I write because my fingers are full of words that turn into essays. Although I have written thousands of them, each one is fresh and new to me. That is because I, the Writer, am writing to me, the Reader. (And she just doesn’t get it.)

We, folks, are dichotomies with decisions to make, hence the split mind. The mind is not where our treasure lies, however. Only the heart truly knows what it wants and it doesn’t speak the language of the mind.

Out of fear, we shove our true feelings down into the basement, which is filled with decades of true feelings already. They never see the light of day.

Upstairs, the bifurcated mind is spitting out thoughts a mile a minute. There is no beauty to be found—only duty.

So we are living in split level bodies stuffed with our hidden assets. Do we know it? Hell, no! And I use the word “hell” deliberately.

We don’t show them because they are socially inappropriate and also, because they are precious gems too valuable to be shown to the Sleeping Ones.

Vernon Howard appeared to show me the gravity of the situation. Situation seen. Next!
The next is the rest of my life, which I will now spend living between wants and needs.

My true needs speak without words, while my false needs blather endlessly on.

I shall stop here to let myself get a breath of fresh air. God knows I need it.

Vicki Woodyard