Deeply Awake — Something Sacred This Way Come 7-19-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — Something Sacred This Way Come 7-19-13 By Kathy Vik

When I picked up Sam yesterday, after the initial settling-in that happens, the standard light bickering and hugging and, just weird pecking at each other like a couple of old hens, he got a little sparkly, sat up a little straighter, and then said, “Now, don’t go all SPIRITUAL on me. I want to tell you about these dreams I’m having…”

He prefaces a lot of stuff like that. I don’t know, but he seems to be allergic to the word God, and I only see this kid angry when A- I’m being voicing negative judgments about ANYBODY and B- When I talk about “spiritual stuff” or “God” or “energy.”

Lately, he’s been more open about why he reacts this way. He gets really disdainful, and then says, God isn’t real. It’s not “out there.” And he acts all disgusted and storm-cloudy, just super impatient, like when you’ve been with someone who is really slow for maybe three hours longer than Job would have been able to tolerate, and there’s that one final stupid ass request that makes your heart break and your soul sear with impatience. I’ve been there. And, evidently, so has Sam.

So, he told me about how the next three days he was going to be getting his wings. He was going through an initiation, he told me, and he’d be getting special powers. And he was all excited about this, really happy.

I wasn’t allowed to comment, just smile, just take it in and hope he tells me more, tankful he feels comfortable to tell me any of it.

He’s been doing this since he could talk, laying it on me that his real skin is blue, and he has gills, he’s a water being, he has been going through what he calls “activations” for just as long. He loved the pool, as a little one, telling me that swimming activates his powers.

Years and years of him telling me about how he was learning to decloak, and how his powers were changing.

What would you do, if you were me? A single mom, with an ex-husband who thinks I’m a hysteric (poor fellow, he has issues with women), with a son who has some behavioral issues, impulse control problems and social anxiety, some odd phobias, and relatively limited interest in connecting in socially acceptable ways.

Crikey.

So, I let it ride.

And then, I woke up. 2012, this is the year I finally let down the walls separating me from my sense of wonder. My willingness to be plastic and fluid in heart and mind refreshed, revived, and fully running the show now.

I let it ride, and found that the more I opened to the possibilities of how big I might be, how multiple or group-energy I am, well, who am I to tell my son that his impressions are wrong, or crazy? Why would I do that to him?

Thank God I’d taken that approach from the start, otherwise I’d be building basic human trust with him, right now, repairing years of feeding him shame and fear of himself and planting seeds of self doubt, denial, steadfastly clinging instead to the measures men give us for how successful this child-rearing experiment is going: how many extra-curricular activities is he doing, how many dozens of friends does he have, how many hobbies has he mastered, how good are his grades?

Are you kidding me? I find that this is a generation of highly competitive parents, I must say. My peers were driven, and they’ve driven their kids. And indigos, they are very hard to drive, which has been an interesting set up, but, here we are, in 2013, with a kid who is telling me that in three days time he thinks he will be turning into a full-on dragonfly.

So, I am thinking, as we I’m driving us home, hmm, what a lovely metaphor. I would imagine that a lot of this energetic stuff must look like that, and I think the symbology is piquant. I wonder what the meaning of dragonfly is in the symbology texts. Hey! That’s Diane’s creature right now, she told me that she has always resonated with that energy too! Wow!

I remember now, that’s supposed to be connected with the fairies, the elementals, and I understand they are coming on-line, allowing cooperation again, because our vibration is finally high enough, some of us, to use them cooperatively. They are an easily subjugated kingdom so they split. Wow, so, what Sam is always telling me about being, what does he call it, he’s always referencing elementals, and how he understands and is part of the elements.

So that’s my thinking. I didn’t jibber jabber about all that, though I probably talked more than I should have. Still, he was at ease, and happy.

I am not going to send this child to a psychologist. Or a priest. Or anybody who can’t see him with eyes that are willing to be surprised, taking in colors they’ve never seen before.

I was planning on writing something about how I have found that there has been a stair-step progression the last few days, and, just as I’d been told, this gate we are walking through is a profound one. It ends, for me, tonight, after kirtan. I feel it is a special time, these three days, had been thinking this for awhile, but because Sam has laid down such a strict edict, these celestial events which I look forward to or wonder about, I never tell him about, not any of them.

The word “energy” is banned at my house. Not so much banned, but I just don’t enjoy his anger and don’t wish to upset him. Why upset this creature with words which seem to irritate, inflame, when the intent is to soothe, to calm, to instruct if asked and to encourage if I’m asked for my silence.

The healing that took place prior to this gateway, three days ago, was significant and multi-leveled. After writing my last thing, that night, I went to bed, as instructed, without music or tapes, just me and the fan and my cats.

