Deeply Awake — Grandmother 5-23-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — Grandmother 5-23-13 By Kathy Vik

I have a lot to say, but I have made an attempt at this and discarded it. Too ornate. Too focused down. Too specific.

So I will preface by saying what follows is abstracted, and simply the highlights. I think, because of the complexity of the creation, it makes sense to create a skeleton tonight, as time is tight and I am tired.

And so here it is.

Last Friday I learned that my dad needed and had consented to open heart surgery on Tuesday. He’d wanted to go from home after getting a stent, which he figured he could do in maybe three days, and then us girls would never have known. He’d thought of it as a challenge, and was more disappointed that he didn’t pull that off than about the news. He’s an unrehearsed person, and this was just his style.

Instead, he had a “CABG x 5”, he had open heart surgery yesterday afternoon. I cannot really go into more detail about my current, quite amazing situation, without telling you of what happened the hour before his surgery. I will be telling him of this, perhaps, but this is really a frill, a detail which it may be more kind to withhold. We shall see.

My son was home in my bed with a high fever, chills, rigor, and I was beyond my limit, having just come off a punisher of a twelve hour shift.

I needed to sleep and Sam was sick, so he lay there with me, and I was so abstracted already, in such a high state. Through the night, and increasingly during the morning, I was having the sensation which accompanied my NDE’s, this delicious abandon, and a sense of just such a thing as no other choice. And it is a good choice to not have any other choice than to surrender, and it feels like an energetic cliff, a yawning hole that is somehow greeting you and pulling on you, tugging on you, pushing against you when you are making coffee, turning on the car, looking at the speed limit feedback sign.

So that was my state before the fevered boy came home, complicating things, at first I thought.

I understand now that he has been acting as a receiver, an amplifier of sorts. And I have praised him in every way I know without saying the words, for him being with us, anchoring this great love, this great great love.

Deep in meditation, still able to smoke, at the request of the voices, at times, at first, it was possible, but then it was not. And I opened my eyes when it began: 12:04.

What happened was this. I held the surgical team in a very intent light, and explained the way it was. That this is a man who requires their utter focus, their utter devotion to art and skill, complete confidence, complete reverence for their own skills and the great skills of their team.

This intention was set for the entire hospitalization, that every single person taking care of him will sense this is an expanded soul, and will treat him with uncharacteristic dignity and kindness.

They will indeed surprise themselves in all their dealings with him, how tender they are, how good they are, how skilled and competent they are.

Then dad and I were at some nice room, some meeting place. He was littler than me, and he didn’t have wings. I was trying to put him at ease, but he just sort of couldn’t get over the wings, and he asked me to just look at myself, and there they were, and they are quite large, and I decided it would be fun to experience them as feathers, and so they were, and I could feel the cartilage, and the independent muscle groups, and the tendons, where I touched the wing. It was real to me.

And so then we hung out and discussed this and that, and it sort of frustrated me that here this big event is going on, and we are sort of just talking about the weather, but he said, you must wait, there is an order to things.

And then something happened and he was looking very different, and there was some sort of shift, because it seemed that in an instant we were on a different understanding level. Suddenly we were both male, and we recognized each other as brothers (I AM BAKING AS I WRITE THIS, FYI).

His head was smooth, as was mine, and we were both wearing blue robes. We were brothers in the truest sense of the word. And with understanding this and accepting it as a real and true possibility, easing into it, feeling my way into it, what I found is the former pain and suffering that was caused, which had been agreed upon, which had indeed warped and tainted every aspect of my psyche, just as it was supposed to, all of it sort of spun off, first in his field, then in mine, and then, our fields expanded and joined. I could no longer see him. He was behind me, all around me, a green mist.

And then, he materialized in front of me, and he said that it was time. We had come to understand our connection, and our love for one another, and our great respect and responsibility, our great and true honor for the other.

And within this I could no longer feel my body in the same way. My legs were cold and they felt like they’d be see through. I felt like I was being lifted. And there was half a white heart, half a black heart, made with our fields somehow, our the bodies somehow, more symbolic than anything, but physical, in a way. And as this progressed, the love just kept intensifying. I felt wave after wave of such great love from a source I could neither understand or turn from.

