It is a dreary Memorial Day, warm and wet. I sit inside an air-cooled house and feel restless. A new question intrigues me and I address it over and over again. Where is real “I” buried?

The rubble that covers it over doubles as our true self. Never doubt that. Real I arises only when the destruction is complete. No half-hearted efforts will do.

There is no real peace and joy to be found in falsehood; it just looks that way. Here is a clue: It doesn’t feel that way!

Christ arose from the tomb of falsehood. Can we do less?

Take your life today. You will rise, bathe and dress, eat, work and have time for useless thoughts and feelings.

Tomorrow you will do it all again.

You are buried under the rubble of the rut.

What can rise?

Only seeing the situation clearly.

Real prayer may happen.

Rest may occur.

No one can fool themselves forever.

Vicki Woodyard