I am waxing poetic this morning while pondering my daily state of mind. It can only be called “a torn glory.” Hmm. Where shall I start when there is no starting point for the eternal soul in which I dwell only temporarily.

Yes, you heard me. I, Vicki, am torn by my ego versus my ego. (You have my permission to smile, for we are all in the same mess, which Jesus described to us so eloquently. We all live in divided houses and there are remnants of memory about heaven which we can occasionally contact.

We do this by going silent for as long as possible, for silence is our balm of Gilead the world knows nothing about. We all have tricks to calm ourselves down and most of them involve food and being online or watching movies streaming at us 24/7. We prefer anything to silence.

It is said that I have a large angel with me and I have never felt it. I believe it is there, however, even though I am a stubborn case. I persist in being miserable and sorrowful much of the time. When I come in here to the keyboard, however, I see the words forming on the screen as they come to me. No, I am not channeling; that would be much easier. I am just so dedicated to screwing myself up that I keep on keeping on. Some of you recognize the stubbornness with which I write.

I also have a sense of humor and in these times that is essential. Oh, and a sense of proportion when the media is always riling us up. Say it with me: “My kingdom is not of this world.”

I have an online friend who is always reminding me that the only way out of this world is to die to it. And when you die, you are happily resurrected into the living moment. We are always in it; we just flail and flap around in the waters that would drown us in order to resurrect us as the eternal beings that we are.

So now I am beginning my daily experience of “a little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants.” And yes, you have my permission giggle.

Vicki Woodyard