DEEPLY AWAKE By Kathy Vik
“Shining Now“ 12-26-14
I wrote a long and beautiful essay last morning, moved as I was after our performances at church, but, events kept occurring. I felt that weird magnetic pull, wanting so much to complete my thoughts, my heart still writing, as I was pulled away, to attend to my people, my life, and so, I shrugged off the need, finally, figuring, as I always do, in the end, that if an essay is left undone, unpublished, well, those were not the thoughts folks needed.
This morning, I woke up without the benefit of facebook. I have been used to opening my eyes, remembering what I am doing here, and then, hopping on and seeing beauty, interacting with my loved ones and with the world.
Today, I layed in bed. I felt my body breathe, and felt this wonderful sensation I have been experiencing the last few days. A peace, I guess you could call it, just peace, but aware.
Yesterday, in the elevator, coming home, I noticed that I feel things now, at times, in a brand new way. It’s as if there are story lines, great rivers of stories and significance, which are running through me, coursing through all of us, and I could see the rivers, four of them, and I liked it, as I disembarked the elevator and walked to my front door. Out loud, as is my wont, I said, as I shrugged, “Well, I don’t what any of that means, but it is very pretty and feels nice.” I mean, what else do I do with it?
It feels nice. It’s new information, or maybe it’s just what has always been there, and I haven’t had the ability or interest or capacity to sense it before my elevator ride.
In any case, it is this same sensation that visited me today. I feel great emotional investment in my life, my people, my circumstances, I suppose you can call them, but still, there is a new sensation riding along with all that love. A movement, a flow, I had not been aware of before.
There is much I want to say that came to me and helped me, during those precious hours I spent as a member of Mile Hi choir during our performances at the Candle Light services. And, really, I think that is why yesterday’s essay did not fly.
I was still unpacking, and, today, I smile, knowing very well that the gifts I was given, that I was so ready for, these gifts, many of them, cannot be languaged, and many will just need to be lived out, and yet, there are some indelible notes that still cling to the air I breathe this morning, music is still flowing through my veins, and the harmonies still and calm me, even now, as I write, I can hear us.
For me, a long time ago, I came to see that life, daily life, is a highly coded, completely symbolic, metaphoric, poetic endeavor. We live out our beautiful stories, and our bodies are the living art we spend our moments constructing, deconstructing, and building again.
As such, all of life, every moment of it, once I open my eyes and focus, all of it, is synchronicity, all of it is purposeful, and my life, I decided, back in 12, is going to be measured and savored in terms of delight, significance, meaning, and depth. I can live it any way I want, I decided, and I want to feel the significance of the things I am experiencing. I want to understand and appreciate all the meanings, and I want to live in authentic awareness of its beauty.
That is a tall order when I feel I am being pushed around and mucked about. It’s true, but, the thing is, I am actually feeling less and less of that.
And that is only one of the gifts I unwrapped, as I stood and sang, as I sat and rested, and stood and sang again. Let me explain.
As a group of individuals, the choir, I think we are about 80 voices, maybe less, maybe more, I don’t know, but, these folks all gather once a week for 2 ½ hours, to practice, to interact, and to sing precisely and authentically. And I took it as a job, kind of, and didn’t really open up to many people, which is my way.
But, through the weeks and months, these people have been persistently kind. They have been consistently interested and kind. And they have softened me up.
Standing in a circle with them, all of us holding hands, doing our “pray in” before the final night of performances, I looked at these faces. I couldn’t help but keep my eyes open, and I took in their faces, imagining that I could feel each of them, as they passed through me, a circle of our love and intention swirling through each of our hands.
I looked at the tall man to my right, the short woman to my left. I considered that many are happy, and many are unhappy. Some, most, are in some disarray, all of us learning how to walk steady as the floor beneath us sways and buckles with whatever is making our lives as disrupted as they are.
I realized, feeling the hands of my neighbors in mine, that each of us, regardless of the stories we are living and that we tell ourselves about the show, each of us are god. Each of us are innocent. Each of us are pure love. And each of us love the other.
I stood. I breathed. I squeaked out a tear, and I understood, we are each unrealized gods. Each of us so powerful, and so thoroughly convinced we are not. Each of us consummate lovers of the others, and so deathly afraid of remembering and expressing it.
