DEEPLY AWAKE By Kathy Vik
“Personality Integration” 6-4-15
So, some things have happened. And it is very good, but, I need to talk about it.
I saw Tom Lescher’s video for the stars this week, Astrology for the Soul. Twenty Two minutes of quantum astrology, and this week was truly exceptional.
He said he could go on and on, and I truly wish he had. He will be doing some intensive videos, he said, which I think would be fun. It is just through passive accumulation that any of it makes sense to me now. I like the way he explains the qualities of the planets, their meaning, and the meaning of the placement.
I am certain there are more esoteric astrologers out there, it is, after all, a rich and powerful channeling medium. But, he talked about the yod. The Finger of God.
This week it is at the peak, in some respects. Tough some of the planets will be doing this dance until July, this week, there is something special. Push.
Formed, and please do not quote me. Please. This is what I remember, and it might be not as accurate as his video, but this is a peculiarly personal thing, for me, so I want to tel you what I remember. Don’t sue me if I misquote, it’s not intentional. I just don’t want to rewatch the video right now. Seems fair.
Ok, so, The dance Black Moon Lilith is doing with Chiron is a beautiful and fertile one, but what I recall are the Sabian symbols for the yod.
One was the meaning of personality integration. Of bringing all I have learned and known, crown and third eye chakras, bring it down, now, and live it more fully.
Another was the thought of a prophet coming down the mountain with tablets, the significance that of bringing this higher stuff down. That might have been the same symbol, but, the idea here is personality integration. Living the truth, walking the walk, talking the talk.
The funny thing is, that is what I do, I think, a lot of the time. I don’t give myself credit for how I am already dialed up, what my fall back positions are. But, here it is, once again, this ever present pattern of mine. I think it is time to decode this motherfucker.
Not fitting in.
Just this last weekend, my sister starkly and clearly told me, in specific terms, how she has been passed over again and again, it’s just beyond the beyond what she has endured, and, it showcases so completely the sickness that has gripped a lot of management.
She shrugs, says, you know, it’s just the legacy, of being dad’s kid.
I talked with dad about stuff, and he told me, on the way home, he never fit in. Just couldn’t do it. And couldn’t tolerate it.
We grew up in a pretty anti-authority household, in many respects. Just, able to see past the herd mentality, it was a bonus of living with them. I’m glad I had it that way. Very liberal, but very, very staid, and, in many respects, conservative. But, tolerant. And mostly uninvolved. We joke, sometimes, my sister and I, that there are some things we don’t know (me more than Mary, she’s more prepared, always) because we were raised feral. I liked it that way, for the most part. In fact, looking back, and I am smiling broadly, I know that it took Herculean effort to fight against my will. So willful. Maybe they would have liked to get closer. Who knows. But, it led to certain patterns in behavior, actually, some of which I have in spades.
Here’s the thing. I resigned today.
And now that it’s happened, I feel more relieved than anything. The pain is gone, now.
I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault, and no one is right or wrong, but, I think it’s time for me to figure a couple things out.
I know that, if I am conflict, especially if I am actively involved in it, and especially if I am on one side or the other, passionately, with chocolate sauce and a cherry on top, if I am in conflict, I am creating it, wither by behavior, expectation, or agreement.
Because I encounter this pattern, I have to see that I am indeed creating it. I think the truth is, and has been for a long while, that my heart is not in it. I kept breaking, you see. It just did. How do I deal with it? I run away. I leave. Sometimes I am asked to leave, and sometimes I just know, there is nothing here for me anymore, but, it is always a mutual thing, and, in the end, a relief.
So, maybe I create these stupid dramas to tell myself something, that, once heard, once really gorked, maybe I don’t have to repeat it.
But see, that whole line of thought is crazy making, I think. It requires the decision to see myself as somehow broken, or not as good as, or needing to be fixed.
If there is one thing I have decided, effective immediately, is, I do not need to be fixed. I am not broken. Neither am I defective.
I might have a legacy that I have lived, and, I will tell you just this one little nugget from decoding.
On the day I was born, my dad lost his job. I was born at 5:43pm, right after the work day was done. He told me, driving me from the airport, from my time learning decoding, this his mother was there, at the hospital, when he got there.
I asked him if he told his mother.
He said, God no.
She would have gone crazy.
Oh, my, that is rich. Just, trust me. To me, hearing that, it cleared up a lot of questions for me. And it made me laugh out loud. I know I am getting healed when I am barking my laugh and momentarily forgetting just why I am.
You see, the thinking goes that the parent’s psychological conflicts become the biological conflicts of the child, koans to crack, patterns to recognize and toss away.
But, taking responsibility, personal responsibility, the conflict is much more simple, so disregarding the spine, the pages of the book turn, and time and time again, this same puzzle, this same puzzle.
