DEEPLY AWAKE: ENTANGLED 5-19-14
Essay, “Descension and Ascension“ By Kathy Vik
It’s with a sense of relief and homecoming that I sit and write a regular Deeply Awake today.
I was apprehensive when initially following the instructions: no more essays, no more confessional for you. We want to come out, stretch our legs.
I worried, I guess, that I would accelerate too quickly, and wouldn’t be able to integrate what I was receiving. I imagined I’d finally turn into that which I have always feared I’d become, or, indeed, had become: a mad woman, content to pace a small space, in mismatched clothes, muttering, gone. No longer able to tolerate socialization, the company of others. Abstracted, fully taken over by things which remain, as yet, unseen. The madwoman’s favorite things.
I sing this song for you, my brothers, my sisters, my loved ones all over the world who have struggled as I have struggled, who have known the suffering and fear of wanting to go home, unable to ever define where, how, why, when or what “home” is, and knowing you can’t, not yet. And maybe you, too, know that you never quite how fit in, walking around feeling and knowing what it is to be The Other.
We have all been through it, have we not?
There are so many of us, but we have, up until now, been growing in our separate gardens, seedlings, I think.
And now, there is green, just a flash of green, poking from loamy earth, the black dirt I loved as a kid, that Minnesota dirt, honesty, the smell of certainty and goodness and honesty, the green is there, where once there was pitch darkness.
And it is not the earth which has lowered. It is the seed which has arisen.
That’s been the crux of it, for me. I think I saw this, what I have labeled “ascension,” as something outside of me, happening to me, even once things started to get clear. Oh, I would say, here is another circumstance to manage. Here is another person to learn to cherish. Here is another angry, bitter, judgmental one, yet another one, intent only on reminding me how I am unable, not unwilling, but unable to measure up.
And I would dive headlong into the experience, feeling it undo me, redefine me, but, you see, I know now that the way in which I dive is perfect for me, it is familiar and getting better all the time, and, it’s just fine, thank you.
It’s odd, these days, not being able to come to you after a powerful meditation, something that I know has altered me, this me, something from which there is thankfully no returning. Oh, how I loved to describe the before and the after and the moment in between.
And the lab, the lessons, the learning, does nothing but stabilize and grow, now. And this, this is the song we need to be singing most of all these days, I think. These changes are permanent. Physics. Trust me. Things. Only. Can. Get. Better.
I can sit here and tell you, like I used to, my well worn catalogue of worries, or expectations, or even aspirations. It would be nice, certainly familiar, but, the hour is getting late, and my work stands as a tribute to someone convinced of being alien, unwillingly alien. You can read all about it, how, through days and weeks and years of sustained and beloved, determined effort, puzzle pieces began to fall into place as meditation and living lesson given, and the wheels turned, the tumblers fell into place, and my conundrums, my sweet koans, one by one, they were no longer what they had been.
These koans and conundrums, obsessions and perseverations, oh, they have been grand and fitting for the times. And through all of this wrestling and inner struggle sat a beautiful, amazing, loving, solidly built, older, graying lady, so calm it’s a little unnerving, sitting on a rock next to some trees, looking on as I talk to myself, and laugh a lot, and have thoughts, and cry sometimes. It’s sunny, so she has shades on. She is still, quiet, peaceful, and understands that crying is a good thing, because it leads to epiphany, and epiphany leads to a grounded understanding of the universe and one’s place in it, if done well.
And that is the woman who comes to me now,and puts her arm around my shoulders when I am distressed because, once again, I don’t understand why people do as they do, why they hide from themselves, why they are so afraid. She grins, nestles next to my face, lets my tears flow and shows them honor, blessing them as they roll into my mouth, telling me, these tears are special. You need them for this next part. Be assured they are liquid diamonds, and are far more valuable, loved one.
She steadies me now, all the time, and helps me with the social contracts that have always tripped me up and made me feel bad about myself, and now, I hear whispers, funny, strong voices, telling me when to speak, when to speak, and to speak from my heart, from my soul,she reminds me, gently, she says, gently, and what is given is then given to others in love, always in love, understanding, finally, my part in this life is to love it all, in good humor and celebration.
