DEEPLY AWAKE COFFEE TALKS By Kathy Vik
I am giving you a Lemurian greeting, a sacred prayer, to start.
We once would hold each other’s hands, look into each other’s eyes, set intention, feel the clang, feel the alignment, the truth of it, and then, we would say, one to other.
I am sacred.
You are sacred.
We are sacred.
They are sacred.
Please feel me as I give this to you, this knowing I have that nothing else is true.
And we begin.
Although I have had many altered and sparkly experiences, I approach portals with something other than expectation, now.
Last night I was once again home. I went to a lecture on Radical Intimacy. Who I thought would be presenting, and the content itself, was not at all what I had expected. What happened, well, let’s just say I’m chuckling, and feel light and relieved, thinking on it.
I’d just had dinner with a dear friend, and the same concepts, no, it went further, the same phrases, not words, but phrases, were said verbatim by the presenter. He stood there and perfectly amplified the answers we’d already discovered about this world, and then he shined it up, cleared it up a little, and articulated further.
Discussed was the confusion we have as humans, as a culture, that love is formed through attachment. Find the right person, out of a sea of people, and then narrow your life down, and create structure around the relationship.
He discussed love in a survival mentality, and love in a holistic mentality.
The funny thing is, once again this month, though intimacy, sexuality, relationship, expectation, although we talked about al of it, something was missed. It’s something that is often missed in these talks, and I am trying to figure out why.
I think it boils down to what a handsome accented man brought up at the end of the talk. All the tenets and thoughts, they are as much related to human interaction as they are to spirituality. They were an enunciation of the old ways. Those of trust, being vulnerable, detaching from outcome, seeing each as sovereign.
I heard another speaker touch on it, something she called the sacredness of the primary union. I nearly barfed, but I was glad she’d mentioned the word sacred. That I was, at the time, feeling guilty for being in an “Other Woman” relationship role made hearing her assessment all the more difficult to hear.
I’d sat there really angry. Indignant, even. I know the top shelf love I give. Ain’t nothin evil or dark or non-sacred about it, lady.
I’d wanted to leap up and point my finger, my hair and eyes wild, cackling as I made sweeping, Kali-like statements about how love itself is sacred, and let no one think they can determine this for another.
But I didn’t.
But last night too, there is this one element that I find is missing. Yes, it has to do with spirituality. Yes, it has to do with sexuality. Yes, it has to do with integration of one’s daily life. But I think it has to do with God too.
I don’t mean the sky god. I mean the personal, in the DNA of your cells god.
I don’t thing any of us embark on big relationships thinking they are anything but magic, and holy, and some sort of sacred task. I know some really enjoy fixing their lover, finding imperfection and then trying to move that person off the dime. I am as guilty as the next poor heart broken soul. But, the idea here is that there is a bigger plan, and the one doing the planning has your best interests at heart.
Although I can still forget, I am finding that I come back to this place, the place of things being in divine order, while riding this cascade, this flume, of good, coming back to me, wave after wave of it. I looked around the room a couple times, and all I saw were friends. I heard the lecturer speak, and could not doubt I was in the right place at the right time with the right people.
And what is right? I was, after all, sitting there nodding my head and saying “testify” under my breath as we all discussed polyamory, sexuality, relationship. I was doing something so many would call wrong.
And so, let’s forever turn from this judgment. Have I done right? Have I done wring? Oh, hell, no one is going to know that until the puzzle is put together. That’s just how things roll around here. The meaning is embedded in every action, and it is entirely elusive in the moment, at times. A seamless representation of all that could possibly be, for you, for me, through each of our eyes, through each of our interpretations.
I’ll close by saying that at the end of the talk, the presented read a poem. I often close my eyes when I am listening intently, because I can feel things better. I got still and listened, as he read from the page.
The poem was called Fierce Love. In it, the presenter embodied that thing I felt had been missing, that one thing.
Joy. Abandon. Freedom. Fierce love. The kind that will not stop loving, the seeking kind, the completing kind, the kind that you can rise from and be unbroken. This fierce love, this is what I want. It’s all I want. And I was overwhelmed, sitting there, eyes closed, those words banging around in my chest, coursing through my veins, I am home, I am home, I am home.
The uncanny thing about my community and my loved ones is that they, we, are actually living the kind of love that monogamous lovers prize, too:. relationship as a place to be one’s best self, right? But, I’m not even sure monogamy is used that way. I have this growing suspicion that what we are doing, together, is to fashion a better model, built on openness, communication, vulnerability, safety, trust, expression, responsibility and integrity.
Pockets of light, like this. All over town. Most days of the week. Pockets of this light, blazing over phone lines, consuming lovers on weekends, sending out the pulse, the word, it is over, it is over, the darkness is finally over.
We meet in fringe art galleries. In private homes. In clubs. In restaurants. In our homes. We practice it at work, with our friends, our lovers, anyone who will join in. Join me. Open and smile and see, there is nothing to hide, and everything to treat with care. Everything is to be honored, and seen as purposeful, and loved into the self.
This, to me, is the work. To be authentic, everywhere. To be honest and loving and brave and free and giving, everywhere. To be as comfortable sexually as I am bending down to pick a flower for my son, my patient, my friend. To accept it all, at peace, at peace, at long last peace. This, to me, is the work, and the worship, the cause and the effect, the alpha and the omega. Feeling it all in my metal folding chair, in a place I’ve partied, very hard.
But, that just points out how sacred this life of mine has become, and how everything I do, and I do mean everything, is just as sacred as can be. I know those I love are sacred. I know I am sacred. And I know this life of mine is sacred, now.