Deeply Awake — I Have Three Friends 5-10-13 Kathy Vik

Image result for best friends hugging gif



Deeply Awake — I Have Three Friends 5-10-13 Kathy Vik

I have been thinking on this since this morning, and oh! how I wanted to write! But it wasn’t time, wasn’t time, wasn’t time. So I slept. I am not sure what anybody reading is experiencing, but I see a lot about it on the web at the moment, people just falling into dead sleeps, needing tons of sleep. I can attest to that.

This morning, I had such a pleasant waking up experience. I just kept seeing myself peeling off, from this light, this rainbow thing, and just putting my arms to my chest, crossing them, and then diving with my head, tilting it up and to the left, left, left, and then whee, I peel away. but then I’d come back. it was really nice to see that it is impossible to not rejoin, it’s just a part of it.

I think I am readying myself for a physical transition. I can feel it. Things are coming together, I am breathing love so thick and genuine, all the time, all the time, all the time.

I write this right on this blog, praying it doesn’t get retarded, freeze on me and dump my work. For some reason, my word processor program is malfunctioning. So, y’all, you’re watching mama fly from trapeze bar to trapeze bar without a net. nothing backing it up, nothing impeding the flow, writing, it feels at the moment, as if I am writing in light, electronically, as I am. It is nice, to sidle right up to this powerful energy.


This morning, it hit me that one of the reasons I am so happy these days, one of the reasons that I can breathe so easy all the freaking time now, is because I am finally allowing myself to be myself and allowing everyone to completely misunderstand, or understand, as is their wont. I just am really ok with no one getting me, and I am ok with everyone getting me,. And the thing is, I am ok with being real, real clear what it is people are rejecting or accepting. This is the difference. This is the key to the kingdom, for this formerly shattered and terminally ashamed person.

It has to do, for me, with just allowing myself expression. Just not editing so much. Why edit? Can I really screw you up all that much if all I really care to communicate is how splendid I think you are? Really? Come on, now. Who would have a problem with that? Somebody who probably needs to spend a lot of time around me.

And how did I get there, here, this place where I am actually eager to get on the stage at open mic night at the local watering hole’s comedy nights… how did that broken, sad, clinically depressed, victim ad nauseum, how did this happen? Really?

I will tell you, it took a lifetime of practice and mindfulness and struggle, for me. It took long dramatic windswept dark nights of the soul, every one of them valid, every journey into extremity a true work of living art, of breathing, laughing, bleeding redemption. SO what, I fucked up a lot.

I missed a lot of fun, opted out of the “ski-bunny existence”, as my old therapist used to call it. he used to say, so what. So you had it hard. So, yes, it was excruciating. You bet. So. Now what. Some people chose a ski bunny existence, and maybe next time you will, maybe you’re coming off of one, he’d say. It’s just not your karma, so just get over it. Get on with your work. Do what is in front of you. Be mindful, he would say.

He put me together. As soon as I had the cash in my pocket, I went out and found someone who could help me make sense of this bizarre thing I’d seemed to stumble into. Being an adult was great, the freedom was fun, but the mechanics, and the recovery from the pain, and just all the pain, it was really awful. I would beat myself up for at least two days if ever I decided to state an opinion at work. Any opinion. Any opinion.

And there were more times than I care to recount, where I got really bizarrely targeted or punished or messed with or excluded at work. An oddball, and someone who just never fit in. How do I do this Other thing? It is so fucked up. No one is honest. I am not honest. I am lost. I don’t know who I am. Who am I? Why am I here? Who or what is God? And how does the whole thing, just the whole thing, how does all of this fit together?

I asked those questions with a devotion and unity of purpose that none of my friends or family had. Everything was a prayer, and everything needed to be in some sort of alignment. There can be wonderful alignment in apparent chaos, what another would call chaos. I stove for inner, ahh, I haven’t the word. It’s a tone that goes off inside me telling me, notifying me or confirming to me that I am in the groove.

And when I can get there, and I can hear it, I can’t help but dance, smile, breathe, laugh, remind people how funny and brilliant and poignantly powerful they are, and how everything really is pretty ok, even if it looks really messed up, you with your bladder gone, or your hip replaced, or your head injured from a stupid motorcycle mishap that was totally and completely his own damn fault. It’s all ok, let’s find something to lighten the mood, just one thing that will feel like a little hug. Is it tea? Is it Dilaudid? Is it you telling me about your doggies? I don’t know, let’s find out.