She, they, now have no compunction in telling me when to just shut up. I have only recently realized, they have been trying to help, but the volume was turned up too loud on my inner radio. I needed to hear me, I needed to see and experience and express me. Always, this was the prime directive. Know Thyself.
And for me,this knowledge could only be conferred by sacred, free expression. I always will need this, will always have my mouth half way open, ready to give, being a Spectral Monkey, but, now, I am being taught how to listen. At work, at hen circle, no place is untouched. Sit down and listen. Until now I heard them say it and would get whiny, panicky, and realized that I did not know how. I still don’t, not like other people can, but they are helping me now, in all ways, and I see improvement, I feel better.
Being still. Shutting up. Whatever you want to call it.
Within lies the most magnificent paradox of them all, one just for me, and you know, you must know by now, writing this out, like this, I do it because I have to, because I came here to do this, but the agreement was, there would be someone on the other side, reading along. And look, my friend, at what we are doing! Here, today, speaking of paradox and metaphor, universes and conversations!
And so, I sit, arms open, computer on, my fourth cup of coffee buzzing me a bit, telling you what it is like in here, in here, not out there, in here. So, it’s mine, and by extension, of course, dear friend, this is yours, but only, you know by now, only if you love it, only if you can feel the words, or can shake your head and cluck your tongue and say “uncanny” in your head as you read. No resonance, move on, “take what you love, leave the rest,” The Teachers used to say.
That’s the only way this works, that and me never telling another what to do. You have noticed that, have you not? It’s funny, but there are only a few writers out there now who I will let talk to me that way, “You should do this, do this to feel good,” blah blah blah. Walk your walk, sister, walk straight and show me you mean it, brother. I have found a few, and they are dear to me, because the messages are written to feel as if they were penned for me, just for me, to help with this incongruent thought, that worry.
I write to you, today, the one who is switching on, and, of course, you know this by now, too, I direct my words to those who know that which I write is not unusual, even the light shows I describe, the miracles in synchronicity, the healings of relationship, purpose and meaning.
I give happily to you, some who have been taking each step with me, in your own lives, bottom after bottom falling out. We look at each other now with knowing eyes, each of us finally understanding that we’d burst out laughing if we felt another big one coming, now, because we have incontrovertible proof that when the bottom falls out, the flying can commence.
I write to you because I know that neither of us, dear reader, are alone, and both of us have known profound isolation. All we ever had to do, was feel it, and we are seeing now, sensing and getting confirmation now that, all along, we had family close by, and they were taking each step with us, each in their own way, dressed in all manner of foot wear, on roads that defy description. We have never been alone, this tribe of ours. But during the dark days, the alone time, we all agreed to remain silent. It was not yet safe to speak. You remember those days, don’t you?
And it matters to say the word, “Hello,” to each other now.
One night, for his “blessing,” I told Sam a beautiful story about an ancient lighthouse. It involved astral projection and all the lighthouses being connected by the light each of them poured out of themselves to help the ships. It was lovely.
I wrote a very long story about it, and although arduous, it is poignant and many-layered. Parable, oh I love parable and analogy most of all, metaphor and paradox. In the story, written after a meditation, I was trying to describe what I had seen.
I have had, since I started, a theme that plays through many meditations.
The first time I saw it, there were four massive columns of light coming out of the planet, and I can see now, they were lines, intersecting, interconnected, although, at the time, I just saw posts, like lone tooths. We, as lights, were very very large, an as I rode the light, I saw how we were connected in a lattice pattern, and this pattern was part of this light weave that was the earth, part of the earth. We, I remember, that very first time, were were each spinning like light tornadoes, like the genie finally release after a super long confinement, and I remember us winking at one another, the four of us. The columns split, divided, fractally everywhere, and then, after we’d said hi to one another, we all seemed to spin down, and we were then on the earth, not above it, in skin, in our lives again.
As time has passed, this imagery has morphed. The columns became more numerous, and there was just more light available, and, looking back, as is my wont, I have found a weird sub-plot, me just adding randomly, sometimes, “It’s just a little past dawn. The light’s coming up, but it’s going to get brighter.” and then, through the essays, you can see the clock hand turn, can see the day break, and how that was looking, to me, I explained.
