Writing honest is something that comes easy for me, yet I don’t speak of it in my regular life. Yesterday my next-door neighbor stopped by and as we were talking in the kitchen, she picked up something from the floor and I said I was using it to mark where the tripod went. And she wanted to know what I was using it for and I said shyly, “To make talks.” And I felt humiliated somehow. And nothing else was said.
You see, I live two lives, just like we all do. There is my life as a writer and spiritual student and my life as a friend and neighbor. But there is little color in that. The color in my life comes from following my heart and art of being who I am in essence.
I can’t live a life in the neighborhood, because in it I can’t talk about my losses and my grief over them. But here I sit typing to people who don’t tire of hearing my story because it is theirs, too.
No one can ever know, though, the years of torment I went through. I use that torment as grist for the mill. I have used every ounce of it, pouring my soul into these essays. I once thought I would become well-known or successful if I just kept at it. So I pounded out essay after essay. And the few books I wrote were good, really, really good. But they were not marketable.
But I keep on keeping on. What else do I have but my take on life? I see that discussing life is not the same as living it, but I am a scribe of the heart. I used to write comedy but that fell away to be replaced by the kind of writing I do now. And I want to tell you that I have scars too deep to be covered over by pancake. I do not write about these for they are sacred. They are stigmata, if you will.
I have stood at the heavenly gates and knocked loudly for admission. I was turned away. Now I just keep stringing words together in hopes a few of you will nod your head and say, “I get her. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly and I don’t either.”
That’s right. Our country elected a fool for a President and what does that say about our country? We are in hard times, folks, but my teacher and a man named Jesus said his world was not here. I agree with that. So I sit in silence, holding space for people that have seen through every mask that every politician wears. And I walk away and stay alone. It’s okay if you do that, too. Every one of us has a role to play and if we don’t see through it, we have wasted our lives. But the play goes on and so we hit the mark and say our lines. Mine is “This, too, shall pass, but in the meantime let us give it all we’ve got.”
Vicki Woodyard