Although, the conflict has change din timbre, in pitch. It’s more verbal now, it was language, and I think, with that, things can often be resolved. I appreciate the chance to do that, to listen and to speak. I was afforded that, this time. And it was highly respectful. Highly. I didn’t get the answers I wanted, but I really loved being able to be frank, to be given that respect.
And so, maybe it is a patterns, and maybe it’s a koan, and maybe it’s the last time I agree to that psychodrama.
My friend Diane and I have always talked about writing an article, on how family dynamics play through a corporate structure, and how some of it is quite dysfunctional, echoes of past histories, past expectations of humans that are less than benevolent, sometimes. I take responsibility for my part. I have changed, and I will explain how, and after I do that here, having just languaged it with one of my dear friends, then, maybe, just maybe, this particular tiger will turn into the crepe I have been expecting all morning.
How I wanted to tell my friend, and didn’t, that it was for me, overnight and now, here, was this: Yesterday, my fears were made manifest. They have danced and shook and they have lunged at me, but, you see, I have calm, once I let the sadness and shame rip through me. I realized, this is the best part, and the part I am built for. Every time my fears come and knock, and I open the door, and it’s ugly, between us, well then, the thing is, the fear, fueling the whole thing, just turns into a paper tiger.
It’s the only way, the best way, I have to describe it. Once the worst has been realized, it’s a relief. Once the truth is spoken out loud, then it’s just a matter of regrouping, based on new information, and making some choices, based on my assessment.
At least, that’s how I have always found it to be. There is no fear I have encountered that hasn’t turned out to be just thoughts, just thoughts, just thoughts.
I believe that I am not with anyone unless by agreement. I believe that all of my significant relationships, including with patients, all of them were by agreement, and so, I don’t believe in accidents, because, the thought just no longer makes sense to me.
And, this is the truth that I hold back. This is the inside stuff, that I think I might feel better, after it’s said.
What am I not fitting into? What is it, precisely, that I find so hard?
It has become increasingly obvious to me that my sense of linear time is just not god, and that even using a day planner is hard for me. I worry this is something bad, but I know it’s just part of a continuum, because, I can stretch time, I can suspend it, sometimes, and bend it. I can forget all about it. It is not meaningful to me. It’s only meaningful to me because it is so cursedly meaningful to others.
The other thing is, I guess it is how I am built anymore, and I just should probably cop to it. It sounds nihilistic, in a way, but it is anything but. It is two pronged, but come from the same source. Self determination, I could call it, but I am not sure if it should be called that.
The idea is, I don’t really care, in a very deep way, what another’s experience is. I know they are having their own experience, and my words have meaning just for them, and sometimes, what they hear is not at all what I have said, in no way, shape or form. And they become upset. But, their thoughts, their feelings, it’s their business.
It seems to me what we are called to do is to meet in the middle and to share. In my job, it was to share my knowledge of death and dying, disease and recovery, suffering and release. That was my job, and I did I very very well. But, I know that some folks, no matter what you do, no matter what, their suffering is great, their pain unbearable to witness.
I know that. And I’m ok with that. I do my best, and sometimes I kill the dragon, by explaining it away, by turning it into paper tigers, leaping and growling on the rust shag carpet of a patient’s house. That’s my job.
But, for me to feel responsible for their reality, well, that was something I can’t do anymore. It’s like my brain just slides right off of those thoughts. I can speak from this place I have that is part head and part heart, and kind, and patient, and honest. But, I can’t take away all the fear, all the insecurity, all the pain. Just can’t. And I am not responsible for it. I can help relieve it, that’s my job. But, there is a shared reality, and then, there are the universes we are.
So, I have been wrestling with this moral conundrum for a long time. How compassionate am I , if I don’t give a fuck? Or, more clearly expressed, how compassionate am i if I am as non-interventionist, as allowing, as I am? Knowing people’s experience is theirs, and so, in the end, not under my control? If I try on the blame and find it too restrictive anymore. Nope, won’t be wearing that anymore. It’s a straightjacket.
I like it when I can help. But, I am grown up enough now to know that those who find healing are those who think it possible, those open to it, those willing to see things from a broader perspective, sometimes.
And so, maybe I don’t fit anymore, in the health care model, because I will only be responsible for just so much suffering and upset and anger. Only so much.
And partly, I think I half ass things anymore, and am just far too unstructured to not be a bull in a china shop in a system striving for uniformity and regulatory compliance. And I get that too. I am not the only one.
All I know is today, for the first time, I am not feeling shame around this, but instead, I can start seeing this as a natural progression, really. As are all endings, all beginnings, the little ones and the big ones.
The thing is, this morning, I have been cared for. I have had loving and supportive conversations, not playing a victim, but instead, just, making sense of this, divining, perhaps, ways I can avoid such trauma in the future, but, in the end, seeing even this not as trauma but as change.
I’m maybe a little too jaded to want to see this as a grand opportunity, but, I think there is truth to that stance.
And so, I will close this thing with some sparkles.
