DEEPLY AWAKE: ENTANGLED “How Can I?” By Kathy Vik 6-2-14

DEEPLY AWAKE: ENTANGLED By Kathy Vik

How Can I?” 6-2-14

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www.kathyvik.com

www.deeplyawake.tumblr.com

www.lightworkers.org/magartha

 

I want to tell you a couple things I have become aware of, and, tonight you are Grandma Cannon, and I am me. Let’s pretend. You are a great healer, and we are friends. You know me, I know you, you teach me, you tell me I teach you, and of course, I don’t believe that.

 

We’re at a little cafe just outside your tiny Arkansas house, a house I imagine as much bigger, sometimes, with a guest house, that you ask me to please use, me and my son, once I completed your training. We know each other, and you, my dearest grandmother, you know of our pain,those who have come to you by the thousands, nearly broken, very nearly always broken.

 

You have seen us, and you have let us speak, and, thereby rest, gain strength from reading all the stories of our dear friends,our family, all of us in the same weird boat. You let us speak our truths,so you honor us. You are the confessor. You know it hasn’t been easy.

 

And so you sit, tonight, delighted that I am eating my favorite food, and all you can do is love me, for what I did, how rebellious I am, how headstrong, and still how lonely.

 

You smile, look down at your hands, and feel a mist overtake your eyes, hearing me enjoying my French Onion Soup, “Overjoyed with so little.” That’s what Grandma Cannon thinks, when she is around us. She knows. She knows. And tonight, you are she, and we are finally free to speak openly, without doubt, without restriction, somewhere safe and friendly and non intrusive. Someplace we both know we will visit again, in our thoughts, if ever we need this feeling again.

 

So, I’m scraping the last of the cheese off the inside of my two tone ceramic bowl, having to bite it off the spoon with my teeth, looking over at you, grinning at me, sort of indulgent like, sort of like I’m a kid, and, it feels good. I know I can be safe here. I know I’m seen here, and no one will tell me I’m wrong about anything. And all you want me to do is tell you about this new awareness, this brand new solidity I am integrating, so I hinted, as we were leaving your office for the day.

 

You ask for more coffee and then are moved to talk about one of your favorite regression topics, one of your favorite entities, the ocean and the destroyer. You remind me about the meek little man who came in sort of scared of his own shadow. As soon as he got up high enough, this presence came out, the destroyer, those who know the codes. There are some. And although it is hidden, each know it is available. Does a number on a person’s head.

 

And so, his Oversoul or SC, as you calls it, takes over and explains all about the destroyers. And I just know, if you were to write him, he would have been far along now, now that he knows. It’s important to just know. You stir your coffee.

 

Then the ocean, always the ocean, so many people coming, to be healed of illness and mental anguish and suicidality and ostracism they can neither control nor tolerate, these lost souls come in and talk about being water, individual consciousness within the one, all in and of one. The creator beings, those who had a hand in being, then shaping, the earth itself. All meek and mild people, you smile, pick up the menu, wondering about blueberry pie.

 

Well, then, I say, fine. I will tell you. Just some of it though. Lots of it is already gone. I’m not writing right now. Too much. Here, though, it’s coming together. All of it is just going faster, I pause, for coffee, realizing I’m going to have to be ok with being uncomfortable, at this point unwilling to censor myself any longer.

 

I never told anyone, but one of the first ones was a picture of me pregnant, and I was blue, and the earth was in my belly, and I was transparent, the stars in the sky, and then I was human, and it was buddha, inside me, just a part of me. It felt good. It was so vivid. This is the sort of crap no one talks about. Having Jesus come and talk to me and touch me, my old friend, and knowing about Shiva, and just all of it, I mean,it’s all just mythology anyway, right? But I saw it all come together, first in light. It was beautiful.

 

I pause. I put my head down, smiling, just feeling weirdly awfully good. Shake my head, and look at you. Is your mood different? Has permission changed? No.

 

But this last one, I don’t remember much, but it was a coming together. There was a ring of us, twelve of us, big glowing things, beautiful, and we were ringing a huge sequoia. And I was individual, but I was the group, too, and then, we all sort of melted into the tree, into the sap, but this time the sap was golden and sort of bursting. This time I didn’t have to travel, I was pulled, and then it was the sun, but like I’d never seen before.

 

And then I had to drive Sam to school, I think.

 

You chuckle, wondering how it’s done.

 

But, see, I am beginning to get it now. There had always been something missing.

