Deeply Awake Essay: The Seventh Vow By Kathy Vik 5-9-16

A reading of my newest essay, a gift to all, from me to you.
http://www.kathyvik.com

 

 

DEEPLY AWAKE ESSAY By Kathy Vik

“The Seventh Vow” 5-9-16

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I don’t exactly know how to describe the last fifteen days, what feels like fifteen years, in some ways, fifteen lifetimes, fifteen realities. I mean, anyone who has even glimpsed at what has been happening on video knows that my absence from the written word has been if not purposeful, then at the very least explosive to my psyche, my former countenance, and to my Self.

I stand before you now changed in some fundamental way, a way which allows me to feel somehow sated and whole and clean. Somehow, through all the exposing of self, for all the giggling and crying, explaining and exposing, still, somehow today, I know that it was really pretty ok to have done what I have done.

My son doesn’t mind. In his mind, it’s just mom doing what mom needs to do today. He struggles with not having resources, once in a while, for the things which bring him profound joy, a sense of having been seen, and a stable sense of day to day reality. This state of stability is something I could not provide day to day, so often, for him because I did not have it within self, yet somehow, he has been willing to roll with it. But, so much of what parents do is visited, then, upon their children, to wrestle with and make peace with, in church pews, on therapist’s couches, and within their future relationships.

I can hear the brogue as I type, knowing now, full well, that what I was shown at the side of my bed Saturday afternoon is true. I was channeling, somehow, I was channeling, each and every essay simply transcription of dictation from my Soul.

I saw a ribbon of purple and a ribbon of gold. It was the gold that I rode, and languaged here, it is the purple which visited me and with great good humor and alarming skill, cracked open the last of my misunderstandings, forever silencing koans I have troubled over ceaselessly, worrying over them with prayer beads, somehow happily unaware of what the weather was doing, what my loved ones were experiencing, or what the “world” thought.
That I have had a truck with The Other is fairly obvious, and that I have allowed this sense of Other to be threat, a still and silent threat to all that is holy, well, maybe it was that very dissonance that led to the isolation, to the writing, to its solace, to this body of work, and, ultimately, to its release.

And, I have to ask, of myself and then you, is that all that bad? Has not this sharing, this willingness to stand before you naked, has this not been valid? Beautiful? Mesmerizing? Helpful? Informative? Enthralling? Unique?

I went to the crystal cave, I am calling it, that crystal encrusted sauna just a few miles from home, and this last time, oh!, I knew, the shift had already occurred, by then. We were simply solidifying.

As I stood in the communal shower, caressed by the water, as I felt and heard and watched an ancient grieve things I didn’t fully comprehend, well, I figured it was the least I could do. Whole rolls of history, of which I was unaware played out in my body, as the water ran off of me, imagined crimson, clotting, swirling, as it dripped from my yoni, my eyes, my fingertips, my hair, my lips. I let her mumble, and grieve.  I carefully modulated her keening, as it crashed through my body, so as not to disturb The Others, of which there were many, that day, though contact with any seemed preordained, purposeful, and healing.

I witnessed this old one’s relief as I heard a heavy pointed spear drop to the floor, saw an impossibly heavy sword fall from her hands, becoming something other than identity and a means of survival, lying there on the tiled floor. The scales and the blindfold she had worn, there on the vanity, a smirk and nearly a growl of disgust rolling from a mouth suddenly less mine that an instrument for a woman, an entity, a soul, a goddess, too long defending those who could not defend themselves, against a tide of such profound misunderstanding that innocents were what seemed unendingly, and viciously, and proudly slaughtered to punctuate the confusion within everyone’s minds and hearts, as my body ran red, their shrieks of terror red exclamations points, then pools of blood, which thankfully, eventually, with patience and breathing and expression ran clear.

By the second shower, it was all about good smelling hair products, and little reminders of the fun yet to come in the simple day known as Mother’s Day, 2016, with my baby, now more man than boy. But, while contained within that place, the transition was done reverently, step by step, and breath by breath.

The dunks in the water were less about being held in a birth chamber this time, tended to by invisible holy maidens, midwives, during a quiet weekday afternoon of visions and voices. No, this last time, it was only about coming in, coming down, and being at a new place of peace with it all. The asymmetry, the simple joys, the unanswered and unanswerable questions less koans now than set ups to astoundingly good jokes.

What fills me with humility and compassion, but no longer a burning sort of shame, is that I am well aware I have been honored, respected, heard, met and loved by such deep and unique and bogglingly beautiful and strong people, and I have chosen, in their company, to find a corner, crumple and wail, “But you don’t even see me!”