This lighthouse story is significant, and I bring it up here because, the story ended with the young lighthouse understanding the isolation he felt was as real as could be languaged. He was alone because he didn’t think he couldn’t be. He did not understand the properties of the light the embodied, was committed to, was married, fused to, you see.
He understood that the same light he knew and represented was the very same one others had. There was only one, and, this light, it connected him energetically. By the end of the story he was peaceful, and wasn’t lonely anymore, after a day with an ancient lighthouse. The story closes with the little lighthouse knowing the ancient must leave eventually, and the ancient just sitting with the young one, as the sun set over the sea our youth was responsible for, in the end understanding that this never has to end, it just takes different forms.
I tell you, the changes I see in me are vast now, and, I thought to myself, slipping into my slippers to take Sam to school this morning, it’s a lot like when you work really hard on a diet, and everyone around you starts commenting, geez, you look good, and suddenly, you look down and see a smaller body, the same exact body you had five seconds before, that you had been seeing and knowing as ugly, fat, all the awful things we curse at our flesh. But the point is, one day you feel one way, and the next day, you feel another.
This is an important thing and what I want to explore it a little, but first, I am telling you that I am feeling an ease I have not had in weeks, being here, with you now, like this, deeply awake and entangled. Here, there are no falsehoods, and, there is speaking freely, speaking freely.
This is what I have fashioned for myself, and for you. Somewhere where I know, simply know, that there is no such thing as a forbidden topic, taboo, perversity or sin. Somewhere where I can say anything, anything at all, and I do not give a thought as to whether you like it or not. It really is not important to me here. Forgiveness is a meaningless, facile thing, here.
And I stand as your servant, your loving servant, speaking words which have remained too long silent, too brooded over, too worried on. Imagine the pleasure of knowing there is nothing which can be done or said which is not perfectly acceptable, allowed, invited, respected.
And so, I ask, do you have such a place? There is a fearlessness within us, each of us having fooled ourselves into believing we aren’t freedom embodied, and this fearlessness is one which, I believe, is a prime attribute of the new human. The long dormant seed, sprouting on this fine May evening. It is known by an inner possession, I have been thinking it is.
I had a vision a a couple years ago, when thinking on the seven chakra system, that it really is a circle, and the it’s more like a sphere, but still, the idea is that the chakras are interconnected. Of course, this will one day, probably quite soon, be looked on as shockingly rudimentary, but we all have to star somewhere.
I saw that the 1st and the 7th, the root and the crown, were one. Their issues interrelated, I guess. Will and divine will, personal knowledge and cosmic knowledge.
And then, the 2nd and the 6th. I see them, basically, as the intimacy system, intimacy with others, with emotions and sexuality, and intimate with source, through our pineal gland. It’s a nice way to look at it, I think.
And then 3rd and 4th, or the battle between the heart and the throat, the moral of our collective consciousness story, glittering there for all to see, unnoticed. Women in their hearts, battling, daily, with the yin their yang cannot seem to touch. Ah, the battle is fierce, and it is collective, having traveled through the systems to this one, and all do, and all can.
It’s a system of powerful metaphor, and, by simple extension, it can be plain why there is difficulty here, sometimes, One group concentrated this struggle with every breath, the other, dominant group formerly disengaged from this final frontier. That’s how I see it, anymore. This is Pachemama. This is balancing the poles. It is creating the foundation for harmony between us all.
We old ones know that it matters not, really, what the gender, there are initiations for each, for all, always startlingly personal, but the arc, here, may very well be that of descension, as I have heard talked about from time to time.
So I will leave you pondering a question. For me, my intention, my only intention, since birth until now, is this, what I am doing now. That’s it. Everything else was a side show, weird allegorical adventures, filled with sensation and sound and emotion, but this, here, this is where I have always belonged, what I made myself leave behind when I lock my front door
Leaving it behind, I got by in the world, and sometimes still do little but that, trying to act normal, making excuses for my memory glitches and social blunders, too aware of the soup we ride in not to respond to it, me, a master of energetics, seeing patterns on everything now, hearing the song of high science billowing through my blood, exciting me for a lifetime I am bursting to explore, as I sit here and soar, tapping on this little computer of mine.
And I am here, in my jammies, smoking a cigarette, thinking it would be nice to finally breakdown and run the vacuum.
