DEEPLY AWAKE By Kathy Vik “Meadow Lands” 3-7-15

DEEPLY AWAKE By Kathy Vik

Meadow Lands” 3-7-15

www.kathyvik.com

www.lightworkers.org/magartha

www.deeplyawake.tumblr.com

I have been apprehensive, I guess is the best word, about what might be coming for us this month. And then, something happened.

I feel like I am on 2012 time, that odd, buoyant, magical flavor is in my mouth, and I feel lighter, somehow, and relieved.

I don’t have a lot of time this morning, but I have been looking forward to writing all week, and I need to start somewhere. I think there are a few essays here, actually. There are things going on, now.

But, today, right before sitting down to this, I thought, well, hot damn. Look at this, will you? I am just on fire to write something beautiful, really truly beautiful, and because of all the instinctive, counterintuitive work I have done, I have a place to go to do it. I have carved myself out a great little desk here, and it’s normal, now, for me to think in these terms. Three years ago, it was not.

My sister and I were talking one night recently, and I asked her to please tell me the ways in which my dad and I are similar. It was time for me to know.

Without missing a beat, she said that it’s comical and al little infuriating, because both of us hold very tightly to what we think is true, until we find something else to believe, and then we hold on to that as true.

And I laughed out loud.

Spot on.

This changeability, it is a good thing, for me, and it has helped with the weirdness, the transitions that have come, since 12.

At the beginning of this week, I was reflecting on the dismal nature of life. I was on a platform, waiting for my train, and the muzak pumping through the speakers was cloying, the lyrics simple: “This can’t be all there is.”

I have many friends in their fifties, and they are all quite healthy, and each of my intimates have reported, very recently, thinking they had some sort of terminal condition. They really really believed they might be slowing, but too quickly, dying. And with each confession came mine. Yes, Virginia, I have been thinking I have a bad disease and was not long for this world, right here lately.

So, when I see a pattern, I think that is fascinating, and tells me there is something to explore.

A sense of impending doom, a sense of existential claustrophobia, being bound, tight, with a logic that is understandable, though foreign.

I traveled the streets of Denver, visiting folks, thinking on my upcoming illness and death, and how fucking disappointing life is, when looked at in just the right way.

It was a heaviness, and I should have seen it for what it is, but, I didn’t.

All I knew was I was uncomfortable, and listless, and a little scared, too.

And then, I decided to pray.

Now, I recently talked about my inner confusion around God, just who exactly I am praying to. When I close my eyes and intertwine my fingers, what do I imagine I am talking to?

All I know is that when I get to a place where I know I need to have an audience with my self, and my creator, the creator, my interface, I guess, I know how to do that. And I got there. And I asked for help.

I could see how, in the troubled areas of my life, how my fall back position is always one of anger, of fear, of crouching, readying for the blows. Just my posture, the fabric I wrapped myself in, every morning.

It would bug me, how I could feel so good, and then, quick a s a bunny, I am down, in the pit again. What is that about?

The pit is fear itself, anger, resentment, thoughts which actually make my body feel uncomfortable, anymore.

The contrasts had become wide, and I could finally see my behavior more whole, and, in that place, quiet, a hurricane blowing through me as I lay quietly on my bed, silent, I asked for help. Please lead me to compassion. Please lead me to peace. Remove, please, this mechanism, and let me have objectivity.

I guess it may not be cool to show such supplication, but I know that I am not the one in charge around here. I know my role is to ask for help, and then the help comes.

And so it went.

The next few days have been truly miraculous. And that is why I bring up the changes I saw in 12, the weirdness that started, the freedom I felt.

That’s what it came down for me, again and again, when I first woke up with a vengeance. Can I just allow myself to think something new? Feel something new? Smile when I used to frown? Think something positive toward a task I usually don’t like? Eat this food, here, that I have never wanted before, but suddenly it looks so yummy?

How much change can I incorporate? How much is safe, and how much is dangerous?

