Dear Readers,

I have enjoyed this summer so much. I was interviewed by Trip Overholt on Conversations With Avant-Garde Sages in June. John Troy, aka the Wizard, is the author of Wisdom’s Soft Whisper, and he and trip really do the show together. It is growing in popularity because the two of them are actually in conversation with the guests, rather than doing an all-out interview. It lends intimacy and immediacy. Trip bones up on each guest and doesn’t avoid asking the hard questions. You don’t mind because his energy is great and if he doesn’t ask them, someone else will. That’s what makes a good interviewer. In case you haven’t listened, there is a direct link to my interview on this very website. Check it out!

I am passionate about my book, so I was glad to get a chance to be heard on the radio. I am hard at work on my second book. The title is A GURU IN THE GUEST ROOM. It will be out sometime this fall. It’s in the hands of my editor now. Once he finishes it, I will then go back and reread it and work with him until I feel it’s ready to publish. I have sent it out to several people for review so their blurbs will be on the cover. That part is fun.

As I said before, I invite you to join me on Facebook. I post new material there every day. It is quicker than using the blog and I can reach more people that way, so Friend me and let the fun begin!

I have not received any donations since my new site went up. If you are a fan of my work and can afford it, drop a few dollars in the bucket through my Paypal link. It helps pay for the website costs.

I am happy to receive comments, so don’t be shy about leaving one after you read this. Writers need feedback! And tell your friends about LIFE WITH A HOLE IN IT.

I want to tell you guys a beautiful story. This morning I had an appointment with my dermatologist to get a few “thingies” removed. His assistant said I could thank my grandmother, since they were hereditary. I looked her right in the eye and said, “FU, grandmother!” She looked shocked, not knowing if I was kidding or not. I told her I was.

Then the doctor comes in. He had a major intestinal blockage that required emergency surgery and had been off for five weeks. We chatted about that and soon I was making him laugh. I told him what I had told his assistant about my grandmother (whom I loved, btw).

I told him about my book and turns out he has an idea for a book. He asked about how to get published and I told him I was using booklocker.com and was working on my second book. He wants a copy of LIFE WITH A HOLE IN IT. I told him what it was about and he got tears in his eyes. I said I would send him a copy.

“How did you escape the medical arrogance?” I asked him frankly. “I don’t know,” he said, “I’ve just never been an arrogant kind of guy.” I told him that I had no family in town besides my son. I said, “If he’s out of town, I have no backup.” He said, “You’ve got me.”

I don’t know this guy personally. I just know he has been my dermatologist for years and I have always liked him. For him to say that was huge because he meant it. He was saying, in so many words, “Call if you need any backup. I’m here and I mean it.”

He mentioned going to Auschwitz because he had relatives who were there. He also gave me the name of a family physician that is unusually kind, someone he refers people to and knows personally.

This man made my day. He wants my book and he offered his sweet spirit to me. He has a busy practice, but he clearly enjoyed our conversation and when we walked me up the checkout desk, a group of his employees were gathered around the desk.

“I want you guys to meet this woman,” he said. She’s written for Joan Rivers, Phyllis Diller, Jay Leno, Jeff Foxworthy. So I left there with a happy heart and a book sale. Most importantly, there are people in this world who have such big hearts they will offer their friendship to strangers they feel needs a loving connection. I drove home on air and with a few less “thingies.”

“Facebook connections are made on a higher plane than the mundane, in my opinion. They are essentially who we are if given free rein, free of the body/mind and it’s blah, blah, blah. Just my two cents.” Vicki Woodyard

I wrote those words in response to a Facebook friend who said, “I have friends here in facebook that I connect with more than “real” friends.”

Since I am a writer, I count on readers! Everything is connected and without readers, I would have no one to share my life with as the One. I am online every day all day. What if I had to travel to meet each one of you? If I had to book a motel and rent a car to say hello? It wouldn’t work.

It is easy to look back and remember the days of the old black telephone that had its own niche in the wall and there were party lines. Then came the Princess phone and colored phones. When I was a teenager, we had four extensions in our house and the kitchen phone was yellow and mine was white. White! I loved it. And my brother and I would have brutal fights about getting off the phone so the other one could use it.

And then came the cell phone. I resisted buying one for years and now have one for emergencies. Along came Caller I.D. and as Seinfeld says in a comedy bit, when the phone rings, everyone backs away from it! In the old days of innocence, one ran to the phone to see who could answer it first.

Then came Skype and people can see each other. Boy, do I resist that idea. I am much more comfortable being unseen. But Facebook is something that really, really calls to me. I use it more than my blog. I can see blogging become as obsolete as the old rotary phone. Why? Because on Facebook everyone is connected.

I love writing a fresh essay and throwing it out onto the dewy lawn of Facebook. My friends go out in their robes and pick it up, knowing I will start their day off in a good way. ( I hope).