The love just kept coming, and I was in great bliss. I made sure that my hand was holding Sam’s and one of my feet was on his calf, during this, because it was such intense energy.

What happened next is boggling and I am going to say it and damn the consequences. I thought for the first couple of days that I would just be mum, but those days are long gone.

It is time to discuss what is occurring, so that this right of exclusivity, ooh, I am cool because I get it and you don’t, no those days are over. It is time for each of us to understand, I think, that we are capable of far more happiness if we simply get a little creative, loosen up a little bit, stop being so afraid all the time, and smile. But, oh, there is more.

The thing that we were creating, half white, and half black, in the form of a heart, it changed. It gained size and significance and color and momentum.

I will say now that there is a mountain I find holy, called Lookout Mountain. I have been anchoring codes there, right at the top, where all the radio antennae are.

And from Lookout Mountain, you can see the whole western plain.

It is a boggling view, such magnificence, and the city of Golden sits beneath you, perched as you are on top of the Earth, and the cars are shiny colorful ants, and the highways are ribbons. And my son, when I took him up there, told me that he could see the plain once was covered with water. He went on and on about this, and it was quite fascinating.

I mention the mountain because the view from there came to mind as this thing we created crescendoed.

There was a massive influx, a huge, massive, super massive influx of white lilac energy. I could see just literally uncountable angelic bodies soaring out of this vortex and plunging into the Earth.

At that point, I could no longer see Dad, and I felt as part of the light as I was an observer. I could feel the mind bending, heart melting, life transforming love that was just inundating the planet.

It went on for a very very long time.

I was told the recognition and love and forgiveness and homecoming, the depth of it created a vortex.

And then they started explaining it, because I was having a hard time making any sense of it. I was drunk with this amazing love, not knowing how to translate it or what came next.

The dictation has been non stop ever since, but it is now far more organic, not like a speaker on a pole. It’s more like a deep trusting, that pays off every single time. It’s like that.

But, I digress.

What I was told is as astounding, or, to me, more so, than the event itself.

They told me that I have done a good thing by writing as I have. I saw then that within each of the essays I have written, there are more than enough opportunities to recognize self, absolve self, celebrate self.

And I saw that with each turn of a phrase which is angelic (as many of them are), there is a little pulse of love, and then I saw all these neat pools of mercury, and they all had ripples in them, and pretty soon the puddles merged, and there were peaks within the silver, tight, conical peaks, and it was from the tips of the conical structures that the silver would pool and eddy and ripple out to others.

Something like that. Anyway, they told me that with each little awakening that people have with reading this stuff, this amplifies the energy, purifies it, and sends it out even more, and this is a very good thing.

They gave a lot of honor and praise for having done what I did, all under amnesia. It was quite a feat. It was impressive.

But this was not the end to it.

I was given a title, I guess, and told that what I have done is really no ordinary thing. I am now channeling a very pure voice, and yet I got here through a process that I layed bare for anyone with interest, free of charge.

I lived up to my word, and my belief that it is an abomination to hold ransom this information. It is a petty and ugly thing, and just shows a person’s level of understanding. I have a hard time imagining selling this, not because I have screwed up notions about money/worthiness/blah blah blah, but simply because I think it is ugly to charge money for information which is vital for the awakening of a planet. Cash seems like a little thing in comparison to giving a suffering soul some solace and guidance, during his or her dark nights of the soul.

There will be so few of them anymore, I think this will turn out to be more of an archive how one poor should tried to gain some sanity in a completely insane environment, there at the end.

But, they explained that this thing I have done, and will continue to do, this is what I want to do, and what I had planned on all along. I am at so much peace with my previous life, I can’t imagine such a thing as regret or remorse. Those are symptoms of misunderstanding the data, and that is all.

Then they explained that the white lilac light that I saw, that I thought was a part of me, that was actually me. A part of me came together, and that’s what I was seeing. And my dad had participated this whole time, just to witness this, and could be seen as Elisha. And there lumbers in my old friend Ezekiel, always just sort of nudging me along. I always felt a brotherhood with Ezekiel, and now I know why.