I trusted the process so completely, and I listened intently to m y guidance and followed it reverently, and was always rewarded with more.

And now, those times are on me again. I can feel the plasticity of energy, of realty. I feel a shift, and I like it.

The thing is, I think that this process is an empowering one. When I realised that truly, honestly, it is inappropriate for anyone to shame what is going on in my head, and I can think and feel anything I want, anything at all. Anything at all.

I know the majority of people do not believe human beings can change, not meaningfully, not totally. And they have ample evidence backing up their belief, experiences proving definitively that a person is built a certain way, and everybody’s broken in some way, and no one can ever really fix themselves.

Yeah. That’s the mentality, really.

And it just isn’t so.

It’s a delusion, really, thinking a human cannot change.

I want to share a little story with you, that happened at work three weeks ago. All of we hospice people get together weekly to discuss our patients. At the beginning, as we were settling in, a woman shared how one of our patients can sense past lives, and she’d offered to give a reading to the woman. She laughed, rolled her eyes, and this created a cascade of such behavior.

And so, I was once again in a room of folks who were not clan, not really. And who would suppress their eye rolling until I’d left the room, but who would get ocular cramping if I revealed a fraction of what I know, about them, about a lot of things.

It bugged me, and it bummed me out, really. I was just a reminder, just a friendly reminder. The GP is still not as safe as it could be. Proceed with caution. Taunting is still mandatory.

I shrug. I have had to fit a very very large soul into very small roles for a very long time. But, see, I think each of us, if we were honest, if we had a clue how complex and shiny each of us are, we would each be astounded at the mental shackles we so docilely place on our precious wrists every morning.

So, the question is, what do you do, when the things that are most precious and dear to you, the things that make the most sense to you, are made fun of, and it is normal to make fun of, these things? What would you do?

There are not a whole lot of options, really.

I mean, it is said, the outside is just the outside. Neutral events that we encode as we see fit.

And, so, sitting at that table, looking around and smiling, shaking my head ever so slightly and thinking, damn, tough room, that’s one option. Having their behavior trigger a wave of soul fatigue, well, that’s another option.

And it did, and I took it with me as I sat in prayer. Please, remove this reaction of fear, of anger, of disappointment, of isolation. Remove this from my countenance. Allow me to feel compassion. Love. Acceptance. Understanding. Tolerance.

But, these changes, they are, actually, gradual. I guess that having been working this for awhile, and being somewhat adept at reality construction, when the big sparkles come, or when the big aha moments arrive, maybe it’s just the work paying off.

But, I know now, it’s more than that.

I want to talk about ascension now, and I want to be frank, so if you are not into that, go away, please.

I find that it is easier now to integrate this experience. I find myself learning great truths from the people I work with, and find that the poetry of their lives is effecting me, and I am moved an changed by what they bring me, and what we create together. I am learning brand new ways to behave, to be.

I had been spurred on, in my quests, by the firm knowing that the end product of all of this is turning into light, while embodied. And I have always raced toward this goal, full force.

I have had to get into, back, to my core, here lately, and I need to describe it.

I feel the most tuned in when I remember a few things. I came in a writer. As such, I am allowed the ultimate freedom, freedom of thought.

As a writer, I am obligated to experience life, to examine it and live it with abandon and fervor. I have an obligation to be more creative and expressive, to find those moments of pure light, and revel in them. To sit transfixed, looking at the fallen leaf in my hand, yep, that’s me. That’s my job.

My job is to be as me as possible, and to not fall to the only sin there is here, self loathing.

I remember these things, what my job is, and I feel better. I have had teachers my whole life, I believe in the power, the transformative power, of story telling and connection. And I believe that this is a spiritual event that only appears and feels mundane, but is anything but.

I then remember the crystalline release of a good poem, a perfect turn of phrase, a perfectly described scene dripping with spit and blood, or sex and spirit. Doesn’t matter. I’m here to write it out, describe it, and the more I can live it the better.