As for reality, logically it was over last week. There are no more ladies wearing hats and drinking teas. No more men in their own clubs smoking stogies. We are all bathing in the Ganges of Facebook. How cool is that?

It’s been a while since I’ve updated the blog. I seem to be mostly on Facebook these days. I have begun to edit my second book, which will be called A GURU IN THE GUEST ROOM. I am not sure if it will be paperback or an ebook. It is about Swami Z and I and is a combination of humor and wisdom. He is a lot of fun to write.

I went a while without letting him have any screen time, but lately I am writing his character again.

It’s hot in Atlanta in July, so I am staying inside most of the time. An ideal time to do editing work.

Here is a brief excerpt from the upcoming book:

Stuck

“Swami,” I wailed, “I am stuck.” We were sitting in front of the fire kicking around a variety of spiritual topics. I confided that I didn’t know what God wanted me to be doing. “I know there’s some task that I have come in to do—but I can’t figure it out.” Swami looked at his fingernails then up at the ceiling. I know him so well by now that I readied myself for a worthless answer. He was not about to give up any real info. He  never had; why should he start now? Sun was coming in through the window—a weak, watery light that was merciful to the dust on the end tables. You could have written “Swami” in the dust.

“Here it comes,” he said with a certain air of feigned boredom. “I have some gift to share—some calling…’”

“Yeah,” I said blackly. “Is it me or is it getting sarcastic in here?”  Swami stood up and stretched his back. I could hear it creaking. Then he struck his head with his hand and said, “Ah, yes, now I remember! I don’t exist. You invented me and let me think that I was real. I don’t have to listen to your problems.” He went on. “Let me clue you in—you don’t exist either. We are awash in a sea of what some people call samskara. But let’s get this straight. I call it egocentric thinking.” He sat abruptly and tried to look irritated, but he couldn’t quite pull it off.  What had come over him?  Yesterday he was a cuddly orphan, baking his “Onlies.”

“Snap out of it, Swami,” I barked. “And get your feet off the sofa.” (I always resort to being a bully when I can do nothing else.) Swami stood up, brushed off his corduroys and exited stage left. I pulled the curtains and called it a day. That night as we passed each other in the hall, it was all I could do to keep from hugging him. No matter what he did or said, I loved him deeply. He is my bulwark in a sea of uncertainty.  Let no one tell me that he does not exist. He does. I made him up. I oughta know!

*If you would like to see the book in paperback, consider making a donation. They cost considerably more than ebooks to publish. At this point I could use some help with it. Most of my writing online is done for free; books are a labor of love but do cost a bit. I haven’t yet paid for LIFE WITH A HOLE IN IT.

Bob Woodyard is looking at his earth life. Now he is out of his body and able to  speak from his purified heart:

“Oh, God, my life on earth was so difficult. The last five years were hell; they were my crucifixion. I see my wife, Vicki, and how hard she worked to keep me in the body. How broken and angry and defeated she was.  What she didn’t see was this huge angel that was with her at all times. She didn’t see how well she would do after I left her. She thought I was unaware of how impossible her task was. She feared every day that she would not want to live after I died. But she is not only living, she is flying above any storms that may touch her now. I love her now more than I did while on earth.

The first few years after my death I watched over her so tenderly, in awe at her ability to keep on keeping on. I watched her clean all of my mess out of the garage, sell my tools and my beloved car. Watched her tote stacks and stacks of my old magazines from the basement. I should have done that myself.

I saw her probate my will, driving to the courthouse with our attorney, silently putting her signature on papers as they pointed out the appropriate place. I saw her come home and collapse in tears. But she went on. She managed to get a new roof put on the house and a new kitchen floor installed. She made her energies predominate in the house because her friend and advisor, John Logan, told her it would be helpful. “Get rid of any medical equipment, too,” John said. So I watched the walker and other items be donated to the Salvation Army. The house was beginning to feel lighter. But not Vicki’s heart. She would still cry almost every day. It is difficult for a spirit to watch this process. I prayed mightily for her. And she, of course, kept writing about all of it.

Her pleasures were simple and she was learning to set nice, clean boundaries around herself. She didn’t know it, but taking care of me so faithfully had shown her how to take care of herself. She couldn’t see it, but I could see her coming back to life after the first year without me.

After the first three years of watching over her, I felt she was strong enough for me to go on my own mission up here. I had to use what I learned from my own years of suffering. So now I just “touch in” when she really needs me. I came to her in a dream more than once, but she seldom remembered. When I came and showed her my diary and said, “Your prayers are written daily on the wall of my heart” she was deeply moved. She lay there in bed afraid to move lest she break the mood of the dream. Yes, she cried, but it was a good, healing cry.

