Deeply Awake — Metaphor 4-23-13 By Kathy Vik
The dictation is so loud right now, that even though I just bought and really need to put away almost $200 worth of food (score! Being employed rocks!) I cannot go one step more, without first saying this, and it has been coming through all morning, pretty much as it is now, so I know it must be written down.
My old therapist, so very long ago, my first guru, he would tell me that the key to understanding a few things is to be able to look around at what you know to be your life, and to ask yourself, “What would someone just have to believe in order to have this particular reality?”
This, of course, became one of my koans. I found it much too angular, much too unforgiving of a concept. The answers I got back were never complimentary. And, really, I think when someone is in pursuit to self-betterment self-help, the last thing they need is to be told how they are, in some new and spectacularly meaningful way, once again deficient.
But I remember, nearly a year ago now, out there on a knife’s edge, in Nevada, broke and broken open in a brand new way. I was enjoying those minutes after a long swim, there in my hotel room, Collective Soul blaring out, and I took a look around, and my old friends’ words came to mind: What would someone just have to believe to be in this reality here?
And I got a very nice answer, one that was well suited for descriptive and prognosticative purposes.
Since then, though, I worked a lot with Seth, and some of those weeks I was convinced that a part of me was being meted down, right there on my bed, as I drilled through page after page, concept after concept, with Seth.
It opened me up and made me ready for the last of the teachings, one of which has really made my life a dream come true.
I look at my life, all of it, in terms of metaphor, analogy. It is called, I guess, the Third Language, and I see now that this is what The Teachers were training me to embody. To use a more allegorical or theoretical approach to reality, rather than a linear one, you know, She wrote me up because I’ve been late 5 times, but really, she’s going through a nasty divorce,” sort of reality. The Third Language makes our physical language meaningful, significant, relevant.
Those three words again, that holy trinity.
I see now that meaning, relevance and significance, they have been rising exponentially for quite a time. There is one of my blogs that says how I can see watching movies was going to be more fun. And it is.
See, if everything is, or is being used as, a metaphor for my education and my empowerment, then an event or really anything is just as meaningful as I make it, if it is relevant and has significance.
I am doing readings, and it has dawned on me to ask if the person who has come for assistance might enjoy viewing their lives as a fable, as a story, one that they themselves are writing. And so, every encounter with a boogeyman or a specter is, in the end, a device, an illusion, meant to move the liver of the story along in their maturity.
Although, here’s the best part, the meaning of the story is known only to the one acting it out. No one else, if they have any sense or good manners, dares put down or criticize or mock someone’s story, or a device they are using, because that is just not good form.
The better of the writers of these fables have come to understand that they are conjuring this stuff up from a very different source than can, unfortunately, currently be imagined with ease. I think there is coming a time when a natural meld will occur. I am already noticing that I am having a little bit of happy trouble getting clear on what is awake and what is asleep. Being awake feels more dream like every day, which I am totally enjoying.
And I go to sleep knowing that I will be talking to my friends more freely, but the barriers between these states are being dissolved, because I have made it plain that I no longer want the veil. I want integration. I want to go from thinking about what happened in the dream state, upon waking, to inhabiting the most expansive state I can tolerate and still function. Tolerate, that is not the right word, but the idea is that I have always pushed myself when it comes to this good stuff, and that habit has only become sharpened.
I want to mention something in closing that has been bothering me. I will go back and fix it, but I wanted to clarify just why it is that when my son saw that bunch of kids gather, watching a bully torment his prey, and they the bully was stood up to, deflated, and things went back to normal, well, I kept re-reading the post, becoming more and more dissatisfied.
Why did I think that was a miracle, some would say? I mean, from the inside,, I knew it as such, but I was not clear as to why it was so.
The thing is, Sam has been fighting this good fight since the end of third grade.
This year, when the teasing got brutal, at first he did not know how to cope. I would pick him up from school and he would just cry and cry, so hurt that he was alone and that no one was being nice to him, no one was rescuing him, no one was defending him.
We would try to lighten it up, and would often laugh at the possibility that some of the kids putting him down might actually be gay, but afraid, and that wouldn’t it be great if everyone could just be what they are? We have explored the concept of just everybody being bisexual, when all is said and done, and all this hoopla is just a lot of fear.
