I am in touch with women who have lost children and I know that the wounds are still bleeding. I write to those women daily because I know this. They hear my voice and, rather than tell them to buck up, I share what is true.

Take my son and I. His wounds are still bleeding as well. As a child, we had no conception of how he was feeling as we spent most of our time with the sick one. A wall remains between us; we would like to heal it but we are not that powerful. No one is.

I write to take down the wall, in a strange way. To let people know that some walls can have small openings through which the light is always shining in. Leonard Cohen knew that so well.

Nonduality has no answers. It with its constant explanations that we are one. Of course we are, but the pairs of opposites continue to give us pain. I weep inwardly for the damage nonduality has done to suffering people. It holds up an image of someone that can be healed and redeemed. Nonsense.

Yet the Self is always shining through the tattered wings of the fallen angels. It is that Self that falls and rises during the 24-hour cycle of our human days. We are out of rhythm with what can heal us. What is that, you ask. Tell me how to find it, how to contact it. You, who have been living with the bleeding wounds for aeons. Tell me about the light, you say. And I write of deep darkness. What to do when there is nothing to do?

I wish for you a teacher like Vernon Howard, who yelled at us to stop whining. I wish for you a teacher like Theo Paredes, who does everything that Vernon did not do. He just approves of me in a way that I feel rather than think about. He encourages me to say again and again, “This is not for me.” And I begin to say it and write it. “Nonduality is not for me.” I am for me. Four small words that appear to let the light begin to come in. Not in floods but in periods of the day where I remember myself. When I become small and light and let God carry me around in his pocket. T’is true. T’is true.

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Vicki Woodyard