And so, then, I start feeling less sad about the things that didn’t go my way, and the things I believe I am in lack of. I put down the longings and realize my obligation is to awaken, pure and simple, and everything else, everything else, is a side show.

But that’s the freaking shift! That’s what needs to be bridged before I can stop this writing and go enjoy my delicious day off.

I, of course, can only speak for myself. But, I have been a cave dweller, I admit it. I have had a cave mentality forever. It’s been a slow process, realizing that I am as safe outside my cave as I am inside it.

Strong emotional reactions to events that others don’t seem to be troubled by, that sharp, cold feeling of dissonance that whips through when I encounter something, makes me run into the cave and not want to come out until I feel healed up. Being outside the cave, I felt banged up. Vulnerable.

But, here’s the thing.

I believe that within each of us, each of my loved ones, each of the strangers on this planet, I believe that each of us are the vehicles through which God speaks, moves, breathes. Nothing godly is done here unless it is done through people. Have you noticed that?

So, here’s the thing.

Now, when I am observing someone at work who is difficult, say, to get along with, hard to figure out, I have been noticing that I idly am thinking about them being part of god, now. I think about how big they must be, and then, a funny thing happens.

I can see the annoying, mean, petty, controlling behavior as that of fragility itself. I feel nothing but compassion. I see a child, in grown up clothes, trying their best not to cry. I see effort. And sometimes, I see mischievousness, but, I admire that in a person.

And maybe that’s the prayer at work, and maybe that’s ramping up, energetically, for the next ascension wave, but, it feels good, it feels better, and it is happening without my asking it to. I don’t have to cue myself, and that’s how I want to end this thing.

My job had been to awaken, actually. It was to hang on to enough of that pure spirit as I possibly could, until I got here. But, now that so much work has been done, and I am feeling more comfortable strolling outside my very nicely appointed cave, how do I get along with everybody else, and why are they even here?

Could it be as simple as everyone is having their own ride? Everyone is having their own experience, and how they react has to do with them, and not me? Could it be that simple? Could it be that my worth is no longer tangled up in their ability to be kind?

To close, I want to bridge this cave idea, bring it home, clarify.

The outside world can be harsh, and people don’t say thank you all that often, and there is heavy lifting involved. No doubt. And I feel beaten up, sometimes, after a day of work. But it comes from the sensation of giving without receiving. It comes from being bigger, or having more, than the people I am called to help, who are in a weakened state, fragile, lights turning off, one by one.

And so, after a particularly transformative experience of which I will speak later, I came to realize that my highest value is kindness in others.

It was in the early 2000’s that I was able to language it, and it is a simple truth, a guiding light for me. Kindness is my highest value, the greatest virtue.

And of course, I resonate with it because it is healing, but also because I lack it. I do. I lack it.

Like a moth, I am attracted to it. And so, in the 2000’s things rapidly changed for me, though it was excruciatingly gradual at the time. Daily, my decisions were based in kindness, and it is a filter for me. I look for it. I celebrate it. I call it out and love on it.

And it is lacking in this world. It is unkind, how we treat each other, as humans, how health care is delivered, how folks have to hustle for a living, how we are treated by our government, by our employers, the whole structure is based on a sink or swim mentality, an old consciousness of survival, of true and utter cave dwelling.

I do my best to be kind. And I do not allow unkind people very far into my world.

The place that houses the altar to which I bow at times, once I have bloodied myself up sufficiently and am ready to talk sense to myself, this place is special, and not everyone has access, you see.

I have chosen to have a life which allows people in, but only if they know how to behave. And this has worked, up until now, because I have been so easily bruised, many of my bones having set wrong, from earlier days, when I didn’t know how to heal myself after a beating.

I don’t take kindly to unkindness in my personal life, and have never. I don’t respond to brutality, and and I don’t feel any desire to be afraid of my friends. So, I have a circle of magicians, of shaman, of kind souls, of angels. I look at it now and am stunned. It took daily focus, and it was gradual, but, see, that’s what this is like, at least for me.