The question Deeply Awake posed was a simple one. How does one integrate this shit? I actually asked that question, and with that language, more than once, just to the greater community. Sort of cyber cries of WTF?
I knew that the more I stayed there, the more I was there, and that being there was where I liked it best, so, through this most recent shift, I have found, to my utter joy, that my life has become nothing short of an unending series of profound synchronicites. I can hear them in brand new ways, and I have physical sensations now, very good, powerful, pleasurable sensations, and they focus, all of them, focus, on embodiment. Empowerment, Sovereignty.
And so, I have had some time to break away from the confessional, and, of course, this was all planned out so nicely, so purposefully, so amazing, because, I was receiving gifts I have yet to know how to discuss, and, I know, smiling, there are some I never will discuss, and the meditations accompanying the laboratory has been bursting, you guys, bursting. Mediation is amazing. I look forward to it. I am so altered after it now, every time. Every time. Every time.
You know by now I could not boast if I tried. It would come out ridiculous. Have you ever seen me? Do you know of my fucked up decisions, my depraved, dark, dangerous years in the desert? You do if you have been reading along, and if you have not, and you are called to do so, take a look back on the web at the earlier stuff. The only way to do it, anymore, is to use my tumblr page. Under that little gray clock hides my library.
I’ll tell you this little story to end.
Yesterday, I went to hen circle. I was altered, so pure, so alive and joyful to be finally doing so. I had accomplished something I did not think possible, and I was given a gift by my team that can not help but change my reality. I can refer to it, reference it, re read it. I wrote the best thing of my life, yesterday, produced under steady hands, fearless hands, open hands. Blown open with love so thick free floating, cascading love with no source and no focus, just a haze we all began to breathe, as a group, I sat there and chatted with the ladies, drank tea, offered words of encouragement, but no longer of identification. My first response was not, “Oh, really, same here,” and I was glad of it.
Norma set the intention of the group, that today we would do dealing, any sort of healing that we were called to do, for the ones who felt called to ask for it. And so, we did a meditation to start, after greetings and salutations had gone around the room.
I remembered then what Diane had taught me while slipping down into the couch and smiling, getting to go away again, for a purpose other than because it feels so nice. I remembered, watching her, how to move to an ancient rhythm she instantly, obediently fell into, she had taught me much, and today, oh my god, today, I get to do it and be of help, I thought, watching the color show, feeling love so dizzying I knew I was sparkling.
We used to call it “fluffing energy,” and she would do the most amazing things with her hands outstretched, in my fields. She would flick her hands about, rub them together really fast, pull energy out, in long, delicious lines, like pulling strands of hair from your son’s eyes.
I know I am a structure girl. I prefer to sit in the corners of rooms, hold the room. I prefer it. So, I didn’t volunteer, just yet, but I was so full of love for the first lady that I asked if I could chant a little bit, with their permission. They hadn’t wanted to hear about my joke about the how each sign reacts after sex, so I thought I better get permission to sing a song.
They said sure, and people stilled, and then out came my song, a song of songs, the Gayatri. And the lady on the other side of the room with the lime green kerchief joined in.
I was allowed to heal, to give love,in that circle, and I gained much in confidence and courage, and by the end of it, I knew, I knew, I am in love with all humanity. My impatience is understandable, and has caused me suffering. It is resistance to this reality. But, oh! How I love humanity. I wept with tears of joy when moved, in hen circle, as we all did. It’s not possible to feel that sort of love and not melt, you now this.
The last meditation, oh, this, she smiles, there is much that cannot be languaged, but I will tell you that Norma had, for me, turned into what Gail always, each and every time, turned into around me, all those times she channeled The Teachers, my teachers. Norma was no longer Norma. I was being spoken to, directly. It was all about being vulnerable to love, and I know, I know, I am learning, finally, to receive.
They were forceful and they were to the point, and they know I will not obey unless it is delivered like that. Matter of fact, plain as day, the message is delivered in such high honor that no expectation could dare come close. This was not an instructions set. This was me being loved by my old friends, being tended to, being guided, being reminded for the truth of it, always the truth of it, once and again and always.
So, today I know things I did not know yesterday. I know a calm, a sense of well being, have since Saturday, as consistent and reliable as my doubt was. It is non specific, it is all inclusive, and it is without regard to outcome or storyline.
