I turn myself inside out to write. It seems to work better than outside in for some reason. Then again, I’m quirky as heck when it comes to my writing. As long as it’s a bit shocking, I’m in. And I don’t mean sexual; I mean raw, real and unbearable to some part of myself that keeps learning how innocent and ill-equipped she is for life no matter how often shockingly it happens to her.

At some point in the journey, what you know and whom you know and how you know become not as important as just being present.

I’ve been on the path most of my life now. It doesn’t get easier; it just gets subtler and subtler. It doesn’t take all you’ve got to get through the day when it finally gets through to you. You have all the time in the world and you are also decidedly mortal. Evidence of that is all around us. I look at my face in the mirror now and think, “Oh, my.”

If you want to grow, stay in the pocket of silence as much as possible throughout the day. Go there like a little mouse and be silent and invisible.

If the kingdom of heaven is the space between two thoughts, we pretty much know where hell originates.

Vicki Woodyard