The ability to change my mind, my outlook, my perception, I value this so much. Without it, I could not change. I could not heal. I could not grow.

In parting, I will tell you of something that I wish I could make simple and put on a bumper sticker. My sister reiterated it just last night.

When I am outside my cave, and mingling, I look for that spark. Genuineness. Life. Vibrancy. Kindness. Flexibility. Humor. Freedom. Intelligence. Expression. And there seems to be more of it about these days. But, still, sometimes it’s like a grey canvas all day, house to house, person to person I travel, no highlights, no shot of juice, just grey.

But that light, it draws me out of the cave every day, searching for it, hoping to find it behind that one’s eyes, this one’s skin.

And maybe this process is one of carrying so much light that it is all I can see, in my cave or outside of it. Maybe so. And maybe the lights are coming up in everyone. Possibly. I think that’s true. But still, this greyness, this is what I asked to have removed, a film, on overlay, a filter, of being disappointed in the eye rolling, in the absolute commitment most have to their suffering, allow me to love this too.

Allow me to love it.

Love them any way.

That was an admonitions from 12. I would hear it all night long when I worked. It made =giving care to the angry easier. Love them any way. Just get in there and help them feel it. The voices would rest when I put my keys in the ignition come morning. In psych the admonition was to present myself palms open and out, defenseless, to those who felt broken, and had been breaking things recently. They told me, present yourself as brother. See them each as long lost loved relatives who are in a tough spot. Love them any way, really, bottom line.

And now, this is spreading. And it can be chalked up to growing up, or to ascension, or escalating celestial energies on the planet, or any number of things. Maybe just a shift in human nature.

It comes down to not needing anything from anyone, I think. I don’t, not really. But, oh, there it is, the mystery, the paradox, glittering and wet, red and throbbing like a heart.

No healing has ever been done except through humans. God expresses through us, as us, this greater awareness, this all that is, this invisible, liq2uid gold light which translates into flesh and bone and skin and hair.

And so, if this is true, tell me, why do I need a cave? If I am surrounded by godly creatures, why the cowering and whimpering, why the cries to my fellow man to back the fuck off and leave me alone, or just try being nice for once.

It’s a gradual shift, all of us are going through, and each of us, I think, will translate it in different ways. Some will never be on board, and that’s fine too. That just adds interesting contrast to it all, right?

To close I want to tell the story I have shared before, something my old therapist, my old friend, Richard, told me, a long time ago.

He said that therapy is like a tent on a battleground. The soldier comes in off the battleground shell shocked and ripped up, needing to be tended to. And so, the one in the tent does just that, allowing the soldier to direct his process, but teaching him as he goes, all he needs to know for his bones to set straight and true. In the end, after days, weeks, months, years, depending on the wounds and the willingness, the soldier is strong enough to leave.

He turns to his healer as says thank you, and the healer shrugs, smiles and says, well, you did it yourself. And then the soldier lifts up the flap, gun at the ready, braced for horror, and the sun hits his face, and he can hear birdsong. The battlefield is now a meadow, and where once there was bloodshed there is now wildflowers.

So, call it a cave. Call it a tent. Call it cocooning. Call it ascension. Call it maturing. Doesn’t matter. People who are threatened act small and scared. I often do, or did, and will again, I am certain. When stressed, we regress. But still, this is what I am finding. The battle really is over, and this filter of sadness, of fear, of anger, it has been removed, it is not as functional, anyway, and my thoughts are now quite different.

I will allow my thoughts to change,and my body to lead the way. I truest myself, and I feel better now than I have in quite a long time. There is a turbo boost going on, and I am glad to feel it.

Now I will stop, and spend the day strolling. In my meadow. On my converted battleground.

One thought on “DEEPLY AWAKE By Kathy Vik “Meadow Lands” 3-7-15

  1. As always, your writing is so beautiful. As I read this, I kept hearing a sentence which doesn’t seem to apply here, but I will share it anyway. “One cannot be, nor is supposed to be, all things to all people.” I love you and am grateful for you in my life.

    Like

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