DEEPLY AWAKE – By Kathy Vik
“The Spell’s Broken” 6-6-15
“The solution is to understand how things work, and to communicate how it works. We do not cure when we hear it intellectually. Information must be taken in biologically, intensely, and integrated. Awareness should be cellularly felt, beyond the rational.” –Enrique Bouron
It’s been uncanny, really, how good I feel, how bright and resourceful and certain. I resigned from a job without another to go to, something most folks do not do when they live check to check. Understandably, I guess.
I’ve had a couple friends comment on what I’ve done, using that as a frame of reference. And so, I crack out a favorite. I say, yeah, I prefer to do it this way. Life is like a trapeze act. If I keep my hand on the bar, I don’t go as far as when I let go and free fall. I’m always safe.
They nod, they smile, and think god only knows what about my theory. Doesn’t matter. I know it works, for me.
But, it’s not that weird, stifled, silent sort of steely-willed I-just-gotta-do-this feeling anymore. Before, when I have walked off the cliff, many times, the air just didn’t rise up to support me, and I have had a few bumps, tumbling down the side of cliffs, this lifetime.
This time, it’s the oddest thing. It’s solid, just out beyond the cliff. I walked out into it on Thursday, and I’ve been having a blast with it ever since. Breaking out into dance sometimes.
Hours after resigning, I got a random call, no caller ID, out of state. Usually a bill collector. But, why not? I picked up the call, and it was the same agency who comes through each and every time things get weird for me. The same agency that offered me a gig in Hawaii last year. This year, the girl wanted to know if I was free to work. I laughed, told her, sure, but, I’m not able to work the floor anymore. My ideal job is to ride a desk at this point, I think,, doing and MDS position.
She paused. Huh, she said. This is perfect.
Yeah, there is a contract sitting on her desk, to try to find an MDS Coordinator for a woman needing FMLA. Contract gig. PERFECT.
I agreed to do the stuff one must to get the ball rolling, as I drove, and thought, and sang.
Later in the day, I received a call from a friend, and as the conversation evolved, my dream job appeared, or, one of them, anyway. A boss gig. Big kahuna gig. The stuff I’m best at.
So, I drove on Havana that night, cruising with the lights, mind blank, and then, they popped in. They explained that these are not necessarily what is to come, they are object lessons, I am not to worry any longer. I can relax. They used cruder language, and told me a joke, but, the idea is, I’m safe as kittens now, and hard times are over.
Since this rupture, this break, this freedom, I have been thinking more about Biological Decoding. Thursday, June 4, well, that was one for the books, for so many, many reasons, for me. But I will tell you of something very interesting that happened that day, as it relates to decoding. It’s a little weird, and pretty personal, so, fuck, let’s get to it.
Bouron explained that often you must go back 4 generations to get to the heart of a problem. He gave examples which proved to my pretty mind that it is more than likely that great-grandparents are the layer who reincarnate back into systems. To hold the memory for the clan, and to work out problems which might have lost their tanginess, with age, for the others. Brought back to life, generations removed, here we go again.
Using this as a premise, I wanted to know about my great grandparents. I come from a primary family constellation which lends itself very well to autism and spectrum disorders, language difficulties and issues of expression. And, my issues with not fitting in, alienation, my issues around being allowed to speak, just to say what I think, this is so primary, such fuel within my personality.
So, I figured that somewhere in that layer was someone locked away. Someone with a real bad case of isolation.
Waiting for my son’s continuation to conclude, my dad and I chilled in the lobby, and talked. The conversation lagged. I thought about my theory, my desire to know if somebody 4th generation had been tucked away in an attic. And, whatever happened all those generations, on my dad’s side of the family, there was going to be some good stories.
I asked, tell me about your grandparents.
The first person he told me about was my Great grandmother on his mom’s side, his grandma, his mother’s mother. He said she’d been locked in the basement. She;d had a stroke, and it had left her mute. They were ashamed of the condition, so they locked her away, for the rest of her life. Maybe they let her roam around when company wasn’t around, but, yeah, there it was.
