I was writing for years and years and years. And then I met my friend Peter. Peter, on the edge of illness and death, now joined me on my thin piece of emotional ice. For Bob was dying and truth to tell, I knew I was on my own. Burnt out and no beacon of hope to anyone, I found Peter. He knew I could write a book. He wanted me to. He told me so. I was not at the point of being able to do anything but pound out the words I was feeling. But Peter was a beacon that pointed me home.

He had found his place in the cosmos by becoming it. Like the old Chinese patriarchs, he knew exactly where he was. Everywhere. Wow. His words fell like gentle rain onto my hot little hell.

Many words are written about the Way.Many of them by people who have not lost everything,as Peter had.He took disaster and turned it upside down and inside out.His words deserve to be read again and again.Just like life deserves to be lived, afresh from the top.

It is my prayer that my words, born of sorrow, will take you, the reader, into a brighter tomorrow.My ego is ever out of tune, but the symphony of silence that Peter found is able to drown it out so beautifully. (An unpublished piece I wrote about Peter.)

3/5/22

Truth is truth is truth and the ego is ever-changing. Today Ukraine is being assaulted and the world stands with them. Perhaps outer victory will not prevail, but inner victory is assured for the brave freedom fighter. Those of us doing inner work know that.

Vicki Woodyard