The finger of god. Living it. Doing it. Have I done anything else? Ever? No, not really. I have been pretty conscious, throughout. I laugh. That does not I haven’t been surprised. Oh my lord, I have definitely been surprised, but, shaking my head and laughing again, I know that each and every change I have had, and every surprise, these last few years, each and every one of them have been benevolent. That dark time, it is gone, and I know there are clear skies ahead.
And this, after reveling in the presence of my friend, yesterday, a mighty mite who talks about the holy spirit like I talk about them, my team. Fully open receiver, fully living in each moment, knowing it is guided, directed, and for benevolent purposes.
I stood there thinking, good god, I wish I had her conviction. I wish I could remember that solidity. It has been a long time.
And now, maybe, just maybe I can find some of that again. I didn’t like what I was doing, not all that much. I didn’t like it, and I think I have to be more honest about what I am willing to do anymore, for cash.
And so the sparkles come. The idea that it is time to start living in and from the truth, and although I have heard countless admonitions not to be weird, here is the truth of it. I am. And I am in my fifties. And stubborn. And, sort of attached to it, really. I like being the glue, which is what I called myself when I worked shifts. I’d introduce myself that way. The glue. I pitched in. I did a lot. I didn’t slack. Why not give it all I can?
I liked that situation, because, my employer did not pretend to own me. They did not regulate my behavior or my personality. They trusted me to be non corrosive, to be helpful, and they left me alone to do it. You don’t get shifts by alienating people. So I didn’t. Because I never was anywhere long enough to look under the hood real good, you see. As the years wore on, eventually, I did, but I felt disappointment and pity, not as if my worth were being attacked. Because I was not beholden to anyone. I was a free agent. And I did well.
It’s not like that in other environments. And of course, that’s understandable, but, maybe not very compatible with what I have become, maybe.
I keep reminding myself of that old quote, credited to Einstein. If you se the same metric judging a fish by what a squirrel can do, the fish will always fall short. I’m paraphrasing, but, the guy lived that. He knew about that.
So, here’s the thing, and with this I leave. My company phone just rang. I furloughed myself today. No work.
What has kept me sane all these years?
Nobody really knows this, except, now, you do.
What has kept me sane, and helped me feel like maybe I’ll stay, one more year, another twenty, maybe, and maybe til it would be natural to exit. It’s art. It’s poetry. It’s philosophy. It’s the turn of a phrase. It’s being given a kernel of an idea, and a blast of emotion, and writing 40,000 words telling that seed’s story, eruption of the seed to the tree’s decay, sometimes.
And it’s the work of Einstein, of Tesla, of Sheldrake, of Lee Carroll and Suzanne Lie and Barbara Marcianik and Delores Cannon and Jane Roberts. Bouron. That’s what makes me tick.
I remind myself, thinking about Prince or the lead singer for Counting Crows, the screenwriter of my favorite movie, the student scientist who discovered a way to image plasma tubes in the magnet- and ionospheres. These people probably didn’t fit in so well. What would have happened if the ones who remind me to think bigger, who remind me what I already am, and want to realize, these guys, they lead me on, and remind me it’s maybe not the end of the world to not fit into a system that values money, and customer satisfaction as the highest values. I get it. I do. They are just not my values anymore.
I don’t know. I joked this morning, when asked how my friend should respond to those canned interview questions, where do you see yourself in five years? I told him, I make something up, because if I told the truth, I wouldn’t be as hire-able. The truth is, I have no idea, but I know it’ll be better than now, because things keep getting better. I live intuitively, not necessarily goal directed. Not a big selling point. Trust me. That’s not on the approved script.
My astrologer told me that she did not see me working as a nurse past the end of May of this year. She told me that I just don’t fit in the system anymore, after that. You are too big, she said, in that french accent. Too painful to squeeze into a very small sliver of what you came here to do. And, I have said it here, so strongly that, how could it not come about, with that fuel of conviction, of intent. I am done. How many times have I said it, recently? Fears made manifest, intention made manifest. Maybe, at this point, they come tied together, still, sometimes.
Today, I have that faith that I saw in my sweet friend yesterday. And, of course, it was not done alone. I was treated to much grace and kindness today.
I just shrugged. Who knows. All I know is, I have displeased many, and disappointed many, and maybe this is what will, in the end, bring the pattern to a close. I don’t fit. I don’t care, all the much, though there is nowhere I’d prefer being, most days, than at a bedside. It is a profound privilege, it is the joy I have known for all these decades, it has been my dialect, my companion, and my adviser.
This morning it hit me, over oatmeal, that, these thirty years I carry, they have come to be seen as a liability to some. The truth of that hit me square, and then passed. What is thirty worth? To some prospective employers, not as much as a nickel of service.
And now, it feels better. It is good and right.
So, it is an opportunity, really. To integrate. To live in even more integrity, and hopefully, in more joy, now. I enjoy being around those who like me, and I can go find that now.
If that means I hang out with people more freaky than me, all the better.
All the better.