And then a stillness came over me. I had five minutes to sleep, and then it was to being, once again, a daughter, a nurse, a mom. Going to my dad’s house to see his girlfriend, I’ll drive her to the hospital, see him either right before or right after extubation. I asked for the equivalent to eight hours sleep, or whatever seemed fit, for the work ahead. I asked the same for my son.

We both awoke commenting on feeling rested, and Sam’s fever had broke.

Now, the truth is that this is a story left undone, and that is a purposeful thing.

I need you to know that I am here, at dad’s house, and when I opened the door into the house, there was a strong smell of Pine-Sol. I knew I could look in every cabinet in this house and not find Pine-Sol. It was one of my mom’s signature smells, and she was banned from this house, by him. But there she was. I knew it was her,  I’d just had a conversation with my ex-husband, in which everything became crystal clear and funny as hell, which is the way with us.

Everything drops into place now, and there is not a care in the world.

To get from here from there, many things had to occur.
We all went around before dad’s surgery, there right before, just asking each other if it would just be ok if we weren’t all that cracked up about this, and would it be ok if I didn’t do any hand-wringing, we all have been saying to ourselves.

This is also very nice, because there is great freedom in honestly saying, well, on Tuesday, he/I will either live or die. It is a choice of many many doors, but two main ones. Live or die. And Tuesday is the day.

I have many stories about these times. There is much to say, and yet I must retire. Tomorrow promises to be a tender and gentle one, but that doesn’t mean there may not be great upheaval and reversals in fortune.

I will tell you just a couple random things to end, with this intent: may what I write here at the end trigger me to the deeper connections which I feel at this moment are so poignant and must be told, like finding that picture of my dad in a dresser drawer, and how wonderful it is to see everything is really ok and I am really really safe and sound in this way, for the first time in my life.

So I will tell you of a few miracles, seeing as how they now are scattered before us as we move through this next part.

I will tell you of seeing my dad for the first time, but I will now tell you how we left things, after we opened that vortex, before I was told what this means.

I could tell that the meditation, on surgery day, was winding down, and I wanted to see dad, shake his hand, tell my brother I would stand by him through this next part. But he had by that time turned into this omnipresent state which seemed to answer me with the molecular structure of the green mist I was now appreciating. I asked him where he was going, why I couldn’t see him, and to please come here so I could say a proper good bye.

And I understood this: The bigger part of him told me no, quite gleefully, that he will be using his null zone in a different way. He told me then, in his usual thumb your nose at things that just do not make a lick of sense, that he wasn’t due back for three days, so he was taking his walk about. He would be back after he’d done some traveling, and he just made it clear that he was gone.

And then, he was gone.

The meditation stopped, and I got that five minutes of sleep.

When we got to the hospital, we were led to the room that we’d been told he was being taken care in.

The problem was, that wasn’t my dad.

It looked like someone else, one of my old man patients, maybe, any number of them, grey and lifeless and dependent and finally stripped of anything smelling of pride.

I felt really bad for the nurse, and then for this stranger we’d wandered to, there in his extremity and need.

As I was leaving the room to straighten it out, I was approached by two nurses, one who I’ve practiced with for many years.

They said, “No, you are mistaken. This is your father.” And they led me back to his bedside, but not before something like recognition dawned on me, and I realized that this man is no longer what I once thought he was.

And so I went to his bedside and stroked his head and put my hand on his heart and spoke to him like a brother, loving his brother through calamity.

I told him of the great love I see in the eyes of his nurses, and how his numbers tell of his great fortitude and resolve.

I cried and told him I love him very much and will be with him, am with him, am standing with him now and will remain so.

His face flickered and he opened his eyes now and then, trying to talk when the words were particularly sweet and soothing and forgiving and encouraging, which was a lot really.

His loved one held his other hand, and I excused myself and let them be together.

My son stood outside, a mask on his face, burning with fever, holding the space from without.

I spoke to my friend deep into the night last night.

