a light bulb. “Hey, Swami,” I said and he almost fell off the ladder. “I almost fell off the ladder,” he said, immediately making this paragraph in the essay redundant.

“Sorry,” I said, not very apologetically. “I was thinking about the word ‘paradigm’. I don’t know what it means. Do you?”

“Is it anything like pair of nickel?” he said. I should have seen that one coming.

“Or pair of penny?” he snorted. “Because I don’t give two cents about fancy-schmancy words.”

Mr. Swami Z the Electrician replaced the light bulb and I pushed him into his chair. “Sit,” I said, “have some tea. Let’s kick something around.”

“Besides me?” he said, “because you have a way of doing that.”

“No, I would like to hear what you think about everyone going around claiming to be enlightened. They can’t ALL be awake, now can they?”

Swami stirred his tea before replying. “Vicki, you are so naive it makes me giggle. Who says you have to believe these people?”

“I don’t, and that’s precisely the point. We need a new paradigm. There needs to be a change.”

“Musical chairs is change,” he said, but someone always loses the game. People want to be winners, even when it comes to the nonduality game. I say, “Let them crow about their enlightenment. That is a pretty big clue in and of itself. Those who know don’t talk.”

At that precise moment the paradigm shifted for me, which made me want a cigarette and I don’t even smoke.

Vicki Woodyard

I have a way of writing my way through hard times. I wrote jokes for Joan Rivers as my young daughter went through three years of surgery, chemo and radiation. She died. I continued to write. I wrote a moving book called, Laurie, One of the Lucky Ones. After her death, I changed the title to Laurie, A Mother’s Story. I met a grief counselor who suggested that I write letters to her. That became Letters To Laurie. Fortunately I no longer have copies of those beginning books.

Now I was not only writing comedy, I was walking the spiritual path. I had a teacher that breathed fire at his students. That didn’t bother me a great deal; it was nothing compared to the death of a child. I was learning to walk through the Children’s Department and not flinch too much as I saw the color pink. I threw myself into awakening like there was no tomorrow. I didn’t change much.

The first years without Laurie were hard ones, indeed. I had to deal with the unexpressed grief of my son, my husband’s workaholic solution to grief and my own increasing isolation from society. A saving grace for me was a Bichon Frise puppy that we got five weeks after our daughter died.

We moved across town to a new house. That house is now 32 years old. The dog got hit by a car and we got a new puppy. She lived to be over 16. We had her put down while Bob was dying of his cancer. During these years I put one foot in front of the other. I left my teacher’s group when Bob was diagnosed. It was just too far to travel. My life was one big windshield and I was a tiny bug. Life being fair was out of the question. It was not even stormy. It was a tsunami in which I built a life raft out of the teachings and began writing essays as the waves pounded at it with fury.

Then the great silence began. I have experienced 7 years of it now. It is not always pleasant but it is genuine. I have won my freedom. Did it the hard way. Hung in there. Kept the faith. Learned to know myself. Learned to know simplicity and grace are the same thing.

I almost took a vacation and then realized that I am now on vacation every day. The waters are still. I have published 2 books. I am now what I would call a real writer. I know when to begin and when to end. Essays, that is. I have a GPS that shows me how to get to the blank screen and let my fingers do the talking. I hope that some of you are listening.

Vicki Woodyard