That’s how I do nursing. it’s more like a ride anymore, and the only trouble I have is with grumps, the closed ones, the scared ones, but then, I can be so subtle. My mom taught me well. I used to play a game when I was a kid, the I never was here game. I’d go through her secret stuff, the real juicy stuff she thought was safe, poor girl, and I’d read it. I consumed it. I needed it, really, because she was, for good reason, a very guarded person. Anything personal felt off limits, but we got tidbits. It was there, and as a babysitter, I took pleasure in playing the “I’m not even here” game well,

I can and do go on stealth mode, quite a lot really. It’s fun, actually. Just the slightest pull back from another, and I would pull back, I toned it down, and then we got along fine.

So, it is nice to learn how to modulate it, because before just a while ago, I had a hard time knowing whose was what, and I still felt responsible for everyone and everything in existence. It sucked. I am done with that.

So I am driving home from dropping Sam off from school today (as always) and it comes to me whole that this amazing permission I have anymore to just observe myself and watch the effect I have on people and enjoy it, acknowledge it and play with it and have fun with it and honor it, well, Chris taught me that.

My old friend Chris. Chris is freakier than me, in some ways, but I recognize us as part of me, another traveler, someone who is of me, if that makes sense. Because with thoughts of her came thoughts of the two other folks who made me who I am, who allowed me always to be who I am, who never expected an apology from me, no matter what I did or said, it was cool, you are fine, I love you, I know you, we are one. That’s Chris, and Jeff, and Diane. These three. They are my friends. They helped me all through my life, and are helping me still.

Chris left my side, I think it was in 2005. By that time, I was about as absent, about as abstracted and self-destructive and lost as a human could be. I couldn’t there for awhile, after it all happened, I could not tolerate being around anyone but Diane. She kept me alive, the poor thing. Such broad shoulders she has.

Chris and I got through high school, college and young adulthood with. She and I were sisters in a way that sounds far too trite, it actually sort of soils what it was we were to each other. It was not a sexual union, and yet we understood and accepted each other as sexual beings, in full expression of this accept of ourselves, at times just with each other, but only rarely sexually, really. We shared simple moments, stretching the legs that come with realizing they are actually quite long and tasty.

That sort of friend. A real friend. Someone who knows and accepts you on a cellular level.

She and I, I can’t express how much I love her, and how much I miss her. My craziness got too bad, she couldn’t do it, she just couldn’t be there, and she left. I was adrift. And I no longer had the meaning I once did, if that makes sense. I am complex and sort of challenging and just really hard for most people to take.

And most folks are very nice, but they aren’t turned on, and they are not complex, and they need answers and they just. don’t. get. it. And there would be Chris, in Boulder, and we did many things together that just never have to be said.

I had a true and wonderful friend, someone who I love so much, so very much, and just miss so utterly, and yet, today, I am thinking that maybe one of the reasons that I can let my freak flag fly so proudly anymore is that, maybe she is around.

I said a prayer on the way home, that it is my intention to see Chris again, in my now, whether she is alive or dead, just so I can tell her thank you, and I’m sorry, and I miss you,and can we please be friends again, can we still know each other.

I cried as I said it, as I am crying as I write in now. Because I have my answer.

This afternoon, when I awoke fresh as a daisy and really really clear, I understood that there has been a homecoming.

You don’t have a friend like Chris, or one like Jeff, who I will save for another day, saint that he is, or Diane, about whom no stories will be told, except as they pertain to my heart, and never to embarrass or make small, a person just does not have these kinds of mirrors unless they are pieces of that person.

What else explains the lyricism of the appearances and exits of these people? I’m certain, at this point, if I ran the numbers, the dates of this or that event, they’d all line up, all confirm the obvious. But I don’t really need to do that. I know who they are to me.

And today, this afternoon, I am feeling that it really is possible that these people I so dearly love can be riding around with me, maybe even parts of the same oversoul, maybe kin that I share cocktails with on the other side every night. I don’t know.

But in my world, I am not opposed to such magical thinking. Right now, things are a little rough between me and Diane, as things often are. it is as turbulent and rich and amazing and connected friendship, one which is a refection, again, of the fragmentation and re-membering that is occurring. Just another metaphor, us having these timing issues, these volume issues, and it’s all ok, and I’ll figure out a way to make it easier to be around me. I know it isn’t at all easy.