I prepared for bed having known something that had always been bent within me was suddenly straight and true and forever healed. So, I told “them,” quaint but familiar terminology, I asked “them” for a dispensation. I asked for something to be given to me which would forever cement this experience, to make it physical and whole, to own in, but, more, I wanted to be given a gift.

I do that a lot anymore, ask, just out and out ask, for a gift. A real gift, one I can hold in my hands that I know is from them. And sometimes it is a gift of perception, or wisdom, or emotion, of understanding. It’s fun. And it’s fun because it works. Every single time.

I layed my head on the pillow. It was dark and my body felt immediately relaxed. And I closed my eyes and there was no breath work, there was no foreplay, none at all, not this time.

I closed my eyes and was immediately face to “face” with an energy I recognized and have longed to be with for a long time. Right there, spinning for me.

It said that it had a gift for me, and then, right then, I was shown that I’d already gone there a few times before, but I had never comprehended just where it was that I had gone, had been taken, at my own request.

I believe that there is a place, a physical place, that you can only get at when you are expanded, multidimensional, more whole. And in that place is the library, the akashic record, the sanctum sanctorum.

In front of me was a huge, glowing crystal, much larger than I’d ever seen a crystal, and formed very beautifully. I knew it was just a little thing, but there it was, huge and alive and blazing. It was white, and had orange and pink tips, it was really pretty, glowing, alive somehow, and very inviting.

I was told it was me, my soul, my totality, and I was being invited to enter it.

I must have skipped a beat, because my guide said, “You have earned this.”

So, I thought up some stairs, since it seemed fitting to symbolize this a little, so I did a few stairs, but then, it’s like the wood melted away, and the concept of “getting up there” became an abstraction, and all I wanted to do was go in, or become it, and so, I did.

It’s funny how light it was. I imagined a big library, so many books, oh my, and the huge, vast, wall of books went on for infinity, in both directions, up to the heavens and below, forever, somehow, and everything else was glassed in. All airy and light, and there were things in the air, mobiles and floating things and there were a lot of people, too, which surprised and delighted me.

Immediately, there was a presence, up and to the left. Ha! There it was, and I knew it then, all that I could see, was an interdimensional playground of delight. Anything I want, anything I want to know or feel or remember, all here, all here, this is home, in a way, and I understood, and have used since, the outdoor area. This is where people visit me, and we ask others to join, not “me”, exactly, but entities who are my dear friends and beloved brothers, those who have knowledge to impart and love to give.

I then had a 3d physical experience which was just so beautiful, and I can’t really describe it, suffice to say, it is one of those things, you look back on later, and just smile knowingly, happily, quietly, because it is something good you are thinking on, something you don’t want to share, and are happy you don’t have to.

It was a swirl, a soup, of love, that night.

At work, the next day, I felt so good. Those rare shifts in which nothing bad happens, they are every shift now. It is just wild, how good my nights are now, and they used to just suck, oh my god, every night was just problem after problem. That was nursing, really, but, more honestly, that was me. Problem solver. Janitor. Clean up crew. Ugh. But, that’s changed. I crested something.

And the meditations, they are getting sweeter, more intense.

I’ll tell you, today feels altogether different to me, I feel different.

Last night, in meditation, I asked for something, something that I figured would just always be a part of me, and I had, long ago, to be really honest, I gave up on ever being able to release this burden. Pervading, or tainting every good thing, every transition toward sweetness in character and thought, there was a futility.

I don’t even like to mention this now, because I can feel that this essay is one which is happy and light. And so to discuss our wicked step mother, futility, it seems sad and small and unnecessary somehow.

But I think its removal from my feeling state is so miraculous, that to pass by this marker without discussion would be missing an opportunity for celebration, and maybe even growth, but, certainly, if I do not write it down, where does it go? I am a forgetful soul.

I really wasn’t even going to write today, even though I was feeling so moved, but then I re-read that thing I wrote about how much I love lightworkers, and then I thought, oh, what the heck, stitching some more love can’t hurt, ha ha ha.

So, briefly, even in these neat states I was feeling, there’d be this voice, progressively fainter but still no less mood-altering: What is the point?

If it’s not one thing, it’s another, that I would use as the illustration, the attachment, to that one sentence which sort of encapsulated my existence up until recently.

What, really, is the point?

Even if I wake up, dammit, there still is no money, there still are ding dongs running around being mean and thick and awful. There’s still pain and disease. Blah blah blah you know the drill, anything to pull you down and out of it, right?!

But it didn’t work, and I think after last night, my body and mind and heart and spirit tell me that this is just such a false way of thinking, it is a laughable and flimsy approach to such magnificence, such creativity, what I and you and we are all doing.

It really does not make a lot of sense, it just doesn’t appropriately describe what it is that is happening within me, or “outside” of me, at this point.

And so, my prayer last night was to be given the gift of dropping and healing from having carried such futility. I just wish to drop futility. That’s it. Please let me leave it here, I said last night to a darkened room, through eyes that were not being visited by color, by family, by thoughts.

