Deeply Awake — The Grown Ups In The Room 5-5-13 By Kathy Vik
Things have dramatically changed for me in these last few days, and I’d like you to tell about it all.
It is a comprehensive synthesis, an integration and coming home that I never expected, never heard much about, and had no astrological markers or portents to herald the shift.
I am realizing now that this stuff, this stuff that most of us just know is true, that makes us albeit, up until now, a little weird, well, this is us. Knowing we can bend things to our will, with our hearts. Knowing that we are special, called to something, called, on a mission, but what, exactly it was…
It escaped me and yet it was in my face 24/7 all through my life.
Part of ascension, I am absolutely convinced, is the reckoning. I mean, I think that’s all be do, this reckoning, until there comes a day when all the boxes have indeed been sorted through.
You know, out of all the stuff you are constantly aware of, that you made it all, and now that you know that, it just seems to make good sense to make stuff that’s prettier, happier, more sparkly. It’d be more fun.
See, I think the grown-ups in the room, the hardcore ascensionists, we may be coming to a time when all that training in feeling so tragically alone, so tragic hip in our isolation and ennui, we know this state, we do.
And when we crest the waves and get this thing, for the most part, pretty well figured out, the punch line is delivered, and just like all cosmic jokes, the punch line is a knee slapper.
I have found that my greatest longing was to go home, and when with others, my longing is for peace. Just for people to look at each other lovingly, indulgently.
It’s what turned me away, again and again, from society.
I thought my desire for peace a weakness, one more thing to purge from my core self, and indeed, there is some truth to that. If I cannot have peace without you being happy, then I’ll probably spend most of my days around awful people. Just the way it goes.
And here I am, realizing, at the end of this long road of separation, the things I have discovered are so simple, so precise. And yet, folks don’t seem to want to hear.
Those who do hear have a hard time being lit up by it.
It’s like speaking Spanish to an angry Mexican-hating person. Spanish is a language. It is neutral. These words I speak are simple and clear and profound, and yet, my audience might be a suspicious one, an angry one. Whether the language is Spanish, English or the Third Language, a hateful or suspicious reaction is odd.
And so, these great truths go unsaid, unexplained. I could explain, but these things, as simple as they are, they are that way so that they can be FELT, not understood.
And I have sat with that one a lot.
My great moments came not while getting trained, not while getting readings or anything like that.
My knowing came from sitting with myself and making friends with the only person I consistently showed nothing but cruelty toward.
And I can list the events. Seeing God that first time, in my living room, about a year ago, after talking to Sam about someone he was crushing over. I told him, what this special person has given you is a great gift, and this is a gift you only get once a lifetime. This boy, he saw you and you saw him, and why did it feel like that first time, Sam?
“Like the sun was coming out,” he said, then, with love in his voice.
I had told him that he and his special one had agreed, on that day, to switch on Sam’s heart. And it doesn’t matter if this great gift is ever returned. It doesn’t matter if this child ignores you for the rest of his days. That he reciprocates is not the point. The point is the love.
And I walked out into my living room and saw God. It was a telescopic, kaleidoscopic, full body experience. The love and forgiveness I had in my heart for my dad was absolutely astounding. I stood there in rapture, in bliss, ready to leave and never return.
And there as Sam’s voice, “Mom?”
And here I am, still here, but I have had many many other such experiences now, and on Christmas Eve, when I saw, finally, my very own world all lit up in light and I felt, in my skin and hair and heart and soul that the whole reason we are here together is because we love each other so much, and we are so immensely loved, and we are creatures of such unknowable magnificence…
And now, it’s May. May 5. Soon it will be my anniversary again, and again I feel unconvinced that I will be physical come may 26. I went through this last year.
I have come home into myself in a way which makes it increasingly difficult for me to feel anything but love and forbearance toward you. I hope that is ok with you.
I do my best to try and see the bigger picture, and I talk to myself when I sense distress.
What I know is that I am this force. I am this force. And this force gets bent and prickly and sad and distorted when run through limiting beliefs, through lies.
What is a lie but a little fear nugget? Just a little something we pop into our mouths unthinkingly, because it’s the only thing you can find to take in on-the-go.
To eat a meal of love, one must prepare, and be mindful.
I reject notions that seem to be fear based. Fear is tricky and is a master of disguise.
But in the end, fear is just a question. Every fearful thing in my life is and has been saying this: Are you ready to believe in something more true? And I hadn’t been ready, willing or able. I still fall down. I get caught. I wind up feeling small and dumb and defeated from time to time, but these are brief encounters, and I tell my old friends hi, and ask them if they’d like coffee or tea, to take a seat and watch what I can do.
And then I encounter another jerk, or another bill that I find is hard to pay in full, or another scene with my son wanting something for the sake of getting it, acquiring it, and I just find myself shaking my head and smiling.
I’ve been there, and I know why people act in clinging, obnoxious, counterproductive ways. I am done hating. I am done criticizing. I am done pointing it out.