But, assembled, attention on our director, standing straight, pulling in a deep belly breath, and belting out that first note of absolute beauty, oh, we were no longer unrealized. No longer afraid, and no longer small. Within the context of the music, with the gifts we were given and chose to pursue, each of us opened our hearts and mouths and gave our best. And some of that godliness, that sprakliness, the innocence and the hope, it got shine, got to be expressed, and it was appreciated, so appreciated.
And, this is what I am most aware of now. The esoterica, it is, has been, helpful. But, I am still of the belief that, although it is fine to talk about here, because you sought it out, living day to day among folks who do not want to know, who sense new information as threat, there is way to do it that doesn’t hurt, not like it used to.
See, that’s what I became aware of, through those performances, among so many other things. I could sense a peeling away of the need, the frustration, the disappointment I have felt, a whole lifetime of hurt, of confusion, of misunderstanding, melt away, with each song I sang, with each stage entrance and exit.
And so, although the unpacking of those seven performances continues for me, and will for awhile, I am left with a sense of things that is refreshed, cleaned up, clearer.
The candle lighting, seven times I saw it, seven times over a thousand faces lit up for us, one by one, in that beautiful sanctuary. I smiled, the first time, as I remembered what the teachers said, felt them standing with me, explaining things. See, now. No one can hide their face. No one can hide their beauty, their beingness, with their light shining, their bodies aglow with their individual lights.
I looked out on a sea of faces. I understood that some would go home alone. Some to conflict and pain. Some to joy. That each made an effort, and that each were participants. I could see nothing but light, no anger, no fear, no resentment, just this sacred metaphor, this physical light, which everyone wanted, there was no one not participating.
Some raised their candles believing themselves unworthy of what they were praying for, for others. Some raised their lights understanding all of it. And the level of understanding, it didn’t matter, and everyone’s light was just as bright as their neighbors.
I felt the light patterns each of us carries, our own song, our own identity, written in light itself, saw them merge, felt the light gather and beam, to all the ones each of us love, to all the beings we as individuals have touched, and will touch.
After it was all over, I took the shuttle to my car. The driver let everyone out at the small lot, and he got back in the van to drive me to my car in the other lot. We talked about the power of the candle lighting, and I said, you know, the grid is very happy tonight. That sort of love, the love we stitched, all of us, each of us, that sort love never goes away, and it can be felt by everyone. We did such a good job.
He asked, “Do you mean the grid of the 144,000?”
I considered this. It is an ascension principle. The 144,000. But, I realized that it didn’t matter, the mechanics of it, anymore, to me. I said, I don’t know. I guess by grid I mean the soul we all share.
And, I think, in the end, that is where I am headed. I was given the gift of being listened to, and praised for my odd story, during one of the breaks in music. An old friend mentioned the word “ascension.” I told them of some of my experiences, and I was given such gifts, of acceptance and excitement and encouragement.
The esoterics are important to many. They are important to me, too. Very.
But, I think, the soul, that is where I want to focus. I feel best when I think about things in terms of soul. Not heart, not mind, soul.
And the soul knows esoterica. The soul imagined all of it. The soul knows it is good, and the soul knows all about light. The soul can see others’ candles burning, even during daylight. The soul remembers that, in conflict, in communion, nothing is as substantive, as imperative, as nourishing as source, as love, as this thick, sacred, profound and inescapable presence, love, safety, benevolence itself.
And so, Christmas is over, and I am glad. Glad to have celebrated it as I did, and glad it is over. It is a certain sort of madness which overtakes the collective, these two weeks, are tricky and intense for those who can feel as I do, as I always have., and I am always grateful when I can crack open the new calendar. Everyone is done doing the emoting they probably would do well with spreading out through the year, is how I always have seen it.
So, this year, I will unwrap my 2015 calendar thinking it best to just rest, and remember, everyone has a soul. Everyone has this font of creativity and innocence and blamelessness. Maybe this year I can remember this, in conflict and in peace, in quiet and in company, and try, more than ever, to live from my soul, speak from it, and speak to others’.
It is the language of music. The language of gentle forbearance, and it is the language of light. I will allow myself to be myself, and to do so from this soul, shining now, and ready.