Oh, my God! It was so clear this morning, finally, that in the end the only one who was not fully aware and accepting of me was indeed the only one for whom the appellation “me” can be applied.

So, is taking three weeks, or, actually, 15 days out, to figure out the final portion of this, is that ok? Well, of course it is, and a long time in coming. That it was preceded with years and years and years of self imposed isolation, suspicion of others, and brittle, angry arguments as to the sincerity of their love, and the validity of their reality well, that is something for which I can only ask their forbearance, tolerance, patience  and, if blessed, their understanding.

It is that, that arguing and picking at the love presented, which I so deeply regret, if I have to, for this moment, adopt such a thing. Regret, remorse, I have steered clear of these things, thinking instead that, in the end, each do what is necessary, and then the chips fall where they will, as I smile a long tired smile, and I shrug… That’s how it goes, I guess. Such is life.

I realize only now how much mindfulness, appreciation and wonder have begun, and will continue, to ease my way with others, and they with me.

I think it is all the experiences and work since 2012 which has helped to cement for me a rousing, arousing and sustained appreciation for others as they present to me their Selves now, perhaps or assuredly in the midst of their own confusion, pain and isolation. To understand in some fundamental way that each carry their own eternally bleeding wound, the wound they look to others to acknowledge and bandage and whisper to, in dark night, in meetings, at conference tables, and while in neutral discussion, in argument and while at play, it is this appreciation and tenderness which remains.

Is this compassion?

I remember how clear I was, prior to going to that crystal cave the first time with “them.”  “I want this edge removed,” I demanded. “I want it gone. No more. No more!”

It is so foul, to watch my lip curl in contempt at myself, at another. It is not acceptable to me any longer. Neither is it comfortable for me to imagine myself an instrument of anything other than gentleness, acceptance and peace. I cannot tolerate the thought of my presence being that which harms another, any other, ever.

And so the lifetime of discomfort, of unending review of what I have done and said, what I might have meant, and what was heard, is over.

I told only one friend the depth and width of this self review, and how it crippled and tainted everything I did, spoke and shared. Hours spent feeling ashamed of having spoken at all, for having voiced a dissonant reality, an opinion which perhaps was not that of the consensus. Good God, it would rattle my bones, and it created such suffering. Such loneliness. I think it was that which served to deepen the chasm I knew followed me into and led me from every situation.

Somehow, none of that matters now. None of it. It all seems like a really bad dream, one with no clearly redeeming features, something pitch black which simply began to dissolve, separate and lift.

That this lightening is closely related to only hinted at, yet obvious laws of quantum physics, well, at this point, all I can say is, so much the better. It is a way home. It is a way to understanding, and peace. Maybe not for you, but, it was the relentless need to apply all of this to laws of physics not currently languaged or clearly understood, well, thank God for friends, is all I can say. I have a friend who coaches me, cheers me on,  as I venture farther and farther into a reality for which there is no ready made structure. But, we are sisters in this pursuit. A shared passion.  Have we not been called futurists, the Old Ones, the Ancient Souls who pay a modest price and then within the presence of such greats as Lee Carroll and beloved Kryon, who then offer assist and surcease to these never ending questions, leading us to truths not currently referenced in our libraries and halls of learning? And, again, is that such a bad thing, in the end? I submit it is not, if it leads to peace. Eventual peace.

And, today, realized peace.

The last tape I made inferred that I don’t expect to partner with Just Anyone, and a man who cannot see that which now rides above me, sings below me, and provides a latticework for profound thoughts and awarenesses not wholly my own, that is a man I am so happy to share so many gifts and pleasures with, but who chooses not to hold safe and bring close that which makes me who and what I am. There is no such thing as true commitment available there, but now, for me, there is peace. Acceptance. Tolerance. Exploration. Union. Adoration even. And a slightly melancholy, even now, certain and full knowledge that it will not be me, but they, who eventually turn and leave, to their old life, their old ways, their old relationships, or maybe even new life, new ways and new relationships, in which they can then express somehow more fully, or happily, or peacefully, than in my continued presence. I know this, because it has been my only reality, up til now. Time after time after time after time after time.

And it is this sadness I wish to address, this belief which needs to be healed, put to rest, given peace, this day, with a new vow, for me, just for me.

These new vows I adopted when I realized I had been functioning under old ones. Those of social isolation, privation of necessities, self harm, and rejection of the artificial world I remembered, that I  knew lay beyond convent walls. Somehow, giving up so much seemed nothing more than a little thing, a nuisance, a small price to pay to stand, moment to moment, within The Presence of my God.

