Deeply Awake — Weed 11-3-12 By Kathy Vik

Image result for tarot card "the fool"  gif


I think it’s fascinating to watch judgments crumble.

This is one of the most thrilling things in the world,  feeling the scales fall from my eyes. Once confounded, or angered, or filled with resentment, or unable to move from my fear, it is all made straight and true.

Suddenly I can see differently, I see the parts, and I am convinced of the whole. I can smile a little, relax a lot, and then the real thinking, not the crazy circular thinking, can begin.

Such is the way with many things. I think of the big judgments I have held, and it is often difficult to pinpoint the faulty belief, the lie I am telling myself that is causing distress.

Unable to solve the koan, the outside, my reality, calls to me, to solve a problem, to address an issue, to create once again something that will have meaning to myself and to others. I externalize, and I learn, and then I come home to myself once again. I integrate, I change, I move on. I address myself and others just a little differently then. My conditions, within, without, show improvement. I continue.

It is facile to say simply that because I create my own reality, everything is at my beck and call. It really matters on which ledge of the vibratory mountain one shouts that from.

I can say that from littlemind, and then, the world is full of frustrating situations in which I am Victim, being ground down by the will of others, and I am creating it, and woe is me.

A little higher up, when I shout that phrase, things are less hazy, more clear, and I am struck by the absolutely mind-blowing complexity of it all… it seems impossible that I could be having a hand in creating all that I see. Everything is mystery and everything is symbology. The coffee can is not a coffee can. It is a symbol of my need for stimulation. It is empty. I should go partying.

That sort of thing.

And then there is that moment, putting away groceries, thinking about my landlord’s broken promises, re-arranging the fruit and the milk, making room for more supplies, and I smile.

I step back.

I breathe very deeply and I know, I just know, that all of it, the petroleum-based shopping bags, the organic milk, the GMO banana’s, and me, now at the sink, dumping out old moldy spaghetti sauce, that yes, this is all a matrix for self-realization and self-love and self-discovery. This is pretty neat.

There is not one thing I need to fix at this moment. There is not one thing that disturbs my equilibrium.

The new food is not a reward from the universe. It is food that I have manifested just because that is how it works here. The hunger in my belly feels warm and it is good. My hunger finds a can of soup. That is good. The cats think they are getting tuna, and they are wrong, and that is good.

I think it is about time for some sort of guidebook to the states of open-eyed consciousness, sort of mapping out where I am during any given set of responses or reactions or activities.

All I know is that I have done an outstanding job here.

I have been many things this time, and have done my life in a way that has caused lookers-on distress and anguish sometimes. I have lived without a net, always.

I have been the perpetual fool, stepping off the cliff, puppy nipping at my heels, little knapsack on a pole resting on my shoulder, and one foot up, ready for the next step, which will be met with a sheer drop-off into the unknown.

Always with my eyes above, never minding my feet, knowing I am carrying everything I need on my person, just ready for the next adventure.

And these states of consciousness that I can now access pretty much at will, these shiny thoughts which allow my chest to expand and breathe more deeply, and which allow this grin to emerge more and more readily, these states are pieces of living art which I have spent a lifetime sculpting, exploring, defining and hiding.

Yesterday, like unrelenting dictation, roles kept being stated in my mind, as I sat down to write. I really thought it would be a discourse on all the stuff I’ve thought I’ve “been” this lifetime, but out popped my essay “Probably”.

Here I am today, the dictation not as forceful in that regard, but the words still come, more of a monologue today, more of a thrum in the back of my head.

And it seems meaningless to write down all the things I have “been”. However, it is very interesting to me that as I survey it all, I am struck with how many actual lives it appears I have lived within this one.

It is a curious thing, one that I would love feedback on, from people who have been paying attention to themselves through their days. I am nearly 52 years old. I look back and see how I have had such discretely different lives, roles, expectations, needs, desires. How else can I describe it but that I have lived many lives in this one?

To be quite honest, I will admit that even the apparent core of who I am has changed.

I would like to be able to sit across the table from the one core person who spun off all these crazy adventures. What does s/he FEEL like? What has been her/his main overall, overarching theme, the passion, the drive, the impetus, and what are the defining characteristics of that person?