The little me weeps, sometimes, when I think that things are not working out very well, and I complain that I am tired and don’t want to work as hard as I do, I want some time off for good behavior. I want the things I have asked for, remember somehow, know to be mine, and I am sad when I see this is all linear. I have once again misunderstood, and instead felt and seen things whole, easily tapping into the joy and sense of accomplishment a literary career would be, for instance, of things yet unexperienced, riding crests of safety and homecoming, knowing I am finally being seen as something more than a pain in the ass who talks too much, who has queer thoughts and awkward interactions.
These dichotomies, these nuances, they are my meditation, lately, but this morning, to close, I tell you this morning, something very new came over me.
I had a good cry, was feeling shelled out and raw, and the future lady was there, and there were words of truth spoken to me, words of sense, of perspective, of balance and love.
I saw that this has always been a journey of embodiment. Of owning one’s power, all of it, and being one with it, unafraid, familiar within, no longer needing anyone to tell you what they see or think about you, because you have looked at yourself and this was the day, that weird and wonderful day, when it feels like all the dieting paid off.
I am glad to have written this. I needed a break from channeling. I was willing, and so, as I always do before I write, I settled, I chanted and prayed a little, just because it reminds me of home, sets the space for me. Not necessary, but these acts of instinctual self care, they are points of power, ritual.
I said I am happy to channel, look forward to it, I want more science, I’m wanting so much more, and it was silent. Blank. There has been no dictation today, not the kind that makes listening to music impossible, so visceral and deep the voices blow through me, consuming me, and here comes today, it is something else again, a letter strewn on the side of a country road, someone’s impressions, news from home, wishes of well being and happiness.
I am blessed to be able to give this to you today, because, today you are giving me a gift, and you did not even know it.
All this time, pacing the floor, smoking cigarettes, altered and altering all I connect with, not fully aware, just getting maddening glimpses sometimes, unable to own what was going on, that is the struggle, and the drama, I think, of Deeply Awake.
How I would always end with, well, I hope this didn’t suck, and god only knows how any of this ends up, or if it is even REAL, basically. Never really knowing if there was permission to speak so freely, not yet able to use my voice as I now can do.
And now, because of your indulgence, those years when you and I walked alone tougher, those years in the deep, the years of breaking out, breaking free, we are finally able to breathe deeply again, finally feeling as if the earth had been tipped just a little bit in our favor, suddenly.
When you walked with me, and you left me notes , I unfolded, uncrumpled every one, studied each word, read them, carry them with me now. They are tucked into my shirt, bound with lace. I would get done reading, and then I walked my road, with a secret wish, a hope, a fear, a longing, hoping that one day the kindness encoded finally be translated into something I could feel, that would feel real to me, would be something I could really believe.
And today appears to be that day. I have understanding now, that what I am doing is good, is valuable, and will help, is helping, people, and so, although it is odd and glittering with songs from unknown lands and times, I am actually able, today to understand that it was I , it was always this I, this one with veiny hands, good, broad hands and short, gnarled fingers, this one with vision requiring glasses, who doesn’t like linear things and so has trouble with housework, this one, this one who has thought herself unlovable, unknowable, now she, I, we, know something in the body. This sense of being in the body. Brand new. And this is descension. This is ascension.
I brought up chakras because I think this integrative process is, of course, DNA and intent driven, and so, all is entangled, all is quanta, all is stunningly precise in its unending, inexhaustible love, honor, respect, compassion, acceptance for us, individually and en masse, from tsunami or genocide to a simple, enduring act of tenderness toward a stranger.
This is a love which many think is something they must obtain from without. This morning I saw how the energy bends, and could feel the magnetics, the bending outward, the splitting off of intent and focus. And then, I saw, and was told, that this fire is within, in the base, on the pelvic floor, and it is this grounding which makes for true empowerment of self, of sovereignty. From this, connection, communion, harmony among all, radiates. Once it is felt spinning in the base, once it is realized in the arms and hair and mouth, then, you are unshakable.
See the view from here, they said. And it was vast, and I was spinning, and I understood more than I had before.
Thank you for walking beside me this day, in this way. We are, after all, just walking each other home.