I used to try hard to wake up. I thought it would heal me. Me who was a nervous wreck. Not only that, I was deeply interested in awakening. My mother had introduced me to the books of Yogananda, Joel Goldsmith and many other spiritual writers. Now I am one. A spiritual writer of sorts. A dedicated student that knows nothing for sure.

Well, actually I know a lot. I know how iffy life is. I know how hard I have tried to be a good little soldier for the sake of mankind. Now I have taken off all my medals and walk around saying “What?” Because now I know that I don’t know. Not only that, I know that those who say they know don’t know either.

What to do? That is the question. Do I keep on writing? That is a big yes. Do I keep trying to be a good person. No. I don’t plan on becoming a bad person, either. I just mean I am sick and tired of ping-ponging around the planet being something I am not and never can be.

When my neighbor came a few days ago, she told her husband my house was very peaceful. And I told her it was because of all the years I had meditated in it. But I am not my house. Thank God, it has all sorts of siding issues….

So, yes, I have made a small amount of progress. But this old self is nothing to write home about. Some days the anxiety is off the charts. And on other days I sit like a sage about to take wing and fly off into the enlightenment zone. Nothing stays the same.

And I have seen my share of ersatz gurus. Silver-plated and misguided, they wag their tongues about awakening. I never relate to falsehood. God gave me that gift. I just leave as soon as possible.

There are no answers to the big questions of life. God has that one taken care of and no one has seen Him yet. I trust Him to keep me in suspense until the day I die. He is interesting, to be sure. I follow Him around but never catch him. I make the most progress when I stand still. Sometimes, then, He comes to me and we play.

Vicki Woodyard