There have been two times in my life when I was really cooking with gas. I was happy, free, excited, clear, and I kept a very tidy house. In fact, when in those states, I was my thinnest, my most attractive, and my most social.

I was beautiful. I walked everywhere, I didn’t eat meat, I wasn’t self-conscious, knew I was way different but was ok with that, and found that I was surrounded by people who loved me.

Once when I was in nursing school, and once when I was bridging into my 30’s.

Each stretch of time, I encountered a very wise being within me. Someone who just didn’t get upset about much, but who, of course, had strong preferences. I was deeply involved in comedy, wrote a lot, meditated religiously, was physically active. I was less inclined to be afraid of other people. I had good relationships, the second tide of goodness, in my young-adulthood, I had a few profound sexual relationships, opened up to myself in ways I had never allowed.

The veil then thickens, darkens, the clouds come, and I spend years, literally years, in the dark. Devolving. Turning small and at the same time enormous, letting my world shrink, wishing I could just go home and avoid all the pain.

When the lights came on in January for me, one of the first scribbles I made was about how it was as if, miraculously, my radio had just opened up the dial, and I could hear things I did not know had existed, stuff I didn’t think I’d ever have access to. The nice big gong goes off when, a month later, I watch Pleadian Wake Up Call, where Barb Marcianak states very simply that we humans have had the radio set to one area of the dial for a long long time.

It is so nice to once again be inhabiting my spirit in a more literal way.

I think that one of my themes has been personal power, how amazingly easy it has been for me to withhold it from myself, and the pain this behavior causes. Feeling so utterly powerless to affect or change anything in my reality, really non-plussed and flummoxed by the whole thing. And the spectators, they are more than happy to tell me just how I should be doing things so that I will be happier and less of a loser. And I do those things, and they lead me further afield.

And here I am, at nearly-52, happy once again, cooking with gas again, feeling part of the all, and knowing I am part of the all, and that I matter and I am essential, and I have a bad case of amnesia, that’s all. Just some amnesia. And it is lifting.

I lost The Teachers in the 1990’s, they ascended and left me here stranded. A much more difficult separation than the ones I have felt after losing my friends, family, in death. An ongoing grief, because I was grieving having lost myself. I lost my advisers, the ones who would tell me to simplify that thought, amplify that one, now, don’t you feel better, and I always did. They helped me to flip reality on its head, to come to terms with the why of it all.

But coming back from the depths I assigned myself for the twenty years of the Teachers’ absence, that’s been a blast.

And I have something now that I did not have before, not when I was a student nurse, or a young pretty adult, or even when I was being trained and schooled by The Teachers. Now, finally, once and for all, I have enough experience, enough self-possession, enough common sense, to always find my way home now.

It is not true that I ever left home, but I thought that I had, and I made sure to douse all the lights and to tape down the light switches so that when I went looking around for some light, I was completely frustrated.

When I began to wake up in January, what accompanied the aha moments was a deep dark fear that this could be taken away from me again. That for all the light and understanding I am opening myself up to, things can and probably will go dark again.

Such a mourning to feel with such joy.

Being switched off, deactivated, flat and sad and victimized, that’s always been the hardest.

And now I understand that the reason it is so hard, the reason it feels like the torture it really and truly is, is because that is when I am doing my damnedest to stop a natural process. I am damming up light, ignoring the obvious, refusing to encounter my soul in this moment, and this one, and this one.

I did it for a reason, and it was purposeful, and it was playful, really, but it was also very hard. And now, in this decade, I finally know that this being with the all, knowing I am just part of the whole fabric and have a place and am not doing it wrong, this peace I can always get back to now.

It’s no longer a secret I want to keep from myself.

I think that’s one reason these little entries are helpful, because they are, longitudinally, creating a very sturdy bridge over which I can cross the troubled waters, waters I nearly drown in. It is my own way of setting out energetic breadcrumbs to any future selves who choose to fall back asleep.

That’s it.

I will no longer be asleep.

What an amazing idea.

I never have to fall back asleep. Ever. And if I do, for whatever reason, I know now that this state of joyful, blissful unity, is indeed available, is a breath, a thought, a moment away.

And it’s not my guides turning off the lights. The Illuminati or dark cabal. It’s not my fearful spectators, and it’s not the church and it’s not fate. It’s me.