Into that darkness, I said I was ready to leave futility, and to not have it in my countenance anymore.

You know, it did darken everything I did. Clean clothes, they are clothes that will become dirty. That first hit of love between two adults, always what follows is dissonance, disillusionment, disappointment. That sort of thinking, sure, it is available to me, obviously, or these words could not be written, but I just don’t believe it anymore.

It is a barbed sort of energy, that kind of thinking, because within it, coded to release something tricky and challenging, is fear.

Fear.

It really is that simple, and that is, quite simply, why the futility images which are elbowing in now, since they heard the invitation, they elbow to get a glimpse of me through my window, and anymore, I just smile from my rocking chair and say “hi,” but they are old friends, friends I am glad to have outside my house looking in, instead of the horrible house guests they used to be, friends who really don’t like me a whole lot anymore, and who are easily offended, quick to anger, and without a hint of joie de vivre.

So. Sam is going through a growth spurt, is sleeping up to twelve hours at a time, and cannot seem to make peace with his gut. I think I have let him sleep long enough, so I will rouse him and we will do things which will make us more comfortable in our house.

We’ll go do errands, and make sure we eat good foods which delight and satisfy us. We will laugh a lot today, I can already tell, because I am not spoiling for a fight, I am not mad at my life, and I am not seeing much in the way of impediments today. Even the things which used to frustrate me, because to me they symbolized all that disappoints me about me, my messy house, etc, oh, it’s a lark and a joy, and really ain’t nothin’ but a thang.

So, I have encoded and decoded my reality, all this god, energy, spirit, stuff in a very specific and individualized way. I know that, and it is just such a pleasure to understand, finally, somehow organically, today being the first day of this new understanding, that I really don’t have to think bad thoughts about my future anymore.

That’s the whole point, I think.

I am good at manifesting, am quite amazing when I get going. That the energy, and my own consciousness, was not interested, not willing, for so many many years, to bend to this inner knowing I have, so be it, what’s done is done.

I feel like I have been released from a prison I constructed for myself a long time ago, one with really gritty, cool, urban posters that evoke a rock and roll mentality, you know, live hard and leave a pretty corpse, that good old fuck the world sort of vibe. The posters are humorously defensive, knowingly stupid, devastatingly whipsmart.

These posters have been removed, and what is revealed is a wall of glass, and maybe, really, there isn’t even glass. Maybe it’s just the clear blue sky I’m seeing, and it feels that this is a view I have obstructed for a long time, too long, and anymore, right now, it is no longer time to weep for all the time that has passed without this view, without this creativity and benevolence of countenance, of knowing, this feeling of actually embodying something absolutely and utterly benevolent.

I think it feels so good that it is not something I want to do now, think sad thoughts about “the past.” Those were stories that were told to and by a child who was in the process of growing up. Stories which helped things she could not yet understand seem to have coherence, like overlays one must lay over an image of a simple but exquisitely profound crop circle.

One by one, these explanatory overlays are removed, the mythology and the explanations removed, one by one, and because you paid attention to the overlays, and the lessons from them cling to your mind, have shaped and expanded your ability to comprehend, level by level, lesson by lesson, overlay by overlay, now, one by one, they can be lifted, one by one they are removed, and what emerges is what was always there in the first place, the idea which generated the explanations, the reality which spawned a trillion lifetimes and an unspeakably deep well of understanding, and, funniest thing, deep within the being of the image, there is an eye, and it is winking at you, a smiling eye, a knowing eye, a familiar and ancient eye.

There it sits, a doodle, something which is at once so profound and so simple, that it is, within its very nature, able to winnow out fool from sage, just by being itself, pure and clear and beautifully simple, a joy to look at, and a puzzle so deep and vast, to begin considering it will lead you to journeys which will leave you unrecognizable to yourself, one day.

This is within each of us, the capacity is there within each of us to come home and see things simple, see the joy in the days we are giving ourselves, on this journey Home.

This is just the effects of the grand Trine, and it is only because I think it would be fun, that I have had these experiences. I have opened to them, allowed them, and it really, really, is not for everyone, but it is for the earth and for you and for myself that I do it, gratefully, and you are the only one now who matters to me.

You, reading this, please know that I love you and that you aren’t alone, never have been, and I know that sounds like utter bullshit most of the time, when you are knee deep in alligators and your reality is sucking, ragged, scary and tilty. If you feel stuck, or if you are having much drama, much futility, or depression, or anxiety, know this.

I know what you are knowing. I have walked those linoleum tiles, those dirt paths, those psych wards and pawn shops and shrink’s offices and healer’s homes. I have been there, and I have known blackness so consuming I cried for death, many many times, I did, and I remember it well, I do.