And still, I feel like there are only friends now. Those who act in blustery or unhappy ways, well, they are in pain. Some wounded animals are quite dangerous, and some just need a hug. Now is the time to use one’s discernment, realizing that any bite from a rabid bear would just heal over with a word, with a prayer.

I have three friends.

One left my side about 8 years ago. Disappeared. I have no idea where she is, or if she is, and yet, she rides with me now in my car. I hope to bump into on the street one day. I have no doubts that she is just fine. I don’t think she’s dead. It’d be dumb to assume that. She’s only 52.  I am looking forward to our reunion, even if it’s an icy one. So what.

The next was with me before, during and after The Teacher years, he was my angel, and he knew it, and I called him that often. I love him and I know he visits me. To consider that maybe he is, in fact, one of my guides now, well, it thrills me, and makes a lot of sense. it is him who is the joy lighting me up. I am glad to know he is here. He died in, I think it was 2006, maybe 2007.

I was at the bottom, barely breathing at that point. Working hospice, in so much debt, just drowning, barely managing. A single mom, a mess, and I lost track of Marge for a few years, and then, one day, on the way from something, work I think, I remember it was raining, and I was in my car, and I thought, well, it’s been months, but what the hell, I’ll call Jeff.

His daughter answered the phone. he had died a little bit before, on Father’s Day.

She told me all about it. And as she did it, I swear on my mother’s soul, I felt what I told my sister later if felt like one of the very few tent pegs keeping me tied to the earth is gone. Gone. Holy God. What am I going to do? Chris won’t talk to me. Jeff is dead. Marge, I can’t face her, not like this.

It was a really weird thing. I cry writing about it. it was just like this final,


Diane was still there, but just peripherally.

What do you do then?

All that was left was a disapproving, family, an unpredictably cruel work environment, a dis-interested and somewhat alarmed ex-husband, and a special kid?What do you do?

You pray.

You get real humble, and you realize that there really is nothing left.

And then, it gets better.

Who am I kidding?

All through that drama, I had Sam, Jerry, good work times, good books, some laughs. Nothing was switched on, but it was enough. it was LESSON. It was KARMA. It was setting things up for the payoffs.

Because, as Kryon says, and as I like to fancy, for each of our koans, whether it be why is the mailman such a dick, or why in god’s name am I here and I am all alone? well, every time we solve one, we, like, earn a stripe. You sort of open up the DNA, crack open the light, start the journey. See? Every single time.

And cracking koans is fun. It’s free, very entertaining, very enjoyable past time, although they can drive you a little crazy.

So today, it is a gentle day. I got up feeling great, and I ran some real fun errands. Then I came home and got to see Sam and Jerry. I gave them a ton of pictures that I have gone through that pertain to them, asked them to get through them and return what they don’t want. Lots of photos of his folks, who have both passed on.

It’s really the least I can do. And it’s free. And the room was just THICK with love. Just thick with it. And it felt very good. Very good indeed.

So, I can say that I have, not had, three friends, confidently. Chris is here, somehow with me, allowing me to feel the thrill of being pretty, of being weird, of being someone people sort of envy, in a weird way, since they’d never ever consider actually being what it is they are fascinated with. That’s Chris. And now that’s me.

And here is Jeffery, the trickster, the one who framed, for me, and some of his other friends, one day, when he felt like it, a calligraphied sentiment right from his heart, about me being his ever angel, and how much he loved me. Just because he felt this would be a good thing to do. Now he travels with me. Being bold, laughing loudly, cracking wise.

And Diane, she is here with me, doing her thing, always loved, and now I know that, and I can tell her that. Now I remember. Sometimes I didn’t realize that we love each other so, that I love her so, and I got anxious or would get my feelings hurt, blah blah blah. Just so unnecessary.

So I think I can be a better friend to her now, more accepting and less judgmental, now that I know we really are cut out of the same cloth anyway, and she’s one of the gang, and it really is going to be alright now, we are together now, and there really is nothing that we can’t do together, here in my head, on a Friday evening, two and half hours from my shift at the hospital.

I need to get out of this. I need to be doing this writing full time.

I need to get on that.

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