 

I stop because I want pie. We get the nice waitress’ attention and she comes scurrying back with a fresh pot of coffee and new creamer.

 

It started with realizing that I had always live with the expectation of punishment. Just one day, it just plopped in my lap, one morning. And what does that mean? I asked myself. I answered, it means something can, given this construct, go wrong, and, often times, they do go wrong.

 

I realized I had resigned myself to this summation of human behavior, as I slowly walked away from it.

 

So, there was strum and drang with this, but, it led me to today.

 

The deal is, when I had that realization, that this is how I have functioned, all my life, just sort of a resigned attitude, more or less, I came to this other one.

 

I realized, when all is said and all is done, since I was a very wee girl, I understood somewhere deep, somewhere I could never refer to, that no one here is going to do anything but what they want. Ever. Everything is done with permission, somehow, even small, I knew that, but, there was no comfort in it then. Just disappointment. Just massive fucking disappointment.

 

The wind sort of got knocked out of me. My goodness, how true was that? And now that it has been said, is it really true?

 

I have lived with that little nugget happily. It has served me very well.

 

And of course, of course, with this comes much loss.

 

Reliving old patterns, allowing new ones to emerge and finally accelerate me, I understand now that this is really a very very good thing, and the truth of it, my truth. I can’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to do.

 

What a relief.

 

Sort of like that day, now one year ago, when dad fired me as his daughter, me out in the garage smoking and laughing, finally realizing, there is no way on god’s green earth to satisfy some people. So, fuck it, I am free. Fuck it.

 

Sort of like that.

 

So, I am feeling soothed, right now, and very much am looking forward to my pie. I sip my coffee. I think out loud.

 

These simple sentences point to large truths. This is a planet of free choice, free will. This is the only law. One’s own experience is primary, and, in time, must come to know itself as universal, cosmic, even.

 

Best banana cream pie, ever. My cup is warmed up. I realize that I like it this way. It frees everything up. Everything.

 

You sit with this, and are finding solid arguments to this, this whole train of thought, but, then, you look at me, and you can see, I am unencumbered now. There has been a shift. There has been a change. I can feel it too.

 

I sit there, reaching out to hold my dear grandmother’s hand, and I look into her eyes. There is just one thing left to say.

 

I want to thank you, because you are one in a long line of prophets and saints, gurus and teachers, healers and artists, friends and enemies, who came to me when I couldn’t find a way out. I hit walls, and it got so hard, it just.

 

In the silence, a reverence grows, one for the other.

 

I found myself more and more home, the more I trusted, and I know, it’s true, it’s true, I was built for this, just like all the ones you work with. I wipe my nose with my hand, Grandma, we stand together now. I’m not alone anymore. There’s help everywhere, now. You should have seen my new dentist. Amazing. Just astonishing. Sitting there telling me, just in reverence, his wonderful old Indian sage self, you are a beautiful woman, both inside and out. My patients are all very precious to me. It is my honor to serve you.

 

Holy fuck!

 

Language, you say. You are, after all, a Grandma.

 

Something is left undone, but neither can think of it.

 

There is gratitude at that table, gratitude and peace. Soon enough, I remember.

 

Grandma, you know, I have never asked for much.

 

You nod.

 

I have simple needs. I don’t ask for much.

 

I know, I know, you say.

 

How can I?

 

You hold my hand again.

 

It’s sterile, this place, and I have not enjoyed being here. I start trying the crust, if it’s good enough to eat.

 

So, I’ve decided to remember something I forgot until just recently. I’ve been reminded of things, lately, that are truer than even the hard stuff was, and the stuff it has been teaching us.

 

You nod, smiling on the last several hours, where we were reading success stories, turnabouts, miracles, changes, and how can it not be said? The science girl is finally full, and feeling clearer. Ready to sum it all up and have you pay the check. And the tip. Thanks.

 

You say, almost chiding, as you gather up your purse, and the books you always drag along with, the more you’re there, the more you’re there.

 

Precisely! I say. Precisely! You can’t unlearn what you have learned. You cannot erase this stuff. And, the best one, once an expansion has been achieved, it is impossible, energetically, to return to a less expanded form. Contraction is temporary.

 

Contractions are temporary! You repeat, and two older women, one much much older, I make fun of it all, now and then, and now, here we are, nearly skipping out of that old diner, trying to remember where we parked the car, and what comes next for the two of us this fine Arkansas evening.

 

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