DEEPLY AWAKE: “What Is Real To Me” By Kathy Vik 6-10-16


DEEPLY AWAKE: “What Is Real To Me”

By Kathy Vik 6-10-16

It seems that whatever intense process I started, or consented to, on April 17 of this year is complete. I realize I, this person, Kathy Vik, while incarnated, may always have some stories and issues which appear forever incomplete, but I know now that I am complete.

This process crystallized truths for me, and I feel clearer now than at any time in my life. This solidity surprises me, because, while expecting the same canned responses to events or people, now, something else is there, calming me, offering sturdier thoughts, reminding me of things I know in my heart to be true.

I do believe that inner sovereignty is my way, but I see now that it has little to do with spiritual attainment. There have been other times in my life when I have had such clarity, though not as organic, not as cellular as what I now know to be true.

I know that love is real. It hit me full force last morning, reading some passage, a simple thing. But there it was, “Only love is real.”

I have heard that phrase for years, sang it at church, heard the bitter and the loving repeat it as they hit, as they healed themselves and others. Only love is real.

I know now, in my bones, in my hair and blood and eyes, that God is love. I know this to be true. It doesn’t take a reader long to find me singing these words in my essays, and making beauty for pages and pages, to illustrate it for me, not to convince myself, but no, to celebrate the truth of it.

I have often said compassion, true compassion and care, these are evidence in my daily life that love is the only thing that heals, and that God is present with every healing.

I know that God is here within me. I have seen the visions, I have had the chats. I missed God for years, as things got abstracted, as I became overwhelmed with accumulating evidence that this was an unloving place, populated with unthinkably unloving Others.

It made no sense, as the love faded, as god faded, life didn’t. And I know now it’s only because I was, in thinking those thoughts, unable to feel god inside. I knew god had abandoned me, at certain points. My greatest love, gone. And around me, evidence of what happens when he splits town.

Time passed, and I matured, and yet the sting of being so unmet, and feeling so unsung began to kill me, in my body, in my soul. So I took myself apart with such precision, care and enthusiasm.

What I found within is a truth which I know not to argue with. I have spent decades in argument with it, and I see how this was very helpful and instructive, but it was an exercise of my mind, of projections and splintering of reality, a story of these times, the dying of an age, of an energy which required dark to descend.

God is real, because I see God’s fingerprints on my skin, and in the workings of my everyday life. I see evidence of Creator, of the All, in the undeniable patterning and complexity and humor of this life I have lived, and of my own countenance, but, further, I know of God from the inside out, eyes closed, sitting quietly, in contemplation.

It is then the poison drains and it is seen as tonic, and the disregard turns into the flimsy sadnesses they are. What is in and through and around me is something bigger, more sturdy, more undeniable, than the inability to express this love, something which confounded me, wanting so much to be open, and finding I could not be.

And then, it comes. The big question. The one that has kept me lit up and walking around, through all the muck and stupid brutality, the disregard and fear, the arrogance and shame.

Is it real?” I begged to know, even this spring, lying on my bed, seeing visions and understanding the cosmos. “Is it real?” This sparkly hope I know. This knowledge of what love feels like and what it does not. But more, ascension. Is it real? Is any of it real?

As I aged, this sense of unreality grew, it is something which ate me up, spat me out, and I am not the same as I was prior to being nearly devoured by a reality which is unforgiving, judgmental, small hearted and self protective. I made sure I got big doses of all that stuff.

The old energy encouraged each of us to crouch around whatever solid, predictable love we found, protecting it from everything else, all that is unpredictable and somehow, sometimes, far more solid.

It is counterintuitive to huddle over my symbols, my acknowledged well-springs of love, but when it was so dark , so threatening around here, it seemed the only thing that made sense.

I covered my love up. I did not love myself. And it was only when things got a little easier for me, the last few years, that I remembered full force, from time to time, that I really did love God with passion and clarity. I knew of God in sunsets and literature and mys son’s love and my work with patients. I knew, somehow, this was God, somehow, and these hits of redemption I felt occasionally from connection, from industry, from within and from without, helped.

I didn’t talk about it. Not with others. And not with self. But the dark years, the ones that were keen on chewing and spitting, they gave me doubt, and got me thinking there is no god. There is no love. Shimmers of it, enough to mock me, but, no, not really.

Maybe it made sense for me to set it up so that my belief in love as human, human to human, was broken, so that I could put it together again on the back end, and come up with a more clear way to think about all of it. I think that is, actually, what happened.

Through this process I began to realize that I did feel love, if only for my patients, the ones who knew of its healing power, and who needed this healing. The ones I had chosen to be in relationship were loaded with arguments against this free flowing of love, but, at work, oh, it flowed. Unimpeded. Undeniable. Healing. Freeing. And so, for all the restrictions placed on a nurse’s behavior, still, I suited up and I got in there and I loved. Mostly because I got it back, when I saw the delight in a face, when I saw ancient eyes light up with a smile, when I tucked a confused patient back into bed. I knew god then. I knew love then. I knew myself then.

I saw this work as a source of love, and so, when I lost this avenue of expression, right on time and by agreement, March 1 of this year, I was left with a question. How do I find this love now, now that I don’t have the privilege of standing with another in their suffering or pain, someone softened enough to allow me to give this to them, and so, to receive it in kind?