So, I did a little ceremony, and then I adopted new vows, ones I felt I could construct a better life with. The vow of the Fat Farmer, the Love Puzzler, The Supreme Hedonist and The Queen were then augmented, in these last weeks, with the vow of I AM, and the vow of Galactic Family Member. I felt complete, and I felt somehow weirdly explained, contained and nourished within this structure, which, until this morning, felt whole, complete.

But, as I reached for a coffee mug this morning, I realized, oh my, these vows still carry the scent of social isolation, and allow for further disappointment in relationship with The Other, with The Beloved, with You.

I might have missed the pushing away of boat from shore, but, this morning, I swam to it, determined, unwilling, to let this ship sail without a final declaration.

My seventh vow. I never imagined I would have seven, but, there it is. It is required, and it is that from which the others somehow flow, now. A completion, a verbalization of that which I have carried and allowed to go unrecognized and unmet, undiscovered and uncelebrated, unexplored, in company, all these years. All those lifetimes.

That I have had a reawakening of my Akash is an understatement. It brings me peace, though, now, and no trouble. It is good to know so much, and to see so much in the skin, to smell so many realities rising from the breath of those I am in company with, those I love, and those I so very much want to know in some brand new, far more satisfying way than ever before.

Isn’t that what this whole process is about, really? New life? Being given another shot at interpreting and appreciating that which comes before me, but now, having no argument with it, no willingness to attack, criticize or belittle the sincere gift of Self The Other so meekly hands to me, that which I have been so fond of destroying, finding fault with, disturbing and knocking around until it simply wanders off dazed and bruised, if not cut and bleeding.

A new vow, one which brings to me and holds close The Other, in dignity, in recognition, in celebration, in sacred honor and holy regard, that which has been so miserably lacking in each and every one of the profound and fun relationships handed to me this lifetime, me angrily spitting on, mangling and discarding so much, so much, so much.

And yet, is not the time of keening over? The grief fueled cries now settled, the body exhausted, the mind wholly stilled, the blood having indeed been washed clean.

An “I’m sorry” hardly seems worth stating. “Oh my god, what have I done,”  is that which  shocked me into meditation, and finally into writing, this morning. Oh, what have I done? So often criticizing that which I have known as love, calling it names, and not allowing it to relax. Ever, really.

All I can do is move forward, from here, with a new commitment, come from sudden knowledge that I can do so much better than I have done in the past. I know the past now as a glimmer, rising from a hot pavement I have just come from, this shimmer a trick of the light, largely, and thankfully, more and more irrelevant, with each hour that has passed since dawn today.

My seventh vow, a simple one, one which I now understand and will prize above all others, because, suddenly, finally, I understand the meaning behind the simple words.

What some have witnessed, and that which is so evident shining through the lines of this work is this: I love my Self and my God now. I understand how interconnected those two words are, because I have been given a lot more than mere glimpses of Its body, Its mind, Its heart, Its creativity, Its benevolence, Its presence within and through me, and Its highest hopes for All.

Because I awoke this morning to silence, this is no longer a complaint, because this silence is evidence of demons which were not slain, but simply asked to leave, and they complied, dutifully, once the eviction notice was issued by a Self surprised and giddy that a simple declaration, a request, a statement of fact, was all that was ever needed.

Over the last fifteen days, one by one, they have vacated, compliantly, silently, obediently. And within the silence this vacating has given me, I feel unspeakable gratitude, such profound power, unexpressable union, and a peace. The Peace, I say, Which Passes All Understanding.

And so, my seventh vow is a simple prayer, something repeated by many and now adopted by me as my new song, my new commitment, the garden from which the Fat Farmer offers his fruit, and the font from which all my blessings, gifts and expectations forever flow, from me.

I vow, now, this simple thing to you, each of you, who meet me, whether it be at the store, at a party, at work, or in my soft and warm bed. It is only the meaning of the verb which has changed, deepened, thickened, and become a song. It is only this verb’s translation into physical reality to which I want to apply my efforts now, proving to myself anew, daily that I am able and willing to actively engage in its fullest expression for me, and then, oh! God! How can I not give this to you.

To do anything less is, well, it would be a misunderstanding, dear, my voices come, stroking my hair, humming, beaming with the love that only a mother knows for a child. How can you not? They ask, indulgently, with a shrug and a smile. How can you not? Now, go ahead, dear, and tell them what you are wanting to say. Its ok. It’s time.

I vow to love each of my fellow travelers as I love myself.

Seylah.

 

One thought on “Deeply Awake Essay: The Seventh Vow By Kathy Vik 5-9-16

  1. So pretty, gorgeous and beautiful. You are a gem and a pretty pearl and I am so in love with your pretty, pretty soul and you make my heart sing with joy and with wonder and with many other feelings and I dont even understand it.

    Liked by 1 person

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