I told her of this odd event.

I told her of her meditation.

I told her of his medical status, and how things have progressed with his heart.

She stopped me and had me meditate on a statement I’d made to that effect.

And then she said she believes there is a walk in situation going on.

I have been told two things since this began.

I have been told that regardless of the outcome, he will not be the same person as he once was, and to expect brand new behavior, and to allow it and praise it and tease it out.

And I was told that he made a commitment, now, to hold an open heart. And because of this, the outcome is assured and glorious. It matters less what happens as an outcome. The intent has been set.

And so it is.

I cannot explain more than this tonight, and it may have been too much.

I say that this piece is called Grandmother for a good reason.

After or during that mediation, I understood that I had been given a title of Grandmother. It suits me well. I am older. I like being a Grandmother. It suits me.

And it was a big family I was grandmother of. And that made me very happy, because I always wanted to have come from a big family.

I was told that the name they gave me over twenty years ago, Magartha, it means Grandmother, and so it would be fine, if I chose to meld, to go by Grandmother Magartha, because being called Grandmother Grandmother is awfully nice.

I told them they were jumping the gun, and that I am very glad now for amnesia, because I am a lazy sort when I know the outcome is assured.

Or I used to be.

The opposite is now true.

Although I do like the appellation Grandmother, I do also think it presumptuous, very much so, because I so revere this energy. I did not know, consciously, a blood grandmother’s love. I had an adopted grandma, and, believe it or not, her name was Grandma Goodhart. She was, too.

But a grandmother, this to me is the best thing anyone could be. This seems like a very good way to go about expressing.

And I am getting older now, and maybe it is ok to finally express as I have always and forever and a day seen myself, but never gave myself or had permission to be, a grandmother.

And my mom, here with her Pine Sol, my son’s Grandma, here living under the same roof now, and me, tonight, before sitting down to write, putting in the over four pies.

As I cut the pastry tops and made the pies pretty, thinking on the Pine Sol in the house, letting me know Mom is very very happy with the love in this house finally, I thought, yes, I can be a grandma. I already am, in so many ways.

And I will be a brother to this man who is now going to recover from a terrible surgical insult, and I do not know what the next day will hold. He is not a young man, but whether he hasn’t returned from his walkabout or what, it’s not for me to know. I will be family, now, to everyone, because I can, and it feels so good, and it is no longer something I do awkwardly, expressing my impressions in a way now that feels more like a warm hug and less like the pincher claw poke of an alien.

So we do not hand wring, and we hope for the best, and we understand that this next part is tricky.

My dad told me, in our last conversation, that he’d seen the grim reaper on the morning before his surgery.

He was driving to the dump, and in the middle of the road up ahead, he saw a lone figure, wearing black pants, a long black coat, and a black hat. Dad said that he thought to himself, “Well, there you are, you son of a bitch.” He knew him to be the grim reaper.

I told him, no, I am not so sure. I think it means that you have help now, and it is no longer something you must take on faith. There, in the middle of the road, is physical, hardcore, in the flesh help. Your angels are now among us all.

Which interpretation is correct? Which one is valid? Or is there one?  I like this one, that Dad’s had a CABG and is on the mend. Yeah, that one is accurate too. Yeah, I like that one a lot too. But isn’t it a little sad, and a little flat, and a little unawakened, if that is the news flash?

He told my sister, in one of their last conversations before the surgery, well, either I’m gonna wake up and see doctors, or I’m gonna wake up and see my dad (long deceased).

And it’s funny, because Grandpa on the Farm, my model as a young girl for unflagging unconditional love, the man who first showed me it is indeed possible to live like that, he was there, holding the space for our great healing. He took dad aside right after the first encounter we had, the wingy one.

And when he’d returned, it was then that we were brothers.

So I am unconvinced that Grandpa is not actively engaged. I think it could have been Grandpa saying hello to him on that road.

That makes sense.

It is fascinating to do this work on the front end, in real time. Mary and I commented that this is such a different experience than when Mom got sick and died.

Mary, of course, said, Well, we were different people then. So true.

 

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