DEEPLY AWAKE: ENTANGLED By Kathy Vik
Although I am very curious what “they” have to say about this event, I don’t feel that channeling is the right way to get the information. I’d rather just spitball with you here, and enjoy the nice weather, today being a fine summer day.
So, yet again, using micro to infer macro, and macro to explain micro, I take a look at what things are like this morning, and am pretty pleased, overall, with how things feel.
I was walking away from my car, having fetched something out of it just a few minutes ago, hit the button that made it honk, unlocked my basement door, and was struck by the notion that I had not been thinking about the job I just left. So I stood there and tried to conjure up the usual feelings of relief and guilt, that odd combination of regret and glee, and it just was not there.
I thought about that little dude from work, the last person I’d peg as a professional drummer, who gave me a sticker for his band, a band I’ll be able to go see play next weekend. I like that his sticker is on my new car. I like, I thought, as the door unlocked and swung it past me, I like that I have things like this to look forward to.
Again, as I fired up the net book, I considered not having a job, and having absolutely not one whit of interest in cruising the web for another one today. Not one.
And it brought me, again , to solstice.
It’s been doing that, my thinking, for well over a month.
Long before I had finally had enough of the nonsense, I understood that solstice would be a before and after of some sort. I’ve had many of them, and really am glad when I have fair warning. I like fair warning. I like knowing. But it takes true presence of mind to sustain it, and not skid into unbalance. Years learning about it. Years.
And so, this thinking is what was there, what led me, to the evening, just a couple of days ago, when Sam and I went to the BBQ place he tolerates and I love. We go there because there is something, just one thing, on that menu he likes, but he wants, sometimes, to just make me happy. We were both feeling happy. We claimed our favorite corner, the little corner booth, overlooking the highway, and I got to start feeling and watching all that divine traffic speed past, we watched the soccer game, Ghana versus America, we were silent and full, before the food arrived, and I felt happy.
I am not sure about this. Maybe some people walk around like that all the time. That would be very nice, if that were the case. And although I walk around comfortable, feeling like that, like I did in that booth, looking at my son and our meal and a game and the traffic, feeling it all so acutely and loving it all so much, well, there is truly nothing finer. I sat there and felt lifted, I guess you could say. Lifted. I felt a motion running through my body, and I was at peace.
In this space of contentment, I told Sam I needed to go wash my hands (he looked at me, smiled, and told me to get your face too, mom), and then I wanted to go smoke.
As odd as it sounds, I use it sometimes to just enjoy, linger on, and even expand a feeling state. I knew I needed to be alone with how I was feeling, to let it expand. Put legs under it, I suppose. So, in bliss, I shuffled outside and leaned against a post, under shade, and smoked. No one came out of the joint, no one went in. No one to look at me, no one to talk with me, and I knew this is how I wanted it it, and how it would be, until I was done. I was in agreement, in those minutes. In agreement with my soul, I think.
And that’s, I guess, why I didn’t channel today, even when I was in the sun, past the cabin and through the sequoia, even then, no, I think not, even as the words spilled out and the fingers began to play on this keyboard.
All erased, all gone.
I stood out there, feeling suspended and in a state of bliss, gratitude, solidity, and I thought on things that I do not normally think on when I smoke. Some of the things I think on, when in meditation, or at night, as pretty and as solid as they are, they don’t make it out that far, all the way out to my fingertips, my lungs, the weather, the traffic, the circumstances. I don’t think about advanced esoterica when smoking usually, but there it was, just this lovely understanding, just the union, I think, of what I know to be true in my DNA, and what is true here, in my skin. A link up, a match up, maybe.
And so, I looked at the rocks, so many of them, no grass here, the strip between parking lot and sidewalk instead filled in with hundreds of medium sized rocks, and I thought about Lemuria, and ascension, and what it means to me now, not two years ago, not twenty years ago.
And that’s the point of writing this, I think.
I have a familiarity and a comfort with this that I didn’t before. As much as I would like to parse the whys of this state, I defer instead to the moment, the moment that actually then went on and on, back into the restaurant, back into more spinning in my chest and peace in my heart and soccer on the tv and ribs in my belly, sauce all over my fingers and face once again.
To be a creature, I am finding, is its own heaven, and to be human is a beautiful thing. Those who have read me, these years, and those who have known me, through these years, knows how odd it is for me to say it while actually believing in, doing something as mundane as looking around and smoking. And it has been strum and it has been drang, of course, some of it, leading to this now. Sure. That’s true. But it has been so much more than that.
And so, from that perfect moment to this one, I have had many understandings and have seen much, understood and reconciled much, and am sitting now, on my bed, thinking about what comes next, in a way that is new, much like what I felt downstairs.
I have understood that nothing is to be decided about my little life until after the solstice. That’s sort of what I have been getting since these plans started forming, a couple months ago, maybe more. Maybe not a full stop, like some of the dates I have known. More of an energetic before and after, I keep thinking.
So, the plans are simple ones. Simple. Everyone is just going with it. Without argument or complaint, Sam and Jerry will take care of themselves for five days. That’s the plan. I can be absent for five days, completely disengaged. Without role, without title, without.
I’ve only had that one other time, when I was compelled to travel the desert, go the Laughlin, drive to Sedona, rambling around the southwest with pennies in my pocket and visions playing me. Four days of high understanding, and base pleasure. Simple pleasure. Listening. Always just listening. And then obeying. Only for fun. Always seeking out peace, fun, excitement, doing and eating and thinking what feels right now, and now, and now.