Some of you may think Vicki is making this all up. She is. God has seen to it that her way of writing is her way of healing. I stand behind this piece of fiction as I stand behind everything she does. She is one helluva lady and as she says to me on occasion, “More today than yesterday, less than tomorrow.” As she spends each day on earth trying to shine more light on her darkness, I know the truth. The light is all there is. Our love is one magnificent experience and yes, when she crosses over, I will be the first person she sees. The beloved, the one who was the wind beneath my wings. Now I have a pretty big set and she will have some, too.

Sceptics and cynics are just people whose hearts have not been broken wide enough open yet. I was glad when she added the subtitle to her book. That’s how the light gets in. I wouldn’t want her to think that her life had been in vain. She had her faults and her weaknesses. I always, always loved her in spite of them. She was my earth angel, she was.

 

There is a way to outgrow your fear. Become established in the field of everything happening at once. It is also the field of which Rumi speaks, that field out beyond right and wrong.

Fear is nothing more than a profound sense of separateness. Once that is gone, everything falls into place, whirls into place.

I can hear you asking, “How do I see that everything is happening at once?’

How can you not?

If you have seen the movie, Whalerider, you know that there is a scene where the young girl climbs upon the back of a beached whale and rides it back into the sea. “I am not afraid to die,” she says (or words to that effect). As she goes underwater, you fear that she will, but she survives and becomes the leader of her tribe.

“The true you emerges when there is no attempt to prove anything to anyone.”

(Vernon Kitabu Turner, Soul Sword)

We are a puny bunch of people these days, are we not? Riding whales into the oceanic depths is only something that people do in the movies. I have a hard time driving in traffic. But this story moved me. It is a call to spiritual warriorship. Turner writes compellingly about warriorship. “There are many ways to flow with the wind. One way is to trust yourself to be yourself.”

Spirituality is that in us which is undivided; the mind cannot go beyond its element. We must trust the process of surrender if we are to go beneath the waves of sorrow and resurface with our spirit intact. I have only begun to make this journey of riding my soul back to its native home. My mind encourages me to postpone the journey. To stay and argue with people about rules and regulations, about insurance and appointments shown on the calendar. I do not have to die to honor these commitments. I can continue living a plastic life, compartmentalized and sane. But underneath the sea rages.

I have a CD by Herding Cats that I like. There is a line in one song about where the black waters roll. I can almost physically feel these black waters in my body as the song plays. I know these waters well. Don’t we all? Where is our courage on any given day? Bob had to get five vials of blood drawn yesterday when he exited the trial drug study that he was on. The nurse who was drawing his blood had great difficulty in getting enough blood to come out. There were four people watching and we were all cringing. I asked him twice if he was okay, and he said that he was. Once we got home, I was able to let my hair down and feel the accumulated stress in my body.

Today we sat and meditated for a while. We talked about regaining our spirit during the next three weeks that he has off before resuming chemo once again. We have been violated by a society that values knowledge above spirit and answers above the process of questioning. It is time for us to ride the whale back into the sea.

I feel so alone in all of this. The past three years since Bob’s diagnosis have been difficult. But it cannot be otherwise. This is a spiritual journey as well as a physical one. Only spirit can prove strong enough to endure what lies ahead.

*Excerpted from Vicki’s book,LIFE WITH A HOLE IN IT: That’s How The Light Gets In.

Prayers of the heart are written in true ink. True tears become true ink when they are given over to the Supreme. I have cried so many tears that I have bottles and bottles of true ink. It comes in many colors, from red to black to gold to white. I use all of it, for that is how I discover myself and come to grace.

Every day now I write from the heart to the heart. There is no difference. The words issue forth from source and they are all good. Typos are accepted as well as perfect copy, for God knows that error is ultimately wiped away.

I write from what used to be a sense of loss and now is a sense of peace. What I have lost cannot be restored; it can be hallowed and connected to in a very real way. Those I love who have passed beyond the veil are reading everything that my heart writes.

Bob came to me in a dream and said, “Your prayers are written on the wall of my heart everyday.” True ink.  True ink. The ink of emptiness has become full.

You may order Vicki’s book here on the website.

Jerry Katz of Nonduality.com says: “As good as Vicki’s individual essays are, when organized into a book they come across with even greater power and grace.”

 

Loving God is a mystery, since we are That. Colossians says, “Christ in you, the hope of glory.” That is inscribed on our daughter’s gravestone. There she lay at age seven, me age thirty-five. A lifetime of sorrow stretched before me.

Flash forward twenty plus years and I am standing by the grave of my husband. He lies next to our daughter. I know I have to go on. I also know that he asked me to find my passion before he died and this is it.

I write and write and write, as I walk and walk and walk the path back home to the heart. The path IS the heart, of that I have no doubt. But the journey is a spiral one for us all. Have compassion for you never know who is about to break under a heavy load, who is carrying their cross and thirsting.

How do you slake another’s thirst? There is only one way that I have discovered. You can give them living water collected drop by drop from the cistern that has become your heart. You do it by being it. You are it; you have just forgotten it. Once you remember, the water gushes forth of its own power and you are just the witness.