DEEPLY AWAKE COFFEE TALKS By Kathy Vik “Second Life” 11-12-15


Second Life” 11-12-15

The theme of death and rebirth is a universal one, in religions. Jesus explained it, and his explanation got redacted, and then it got interpreted poorly, and so, it came to be understood by all that Jesus said no one can be saved who is not born a gain. And so we went around dunking each other after indoctrinating each other in shaming spiritual tenets, having decided dunking is the perfect metaphor for dying, or something.

But I think it is different than this cumbersome and childish interpretation. I have been playing with it for many years. Last night I had dream that helped me to understand. Let me explain.

On Sunday night I saw how I have been presenting at work, and how I wish to, and I watched as I lived out both selves, or sets of behaviors, anyway.

Last night it went further. I woke up without visuals again, but with a knowing.

I saw how I had coasted. I had let things happen. I had agreed, I had moved the story along. I had obliged. And I was in disagreement, frank opposition, with most of what was going on in my life, by the time I decided I could take no more, and had to walk away, in 2003.

I saw how I had agreed, how I had made a full life in something other than full participation. Not so much holding back as unable to reach out, I think, when all is measured and weighed.

But what I found chilling is the cumulative effect. I felt relief this morning, having seen how this more authentic portion of me stepped in and guided things. Yes, it was through calamity and near death that I left my old situation. But nothing else would have gotten me moving. I was committed to my own demise.

This morning, I understood that it was not my ex-husband, my former bosses, my shallower friends, who betrayed or endangered me, it was my own sweet self, who’d fallen asleep at the switch and let things happen to her.

I am wanting to make it crystal clear that I was always doing my very best. That’s the irony to this. At my darkest, my most unconscious, yes, my life was full of drama and loss at that point. It couldn’t have been any other way. I was seeing outside the chaos and disintegration that was happening within.

I think it is a good and perfect destruction, in other words. And having been so full on lost, so close to opting out because I’d messed it up so bad, even that was on time and in order.

Because, I had a dream this morning.

I had a dream this morning that made me see that I had not been emotionally honest in my living. I had not known how, and I was surrounded by intimates who hadn’t a clue where to begin with authenticity, genuineness, processing, discussion, vulnerability. All of that, for me, was verboten, until 2012.

Yes, I had pockets, and yes I was good at it, and yes I was a thinker and was well on my way. But the point here is that for all the esoteric and angel talk, things were bad, real real bad for me, and it has only been the last three years or so that any of it has begun to make coherent sense.

Today, I laid in bed and received the information. I had huge swaths of my history come through me, lit up and billowing, blowing through my veins and reminding me of how it once felt to wake up, how I felt, so disconnected, in such profound disagreement, feeling something, toward the end, like a wash of hate on everything, a film of resentment and refusal.

To be born again implies that one life ends and another begins. In my life’s work, this is a theme which is alive and well. It came to me, yesterday, in my car, as I observed the 11-11. That is how I wish to leave you today.

I don’t get information about what these big days mean. I am given instructions in the moment. I had understood that I was to be in the front parking lot, in my car, for the 11-11. By happenstance, that is where I parked. Not my usual spot. Yesterday, I had prompts, and at the proper time, I walked to my car and settled in. Just five minutes prior. But more than enough time.

I closed my eyes and it began.

I understood, through the ceremony I had, the things I understood as I let the sun and the light have me, that this old way of living is over. The old life is done. And yesterday, I didn’t have the thought that there was a lot left to do. I understood I was checking in for a graduation of sorts.

I got out of my car and stood in the sun, glasses off, eyes closed. My head turned to orange yellow and all I saw was light. I smiled and let their blessings fall through me, into the earth, me standing there a part of it, and apart from it, in my work clothes, on a break.

I realized that others might watch me, and they would see a woman doing a little prayer, perhaps, but they would not understand what I was doing, where I was and what I was going to bring back. And I smiled, and I liked it. I liked looking like this, and carrying this.

I got back in my car and let them finish with me, much as I let them do this morning. I understand that much of what I have received recently will come to me now in pieces, as perfectly timed as all the rest, to fully elucidate the dreams and meditations I have had.

The idea, for me, is freedom of expression, really, not some lofty death motif that will lead me to piety and friendliness. For me, this is about being about to respond to my world and my thoughts fluidly, freely, and with the highest good in mind, in heart.

It is a dismissal of old rules. Old roles. Old expectations. Old beliefs and stories and explanations. Nature abhors a vacuum, and maybe that is why Jesus talked about being born again. We needed to hear the truth of it. That life goes on. With death comes birth, and, in truth, it means rebirth.

But does it no also mean that choices have finally been made?

Rather than couch it all in such extremes, of death and birth, of destruction and creation, of crucifixion and resurrection, why can’t it be as simple as what we do New Years Eve?

I think for me it might be better to think of resolutions when considering new life, rather than hanging onto imagery that is so dire.

On New Years Eve we sometimes carry our intentions for a better year. We have resolutions, and by their very nature, they point out where we desire improvement in our daily lives. We come up with a plan for bettering things, and then we try to stick to it.

This is much more in line with how things actually work, I think. Rather than the sky god coming down and deciding that you are not living your life well and you need a diversion, like an ICU visit or a roll-over, to get you to change your course, a resolution requires participation.

And perhaps this has been a week of setting resolutions, intentions, at the least, of seeing things as complete, and others as fetal, understanding that my very life is being birthed daily, and requires the tender touch of a midwife, not the hard eye of a critic.

I am finding that I can behave differently, I have a freedom I did not have twelve years ago. Many of the things I truly did not think I could live without, are gone. And I have a pulse. And I am happy. So many things have passed away. So many selves. So many “As God is my witness, I shall’s.”

I don’t need or want heavy death motifs to explain what’s going on for me. But I do understand, innately, that something that was pumping my heart, squeezing it just so, has relaxed. The death of worry? The demise of unworthiness? The end of limitation? I doubt it. I still have to watch the clock. I still have bosses. I still have a few insecurities, to be sure.

So, I like the idea of shedding skin. I have always believed my excess weight, my other less admirable personal habits that led to distress, that these were, and are, discarded just like shrugging out of an old, worn overcoat. I don;t own the nonsense I am stepping out of. It’s part of that coat. Part of that reality. Take off the coat, let it fall. Smile. Stretch. See? That thing was stinky and constricting and scratchy. Anything is better than that.

And so, this is how I do it. Shedding skin, spilling light, dying and laughing and shrugging, the day after the 11-11.

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