The thought of sleeping under a stranger’s roof always makes me slightly uncomfortable, or at least it used to. The idea of staying with a friend, with many friends, for a whole weekend, with no escape hatch, no space at all that is mine, oh, this is not a comforting thought for me. And yet, look that that, it feels sort of good right now.
My friend is opening her ranch to us, and there will be five of us, gathering from all over the country, loved ones from the moment we started corresponding, not a personal boundary in any of us, weirdly, and all of us, from that first invitation to this, just knowing we were friends.
And the years have passed. And this year, I can join them on their annual solstice weekend.
I don’t know how they pass their time, when they get together, but the closer I get to it, I know it’s pretty much how I pass my time. I can feel into it, and there is not a lot of noise there. Some, maybe, but not a lot. If it turns out there’s noise, I can rent a room and come visit. It’s nice to know there are options. But, no, I don’t think that will be at all necessary, and that, to me, is the best part.
It comes, I think from allowing. So much of this has been about being willing, if only for thirty seconds, maybe, at first, to imagine something as something other than what I think it is. What is noise, after all? Dissonance. Disagreement, not meeting the others, not matching. That’s noise. Negotiations, assertions, concessions. That’s noise, right now, and I feel none of it.
And so, perhaps it’s not at all about the environment, not at all, and maybe it has to do with the receiver. Maybe it’s me, I think, smiling, knowing that of course, of course, what other explanation is there?
And then I think on this last job. I wonder if I’ve learned what I needed to from it, I think. And then I can feel it spinning there, to the left and down, right over there, spinning free, a job I had for a little bit, purposeful, intense, all lit up, and complete. Of course that’s all there was to it. Shuck it. Let it be, there, spinning and finally quiet. Finally.
I think the quiet, and the soft evening I spent, and all the soft days I have known, have to do with what I felt standing outside, calling on my Indian, the one who understands peace pipes and silence. Pulling all of this together, being ok with being able to see, and loving my remaining, at times significant blindness, all at once. Feeling my skin, rubbing my fingers together, balling my toes up. Here. Right here. I have starlight in my eyes, and it makes the rocks glint, the ones I have been flicking my ashes on. I feel sated, but want to chew more meat. I remember a chant. I breathe. I inhale smoke again. I grin. Stow the butt, pull that heavy orange door, feel the blast of air conditioned air, and find my booth, my son, my corner of this world.
And so, if this is how it is, sure, not all the time, but right now, and a lot of the time, tell me, please, where the trouble goes then? Where is the struggle and the loss then, when I am feeling like a living, breathing, bleeding prayer? Where is the pain and doubt then? So real, it had felt. So real and compelling, all those years, and the brief moments even now, that I feel my survival is hinging on that sound, this word, some event. No, it’s here. It’s always been right here. In the quiet. In this stillness.
And for many many years, the question has been, how do I get back there? How do I do that again? In between those briefly lighted moments, I used to wonder that, sometimes with great fear and desperation.
But I know I’m not the only one thinking that, when things are good, you glimpse the idea that you know you are a soul, and it’s your soul taking a look up at the clouds, feeling free and simple.
What I know now is what I did not know before, and what I am taking a moment out to tell you about. How do I get back there? Well, I am beginning to see that it’s not this feeling that vacates. The feeling is not impermanent, and it is not fickle.
The truth rides around with me and wonders, sometimes, I’m sure, when I will finally stop babbling and be still. Stop believing the shadows have substance. Stop seeing this experience, this one right here, as anything but the next thing, the next thing and the next thing. How I feel in the next thing is the idea, and getting to a place where it feels good, to me, that’s the point, I guess.
And so, this gathering, this group of souls who I know may speak my language quite fluently, and who will actually be asking me to tell them what I think about a whole lot of things, oh, this is good, this is good, and it is right on time.
So I keep my counsel. I know how to wait. I am nothing if not immovably patient, a part of me, the part that can’t fret, and laughs at me when I do. That’s the part who was out there smoking, and who writes these words now.
And the best part is, I have absolutely no idea what will happen. Where I will be sleeping. How I will be feeling. What I will be doing. If I will even stay there for five whole days. I play with how I will be giving, and loving and honoring. All I know is I get to be around people who have recognized me as part of their tribe, and I am feeling welcomed, and happy, and sure.
I’m going to bring the netbook, and will do a Deeply Awake if it feels appropriate. Funny, I don’t feel radio silence, and know I’ll be cloistered, but connected. That’s the best part. I get to be someplace good and solid and light filled, and from there, from that spot, I have not one clue what will transpire, but I am open, and I am ready, and I am happy to be these things.
So, although “they” could have come out and told me about solstice, I decided against it. I would rather just feel my way through it. I’d rather encourage this anticipation, without a picture in my head, or an expectation in my heart. I just know I am going someplace good, and once there, more good will come.
So, I will not be looking at job ads, not quite yet, and I have not heard back from my handlers, don’t really expect to, not til Monday, or Tuesday. I will play instead. I will play, instead. Right up into and during, and now, I anticipate, after, this solstice.
There are dips, there are slides, there are set backs and there are frustrations. No one has to remind me of this. And then there is synchronicity and there is confirmation and there is spinning and there is peace. It is from there that I wish you love this day, peace in your walk, certainty in your chest, and blessings on your tongue.