I accept that I have a lot of help, and I have not untaped the light switches without a concerted effort from many many sources. I know I have always been divinely guided, I know that to be an article of my faith. But to know, to really comprehend, that I turned the lights out, and I consented to have them turn back on, oh, my dear, my sweet dear, this is the grandest lesson of all.

So, where does weed come into all of this? Why entitle a piece about an old drafty house with bad electrical wiring, “Weed?”

I think the judgments that people have against marijuana are diagnostic. We have channeled entities telling us to avoid all substances. We have lightworkers who denigrate psychedelics. We have federal and state law enforcement agencies playing twisted psychopath big brother. It is set up for judgments and all sorts of light/dark differentials.

Marijuana, flower, weed, it is a natural substance which allows the user to open to a higher fluidity of thought. It allows, when used as the sacrament it is, for joy to infect previously mundane and even sad experiences. It is an invisible happy shield. It is a proclamation that one’s thoughts are one’s own, and one’s body may be used for all manner of miracles.

Addiction is a real thing, but so is redemption, freedom and enlightenment. If I have found something which is used not to deny reality, not to anesthetize self from reality, but something which cooperatively expands reality, why would I not use it? If I am sovereign, then I do not need to rely on any substance or thing for relief or assistance, but isn’t it nice that there are things in this agreement field that do just that?

It is a lesson in detachment. All around me are people who are more than happy to impose their beliefs onto me, on many different subjects, this one included. But really it’s just a lot of old harpies harping. False threats, innuendo, self-righteous judgments all.

Let people judge. I think that availing oneself to all manner of tools is not unwise. Some will work well, some will be disastrous, but who is to say what will work for you? I think Catholicism is an unusual spiritual pursuit, but totally valid for some. I think kirtan is the closest thing to heaven on earth, and others would think it’s just pathetically bad singing. Doesn’t matter. I go my way, you go yours.

For me, all marijuana is a shortcut. I can do the work, go into meditation, really stretch, and I do this, a lot, all the time. And then there is this shortcut. Like hypnosis is to the subconscious, marijuana is to the super-conscious. It’s a shortcut. Simple.

If it doesn’t work for someone, it would be awesome if it would be expressed that way. “Oh, Yes, that’s nice, but I didn’t find it useful.” Simple. But no, there is feedback stating it should never be used, it is a cheater, it is bad for you, blah blah blah.

And those who do use or appreciate the psychedelic shortcuts on God’s Green Earth, we hunker in the corner, come out once a year to rave at Wild Man or wherever stoners congregate.

Stoners don’t typically mind critics. Whatevs.

Marijuana, it is true, can lead to apathy, and that has been a hurdle. If I spend too long in the ethers, my physical life becomes less and less compelling, looks more like an imposition, feels more like a chore.

That’s why, today, putting my groceries away, stone cold sober, feeling like a god in blue jeans, just very contented by my new can of coffee, I realized these shortcuts I have used in the past have paid off.

I believe that state dependency is a theory which doesn’t extend quite far enough. The theory states that when in an altered, chemically induced state, and learning from a text, say, the recall is best achieved (testing) in the same state. Which means, roughly, that if you study drunk, you should probably take the test drunk.

In nursing school, I adopted the attitude, the belief, that every single thing that I am exposed to, both physically and mentally/telepathically, is contained in my awareness, and therefore tests are easy because it just involves being open to the possibility that I already know all the answers.

I aced nursing school. I got one of the highest NCLEX scores that year. I rocked that stuff.

It was that state, that open, receptive, authoritative state, that I became dependent on, so to speak. State dependency. And so, if you take that simple model and apply it metaphysically, it is true that once your mind has been opened, whether due to a pure hit of DMT, Blue Haze or magic shrooms, that door remains unlocked, and it can be accessed again with a flexible and open mind.

Repeating the behavior to get to that state, that is what becomes unnecessary. I carry those states within me. I have been there many many many times, and now I can pop in and out as I please, regardless of what I ingest.

I am a fool, a trusting soul who does not listen to the admonitions of the puppy dogs nipping at my heels. I am stepping off, every day, every moment, into nothingness, and I smile as I consider that I am packing with me every single thing I need to encounter what comes next.

And I have packed my weed.


As referenced, here is the profoundly activating video I couldn’t get enough of, back in 2012:


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