But that is not the end. It is the beginning. There is a crucifixion of the soul, and sacrifice of purpose, of self, of meaning which can lead to great things. But that is only one way of looking at it.

This is the climbing of your personal, self-contained mountain, and yes, it is a steep climb sometimes, but it’s you, this mountain, and you can seek refuge in any number of beautiful caves along the way. The idea is to get high enough to be able to take it all in, whole, at once, and to come to see that the only struggle was one which was self-imposed, and done for great fun, and also for some good exercise and fresh air.

You can go all energetic and do the god stuff, like I do, because that is just where it always goes for me, in the end, but, come on, there is enough just here on earth, let’s not even get into the pleadieans, the arcturians, all those guys, just here in this one akash, there is everything.

And futility, it doesn’t apply.

Self-loathing? Are you kidding me?

You don’t have to see it as sacred. I don’t relate that well to the word god myself. It is just a whiff, that word, just a faint whiff, of the grandeur which is unspeakable, unknowable, and so pure, so benevolent, so profound, that to feel adoration and recognition and homecoming, these are the only natural responses to its purity and loving benevolence for each of us.

Many do not know of this place, and when I talk about it, because it is not yet within their travels, and it has not been one of their willingnesses yet, then they can get, maybe nervous, or spooked, but that’s ok, I have found a way to tone it down.

There was still a bit of separation there, in all of the writing, this sense that I was always going to be apart somehow, and this is an overlay I can now look at, recognize as something I used to really know, but I don’t like it much now, and I am not going to be thinking such things. It doesn’t feel good, and I don’t think it’s necessary to feel bad.

This is the thing, and the sacredness that is coming.

There was a time when I thought none of this would translate very well into my daily life, and I would keep getting a bunch of crap for it, and that made me feel like waking up was futile.

And this bled onto everything, invaded how I spent my money, and my free time, and it helped shape what thoughts I expressed, what dreams I focused on, and what activities I engaged in.

I have found, though, something so vast and beautiful and fulfilling, right inside me, and now, I am just as happy with you if you like me or if you don’t.

It is not without a grin that I tell you that I know you are going to be happier around me now. I know this. But even if you wind up having a bad day and acting in ways that are just awful, that will be fine too. I will love you.

You cannot take advantage of me. What a silly thought. You cannot hurt me. How can I not, then, love you and wish to help you, and move in ways that are joyful and soothing and balanced?

I know there is sacredness within mathematics, geometry, and I knew from girlhood, toddlerhood, that if I needed to be reminded of perfection, if I needed relief from the fucking insanity I had around me, that was just so dense most of the time, that I had trouble taking in a deep breath, all I had to do was look out the window, or look at a piece of fruit, or go lay down in clover.

Even as a little, little girl, I knew, that it is that simple, that I can find sanity by looking at the way a fruit is made. No one can tell me there is not a loving creator with a devastatingly grand sense of humor, when I spend time studying a grape, or an orange, or a tree, or an ant, or a cloud.

The insanity would mute, and nothing could affect me for those moments, even as a child. I knew something everyone else had seemed to have forgotten, and it was contained, this truth, in this little thing that others think is insignificant.

Clover? Get up, it’s time to go to the store.

And then, now, to understand that the miracle of nature that always soothed me, always reminded me that things were ok, now I see that tapping these little keys is really, honestly, a piece of nature.

What am I if not a biological entity, someone who bleeds if she’s cut, cries and laughs and chortles and dances, whose skin responds like a garden to the rays of the sun, whose being can consume something from the ground and turn it into thought, action, emotion, and waste?

I am nature, and I can now find solace in the simple geometry which also forms me, my cells, my self, and my buddha nature.

If you call this something other than sacred, and if the words god or energy or spirit inflame you, can we, maybe for today, and maybe for all time, just agree that words are symbols, and what matters is the core of it, the truth of it, the feel and flow and benevolence of it, and this it, it is something we actually have in common?

Is my Sam a Galaxian, as he claims? Can he grow gills in the water? Is he going to be transforming into a dragonfly?

Is his set of thoughts any less strange than the mythology surrounding the Christ, or Buddha or Mohammed? They are stories we have told ourselves to make sense of things which are simply beyond our ability, or, frankly, willingness, to language. This is what children do, and it is what I did to make sense of my own life, of the seeming chaotic and random happenings which befell me, confounded me and perplexed me.

Let it ride. Let it be. Be still. Smile. Look up.

Something sacred this way comes.

P.S. Sam just came into my room and told me that he had an awesome dream. He was happy, and said, really excited, “My wings came in!”

We talked for a bit, and he was open as long as I was silent.

Toward the end, I added something, and he balked, and so I smiled and commented, “You don’t need to be taught. You need to teach.”

Without hesitation, conversationally, he said, “I don’t want to teach, I want to heal.”

I love my kid.

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