And then, Sam started to change his attitude. But it was just bit by bit. He’d tell me that when he was harassed, he just looks at the kids and says, “You know, it’s not nice to make fun of people just because they’re different.” That’s what he has been doing all along, actually.
He has never hit another kid or cursed out another kid when they go at him. He tells me he makes jokes, points out they don’t have it all figured out… I mean, I was going a little crazy, at the height of my changes, with the inhumanity I saw people demonstrate at the hospital, but really, in that environment, it is subtle and it is ephemeral. For Sam, it is very very in your face, bad words and meanness all around.
So, then, he told me of the group who put the bully in his place, I saw it as a particularly powerful and meaningful event, because I think that he has set a new agreement field with his classmates, or articulate one they all wanted to experience. And this is not because Sam sees his classmates as needing training or enlightenment. No. He FEELS better when he handles these matters gently, and so he is gentle. It is more ENJOYABLE to have a sense of humor and perspective when looking at the problem, and so we do. You see, it God never has to be mentioned.
But tell me, isn’t what Sam doing what Jesus told us to do? And, just because Sam is built this way, he has played things this way, and it is becoming clear that his tolerance has spread.
I really do like the lighthouse analogy, and the more I explore it, the more abundant a metaphor it is. But in this new energy, I am thinking that when we shine our gigantic lights, our power actually powers up the lights in the boats who are seeking shore.
I think in the old days it was enough to just shine. There was so little light, and doing it any way you could was more than fine. And it was not that easy to do it, so ritual and magick helped a lot. But it is easier now, not so rigid, much more pliable, because it’s just easier to breathe now, easier to remember the truth. It used to be so easy to fall back asleep.
But things have sweetened up, lightened up, and I think we have more potency now.
I gave the gift of silence again and again today. I do not need to explain all the esoterica. And this has come as quite a relief. How funny to realize the very pursuits that once proudly defined me as “different” I now see as very worthy tools, but just tools, none the less. It removes that unspoken eliteness that clings to some lightworkers, this holier than thou I’ll hold the light for your kind of people. I say, no, our job now is to remind others that they are on fire, and have been the whole time.
And I cannot reach a lot of people if I use the word “God.” It is a word that is misunderstood, and it has been subverted, unfortunately. I had such a wonderful morning, going from task to task, from loving friend to loving friend. My friend Linda gave me harbor and let me just feel deeply.
She is not afraid of how much I love, because she is a lover, too. We welled up with much appreciation and love in that simple living room, and I knew that what we were doing was good for the earth, and for the two of us, and her animals, and her husband. Just sitting there, sitting and spinning a morning full of love.
And Linda does not know esoterica, and I could never think one bad thought about her. One of the holiest persons I know, Marge Eller, she rarely speaks of God and never of God’s frills (angels, etc.) But she is a holy woman, one of the giants of our age. We are lucky to have her here.
So I am about ready to put away the esoterica, in some situations. The ones where, if I were to bring it out, would create longing in me and discomfort in others. It is then that I will just hold a loving heart. Just stand with folks, hold hands, smile. No words need be spoken.
Long ago, I would ask The Teachers what it was like to be them. How it felt. I learned many things about how to be expanded but still fit in, to not make it a disturbing thing, this new energy I walk with. They would say that it is enough to be the one in the room with the open heart.
That changes everything. Be the one to set holy intent, that everything encountered is in alignment with the highest good and in gentleness to all parts of self, and for all involved. And, they said, when I would sit back, chewing over an answer I got, and I’d remark that it must be hard for them to hold their tongue sometimes… how do they do it? And they would smile, and say, we often give the gift of silence.
I would feel chastised, because I had never given such a thing. But I know of this gift now. It is a marvelous one, because it is not silence borne or judgment or condescension or power-over. It is a silence which says in a way that words simply cannot: “I love you whole. You are beautiful. You are safe. Oh, I love you so much. It’s ok. Stop worrying. I love you.”
And this becomes the context of any conversation.
Those are the gifts that have come to me now, and they are very fun to use.
But I know now that I am ready for what comes next, with those who want to learn, and I think it is just so awesome that I can write just what I think, and no one has any say over what I publish. I will just say what I think about the new energy and all the stuff I am aware of, and let the chips fall where they may.
But now, it is not the chips but all my groceries that fell, hastily as I dumped them and ran to the computer. I am done now, feel less abstracted and ready to take on cleaning out the fridge and making chicken pot pies for supper.
Chop wood, carry water, right?