My dad wrote a poem on the occasion of his grandfather’s death, one of the funniest things I have ever heard. Whatever hatefulness my own grandmother had pumping in her heart, she came by it very honestly. Dad told me he’d found postcards she’d written, in her teenage years. They were normal, he said. She was normal. Something happened to her. She just snapped.
What made me bring this up is, I think it is not a bad idea to spelunk a little, if you can, to find out what sort of things one’s clan was doing generations ago. It was instructive to me, and healing, and that is what really needs to be discussed, I think.
By bedtime that night, I was laughing out loud about my family history. Oh, the insanity is just waist deep, and thick, but, well, look at it! It’s breathtaking! Rich! Tragic, and funny as hell.
The idea that Yin and Yang, light and dark, they are not antonyms. They are synonyms. They are just the two sides of something greater.
The whole idea is that situations which result in stress, pain, agony, suffering, these things are things which can be healed, with their acknowledgment and release. He explains, to solve a situation, we must de-dramatize it, de-conflictualize it.
The events which make us ill do so because they, the big ones, are experienced in isolation. It is actually a stipulation for disease creation. Something deeply difficult, and tightly held, not languaged. So, he says, breaking isolation, this is a way to break the spell too. By simply talking about how you felt in the moment of profound stress. That alone can lead to cure.
He explained, we are used to fighting with our conflicts. But, it is enough to become aware of them OF course, this awareness, for healing, is profound, and beyond the place where language works very well. Emotional release comes, as thoughts break, as beliefs fold and expectations for future days break apart.
It is a lovely thing.
I will digress, for a moment, to explain what Bouron has determined about anger. He categorically states that it is not an emotion. It is what we show to everyone because something else was touched by someone. It is an appearance, not a reality, not an emotion. An appearance.
The demonstration of anger covers a deep emotion, and he encourages us to look for it. An angry person is someone hiding something. Anger is a defense so as not to be touched where it hurts.
Such simple thoughts, such beauty.
I find validity in the science, and I have applied it. I understand things much better, and am so grateful for the fourth of June.
I could tell you stories, of how stroke patients who are locked in have touched me, much more deeply than many diagnoses. (Being locked in means you have had a brain problem which makes you able to understand everything around you perfectly, but cannot respond in any way) I could tell you about the woman I cared for while an ICU nurse in Greeley. I dreamed about her. I followed her progress once I’d moved back down to Denver. I have never shaken her. There have been others, not many, thankfully. I don’t like caring for them.
I could tell you stories of being physically ill, really not well at all, after expressing an opinion at work, in the old days, when I was younger. I could tell you the struggles I have had professionally from being so inarticulate verbally, and yet, capable of this, all of this, on the page. So uneven, my abilities to communicate. I smile. I could tell you of the astounding pleasure and intense love I feel for those who let me speak without consequence. So few, so few have, and, only one has ever done it fully successfully. And, this experience has healed me in brand new ways, covering these old cuts with balm that leaves my skin smooth by morning.
Much of the last several months, for me, has been about simply accepting that the dark is not quite as powerful as it used to be. Even this last wrestling match I did with it, I sort of exploded it, simply by opening my mouth and speaking.
How can I believe that it never is going to get better, when, all around me, I can see increments, today, increments of improvement, and feelings now, in my chest, on my face, of knowing, really knowing, that the ones who are around me now do care, are invested, and are not turning away. And, when, if, they do, well, that’s part of it all, too, I suppose. Some will stay. Some are temporary. That’s life here.
Anyhow, I think most of this is just loving my ugly, when it comes down to it? Can I accept even this? And this? And this? All the weaknesses, the quirks, the proclivities? All of it?
I really can.
I see the sense of it.