I chose to nurture and explore myself, and to maybe finally figure out the answer to my only question, this life, one I have said in high meditation, over and over again, prior to and. Always, after, great visions, dreams and shifts. “Is any of this real?”

I know God to be real. My god, not necessarily yours. Mine. You have one too, each do, and they are the same, but everyone gets to find that out for themselves.

I know that love heals, and therefore, I know that love is real. I know my god to be loving. Healing. My home.

I called to me and requested, that my god come to me, here, and be my partner, May 25, 2012. I was sick of being treated so very poorly by others, far more unloving than me. For the love offered i had taken tremendous insult and injury, just for a taste of it, hoping, always to be shown that They knew this love, this god, this purity, and they would act accordingly. They didn’t. I’d reel, grieve, and become more disheartened, more discouraged, as the years progressed.

But, I said it out loud, in 2012, in May. I am so over this. It wasn’t a simple “I want,” though. My feelings, on that casino floor were massive. I WILL have god here as my partner. Nothing else makes sense anymore. I am through with this other stuff, this playing around with things, the disregard, the sleepwalking, the games, the reasons not to.

I walked into that casino knowing down deep that others don’t even see me. I realized that, and I said from my soul, I need god here. I need something, someone who loves me like god does. Consistently. Thoroughly. Fully. Respectfully. Unceasingly. In good humor. It goes without saying my god sees I am without sin, without blame, without anything but a soul song I want to sing back, a song of celebration, of adoration, of love.

I got my wish.

Fours years have passed since that event, and many other such events preceded and followed, as did the thoughts, and the internal restructuring that must occur with new thinking.

I know that my god rides within me. I know of many things which are highly technical that can, on abstracted nights, “prove” to me that god is real, love is real, and I can feel it, so I am real too.

But, the last two days, well, there has been a change.

I know this love I feel, this love I walk with and that speaks to and through me, this love is real. And I know it to be of god, and I am happy I feel the same kind of connection with my creator I once did, when I was a girl, when I was a young woman and feeling much love in my life, in my self, for my life.

And so, it comes down to personalizing it. My question was, is this process, is this thing I was barely aware of, is it real?

They told me, as I sat, thinking last morning, being moved by these simple words, “Let this be your yardstick, since this is the truth of it. You have asked, dear one, again and again, the question on your heart, is it real? Can you not see it is god that is real, and god is love, so love is real, and you know of the truth that you have god within, and are loving. Use this as your guide. If it feels like god, and it feels like love, then, yes, it is real. All else can drop away, now, dear one. All else. All else. Just let it fall.”

I know how to walk a godly walk, and it has nothing to do with chastity, poverty, self harm or isolation. My desert years had been about losing that hope, that resilience, that certainty, that I had a place here simply because I felt all I did, knew all of this, was all of this.

It may be that I walk this earth unpartnered, in the physical. Maybe so. It appears quite likely. And it may be that I chicken scratch for a living for a while more. Possibly. But I know that what is within me, that guided and shook and healed me the last seven weeks, and the last 55 years, is why I am here and what I was here to understand, reconcile, and release.

I know I am real. I know this process, and this god in me is real, and it’s only because I know that love is real. Not ooh, thanks for remembering my birthday kind of love. No. The love I am talking about is a force. It is its own physics. It heals disease. It changes minds. It quiets madmen.

I know as a writer, as a sovereign of my reality, as the creator of my reality, that I need have no restriction, to the giving and receiving of love I enjoy and understand and cannot question. I know as a master of reality that I will remain puzzled by those who are still crouching over their incontrovertible proof of love as they know it. I know this, and I am at peace with it now. I know why they do it. I did it too.

But I am standing up straight now. I applied myself to my studies, and I let go of every concern but this question, and now I have my answer.

God is real. Love is real. What is within me is god. Is love. And around me stands god, and looking at me with contempt, a screwed up, karmic version I don’t like, but, yes, it’s love too. As is the love I feel with those who are willing to let me tell them how beautiful I find them, how whole and perfect, those who know that this sort of love is what the road home is paved with.

I’ve known I have a new life just about ready to live. And with this, an essay that has been wanting to be written for two days, I am feeling no fear at engaging, once again, in my life. I know what is real. I know what to say no to, and I know now that it is fine to do so. I also know that love is in all, through all, by all and for all, so it makes the nonsense easier to take, somehow. I can be more indulgent, at the very least.

On camera last night they told me now is the time of softening. I’m in new digs now, having moved on from my dorm room of the last four years. I am about to start the next part, the part that comes after the time in the desert, after the initiations and temptations and tests. Something new, something clearer, and bolder and easier to understand. And I am now softer, in the end, than I would have dared walk as just two years ago.

A simple tome, telling you that I know god is real, that god is love, and that I am this, as are you, if you can see me as I am, just as confused and gripless as the next soul, in some ways, and shining, now, with something more, something ancient and true, something which I no longer can question, not really. I could, but it would be simply wasting time at this point.

I know my life has already changed so much, so much for the better too. It is no longer about the good stuff being proof that I am loved, or that god is real, though. I need no proof now, because I know I am, this body, this mind, this soul, this expression is real. It is god, it is love, it is real.



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