Anymore, with myself strangely, happily muted once again, with folks unwilling to hear these sweet clam words, what is left to do but think about how Jesus would handle such a thing.
Wouldn’t Jesus, or Buddha or even one of the less fancy Hindu Gods, wouldn’t any of the big ones, if they were sitting next to you in the car and were listening to me prattle on and on about my budget and my plans and my future and all that, wouldn’t Jesus just smile, maybe roll down his window, light a smoke (my Jesus is a smoker, just fyi). I think he’d just be quiet. I think he’d not feel it necessary to constantly explain every single thought that came into his head about my predicament.
Wouldn’t Jesus just know that these problems were of my own design, and a part of me was happier than a pig in manure?
Wouldn’t Jesus maybe just ask one or two strategic questions, that he very effortlessly includes into the conversation.
Jesus would understand that I was well on my way, and he’d know that my angels and that the very cosmos was helping me to come alive in this knowledge. Would Jesus feel the need to predict how the boss, the bank, the economy will be doing in a month? Would he really feel it necessary to go on and on about the Illuminati and the Bilderberger group?
Jesus, my Jesus, would tell me to point the car west and drive us to Central City, let’s go gambling, let’s go get a crab dinner. Or why don’t you call Linda? I’ll bet she could use a nice conversation. Or he’d ask me to turn on the radio.
Not to avoid, but because he knows everything is in divine order, sanctified, holy, beautiful and purposeful, and that the only law in effect around here is the law of benevolence.
So he’d probably think a movie in the evening was a good idea, a good meal, maybe even some carnal pleasure. Not to take our minds off anything, just because these can be enormous celebrations, celebrations that can move the earth with their profundity. And they are simple.
And so, Jesus would be my grown up in the room. He’d remind me to look up, to look for the patterns and try to find the subtext of care. It is in every conversation, every single system that rapes and kills its participants bodies or souls. It is there. In everything.
So I think that I will become the grownup in the room, and I do think that the whole point of all this is a simple one, a clear and profound and sacred one. There are watchers present here now, those who can hold the space of unconditional love for a whole auditorium. And I am one of them.
I may not know how to manage a home, or to manage my money that well, or to remember to get my car serviced, or even how to get along with my colleagues that well.
I do a lot of things quite crappily, as a matter of fact.
I smoke a lot of weed, enjoy beer, smoke a pack a day. I like penny slots and humor, the darker and more brilliant the better. I am a born writer, a gifted nurse, a savant of a mother, mothering a savant. I am old, and I am wise. I have been as dirt on this earth. I have not mattered at times, I believed, not to you and most of all, not to myself.
But there is something I can do now that not that many people can.
I know that now, I can get still, I can be walking or driving or at rest, but I can get still.
I can feel this beautiful star in my chest. It has been changing, getting prettier, and bigger. But there is something about this star. When I think on it, I feel quiet, and I know the truth. I know my place in the scheme of things. I feel good about being me, and all I want to do is give this love away.
And this is the kind of love which harms none, only nurtures and is a balm. If someone is receptive, they can benefit more than in just feeling better, when I turn on my light.
I have seen whole rooms of strangers turn quiet. Every time I do it in public, I feel like a saint, and people are really just unbelievably nice to me, they defer to me. I have never been deferred to in my life.
But now I am.
Because now I know that this simple thing that I can do, just sinking in and feeling my beautiful mysterious breath glide through me, and I am connected. I am at peace. And all I can do is just radiate.
And this is how I know things to be different.
I just got some summons dude come to my door because I’ve been a deadbeat with this bill, and God bless them, they should probably just get double what they are demanding, just for their efforts. They are persistent in their greed.
And it is ok.
I like to think that me having a smoking Jesus driving around with me, speaking to me before I go into an angry person’s hospital room, I like having this Jesus with me.
I have a couple of things to say about Jesus, but I will save it for another time. I ‘ll just say, if you find my smoking, personal, mellow, somewhat abstracted Jesus an abomination, I can see why. I really can. And that’s why I won’t be talking about him except right here.
It’s like gargling with uranium filings, this thought of personal divinity. Really taking it in, into my cells. There is, it seems, some sort of cellular block, to really getting it one final time. It’s just hard for me to admit.
And then, as always, there is Sam.
We are gathering our stuff from the car, after having gone to church today. He thinks all this god talk is just nonsense, and he gets very angry and impatient if god is mentioned.
He’s leaning down to grab his satchel, and he asked me if I can tell, on my skin, when the light is touching me.
I asked him what he meant. He demonstrated, moving the back of his hand in and out of a ribbon of light that was coming into the car.
He said, see, there, when I move my hand into the light, I can feel that. I can feel my hairs stand up.
I looked at him then, and I smiled. I said, and here sits the kid who will not talk about God. Light is God, Sam, I said. We are made of this stuff, this god stuff, and it is light. And we both smiled, and he said, no, mom, that’s not right. God is me. God is in me.
He was talking to me like I was mentally challenged.
To him, I am certain that’s how it looks.