And, now, this Saturday morning, so close to something big, and new, which may come in like a lion, or maybe a whole bunch of lambs, who knows, but, the next, it is here. Has been for a while. Maybe, on Thursday, when I said no more to this old way of life, I was just letting everybody on my team know that I am indeed ready to let go of my more familiar identities.
I am thankful for my totally awesome family history of madness and depravity and isolation. I praise it and release it. It made me into a twisty, funny broad.
Yes, yes, of course I am going to get super sparkly now. Hang on to your hat, dear reader.
I like thinking this through. Imagine it. Imagine that my soul was there, locked in that basement, isolated. And I died, and maybe I had other stints and adventures too, but, here I come, back again. My grandpa, Robert, the light in my young life, he would, in a real way, perhaps was so loved because he was my daughter’s protector, and there never was a finer man born. I smile thinking of it. All that love.
I felt the horror, I did, this morning, sitting at the side of my bed, but, really, it was just a replay of the isolation I have carried with me all my life. Of being walled off, not heard, not understood, needing to be aware of the static in the air, communicating with others through it. I know all about that. And the sense of waiting, forever, until death, cut off. Big shit. And, I let it blow right through me. Maybe I was her, and maybe I just have a soul that’s big enough to imagine I was, to take on that pain and then love it into the purpose it always had been. I don’t know. But, I felt it, and then, it was done. Done.
It’s hilarious, in a way, and, it’s only the ridiculousness of it all that stays with me now. Plus, I think, well, why not just own it. Yeah, that’s my stock. Pretty awesome, if you ask me.
And funny as all fuck. Not in a creepy, mean cosmic joke way. No, not at all. More like the haunted house turning into quite a livable mansion, cleaned up and made bright overnight, by faeries, you know?
So, I think there is magic afoot, because I like to think that way, and I have a crap ton of sparkly evidence that magic is as much a part of my being as my blood, my thoughts, my desires.
I think it comes down to acceptance. To allowance. To just not having an argument with it, whatever it is. That’s the trick, of course. The grand request.
Maybe it can be done by understanding this duality. By seeing captor and captive as two reflections of the same issue. Perfectly partnered for maximum ride. Hate and love. Doubt and hope. Day and night. Any human experience, of course, has its counterpart, pulling and pushing, making it burn and teach and writhe, or lying dormant, and sending out signals, now and then, to body, to psyche. Dig, look, learn.
I shrug. It’s all voluntary, and it is perhaps more common now than before, and I do believe it is a way of life that more might cotton to, as the air continues to lighten, and the monsters begin to look more and more like caricatures. They looked like blood hungry wolves, for a long time, really, and now, they are gone.
That’s how I want to stop this today.
I found, the last couple days, now that I finally made a decision, that I had been unhappy for quite some time. I was great until I could smell blood in the air, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was being prepared for me. I learned, on Wednesday, and confirmed it on Thursday, that I had been right all along. All along. And, so, maybe it wasn’t all that bad that I found it impossible to really, fully, invest. I wasn’t supposed to, maybe.
All I know is, I was where I wasn’t supposed to be, because now that I know I am free, I feel nothing but relief. And congruence. And excitement. And joy. I am ready. I really am.
And so, the final sparkle.
The idea, I think, that I am trying to get to is this one, about ascension.
Those of us who are doing this consciously, we have been coaching ourselves, that we are moving to our next lives while still embodied.
I want to say that this is just one way of saying it.
If I clear the path of overgrown vines, and I am not stumbling on things others can see are in my way, quite obvious they are, but I cannot, and I keep falling, and picking myself up and falling again, well, once the path gets clearer, the walk is easier, and maybe even more fun.
But, these things we are clearing, they are core, and they are deep, and some are soulic. When something core is released, a huge misunderstanding or a extra-sloppy trauma is resolved, then what?
I remember his face, Professor Bouron. On the day we went quantum. This was asked. What then?
Then, he said, you get to choose.