My own silence is worth more to me than all of the spiritual books ever written. Mind you, I had to read hundreds of them before realizing this. I have given away most of them and only a few remain to take up space in my bookcase.

Sitting in silence strengthens me. It gives me absolution. It points inward instead of outward. And so I have reached the point where discussions are useless when silence would serve me better.

This is not a forced silence, but one that belongs to me. I write from it; these words you are reading are emanating from it.

I am no longer haunted by my own inadequacies as I once was. They remain, but they are just feelings that hinder my entry into what is. Surely I am worth more than my mind would have me believe.

Vernon Howard taught me well. In his strictness and fearsome talks, I sat up straighter and became an adversary for my soul instead of my ego. My ego is like everyone else’s. It is government-issued khaki covered over with worthless medals.

This silence is telling me I have said enough. Five paragraphs of words and I will add an “amen.”

Vicki Woodyard