Deeply Awake — Modified Monotheism 9-5-13 By Kathy Vik
Quite an impressive title, and I do believe I am up for the task. Of course, this could be a discourse as long as a book, but I will keep this as short as I can, writing, as always, until I feel complete.
I have lately been thinking on monotheism, and about what it must have been like earlier on.
I am reading a book called Disease and History and it really blew me away last night, reading about Jesus’ time, and that of the middle ages and the plague. Plagues were very common, and some took so much of the population that writers at the time said that folks in the future will not be able to fully comprehend the devastation, because those going through it couldn’t believe it at the time.
Plagues, the author says, did more to move history along than history itself, at times. It was because of horrific pestilence that Christianity began to take, and to replace the Greek Gods common a the time, the Christian deities taking on the attributes of the older gods, as is the way of things.
The author explained that plagues did a lot to bring Christianity into a ministry of healing, and I was brought back to the days when there was no medicine, no cure in sight, and what was left were incantations, prayers, rituals and plodding on.
I read of the healers who were so crazy in love with the Jesus thing that they did really crazy stuff. A woman, who attracted the attention of a suitor, plucked out her own eyes and put them on a skewer, and gave them to her suitor, I guess to tell him that she was actually more in love with god than with him. I’m sure at the time it made perfect sense. But to know that there were times of great martyrdom, high tragedy and drama, it soothed me, somehow.
That sort of rapture, the sort of desperation and misunderstanding, just rank misinterpretation, my oh my, down the crazy path we walked.
It got me thinking about how we see things now, how I see things now, versus how I must have, had to have seen things earlier. And I sat there, deep in contemplation, remembering those days, feeling them, knowing that we have, as a species, changed through the ages, and all I really could think about was our evolving DNA, magnetic grids, and ascension.
After that last channeling, I got blasted wide open, and have stayed that way. I’ve spent the time I should be sleeping just sort of lightly going away, but this morning, after work, there was something else.
Once again, the dictation was so loud, but this time, the words were within me, and I felt an old familiarity with them. I was given many gifts during those hours, and what is amazing to me is that I am doing it all on my own. No tapes, no reading, no mala with which to pray. Just me and my third eye.
What I have come to understand is simple, and beautiful, I think, and it is just my cosmology, just my explanation, nothing more. If you discover something more or better or bigger out there, I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT IT. I feel a thirst that, although slaked, continues to niggle at me, pushing me. I really thought that I was slowing down, taking a break spiritually, but no, that was not so.
I have come to see that my life, as I now know it, is perfect just as it is, and I have decided that I don’t want to fight against it anymore. I am very proud of how I spent my time when not fully awake, and am grateful for everything nursing has given me.
I realized about three weeks ago that the worst thing I could do would be to look back on nursing, as I prepare to walk from it, if that’s for the highest good, thinking on the profession and what I have done as a nurse as a waste of time, not exalted, unimportant. I always felt nursing had been thrust on me, against my will. I see now that there are times when a life takes a turn, and it’s really probably best to just accept and roll with it.
See, this “against my will” stuff is powerful, and led to many misinterpretation and much internal suffering.
Maybe you have this too, but I had thought that it is at home and among special friends that I can be myself, and then I have to go to my front door, exit my real life, and in the world outside my front door, that is the world that has never accepted me, never welcomed me, never really gone out of its way to reward me or make things smooth.
It set up a weird dichotomy, and served a valuable purpose. It has been in this last month, finally, that my dream has come true, that when I lock my front door and walk down my hall to the elevator, I am walking into a friendly land, I am engaging in my social life, and I lose none of my sparkliness by exiting my home. I carry it with me, always have, just didn’t know it.
Now, I suppose this could be taken as the ravings of a recovering agoraphobe, and maybe you would be right, although just barely, and maybe none of this is important, but I happen to think that me leaving my house, keys in hand, with a smile, with anticipation and confidence within me, knowing there is nothing “out there” that is not already “in here,” well, this is life altering to me, not just ravings, but a little bit of a miracle, actually.
To think about the world as a friendly place that is not going to reject, hurt, humiliate or shock me. That there is nothing out there that I have not seen, nothing I cannot handle. These are sturdy thoughts, and they help me a lot.
And from this place, I am seeing many things. I understand many things, and I want to tell you about them.
This is the “God part,” and if you have an aversion to such talk, just look away, but for those who wish to listen, Oh! I have learned a bunch!
I am beginning to think that being aware of these other levels, these other endeavors, is not only calming, but the truth of it , for me.
I have come to believe that God is us, our collective awareness, all of it, and yet, there was a thought which spun into physical form, to know itself, and we are sparks of the original flame which came to want to see its divinity in motion.
We are parts of the God which loves us, we are wrapped, cushioned, in love of self, and that is why our miracles are always so meaningful, so personal, so unexplainably like a hug from home. It is our own Selves looking out for us on street corners, alleyways, boardrooms. It is our own Self-guiding us, calling to us, reminding us.
But some don’t have the pushy task master Self I do, and so, often times, thinking in non-linear terms, it is rough for some folks to do. It requires expansion, and it requires, or at least it did for me, a level of detachment, a willingness to drop old thoughts and beliefs and re-believe a few things.
Personalizing a God without humanizing a God, that is tricky. How is it done? And in the end, if God is us, then how can God be only one, singular?
I do believe that God is a physics that does not argue with itself. If you have gotten there, you know, there is a place you can go within, where there really is no argument. It is clear what is appropriate, most loving, most benevolent, and that, of course, is what is done.
The Teachers told me in the 90’s that there will come a day when telling a lie will create such dissonance within you, that you will be unable to tolerate telling one. To self, to others, honesty, honesty, honesty, practice it, get to know it, because that will be the norm. And I think that this is true of many of the newer traits which I can see coming in.
Seeing things, grokking things differently, just seeing no sense in fighting, no sense in engaging, and instead, just seeing the bigger picture, telling myself tbackstoryory that fills in the ugliness with benefit of the doubt and erring on the side of being loving, this leads me home every time.
So, are there guides, entities around me, guiding me? I have had trouble with it. I have gone so far into the idea that a human is a vast universe unto herself, himself, that the guides must just be us in different forms, in a form we can understand is something we should pay attention to, notice, heed. But heavenly, part of a graded system of enlightenment? Well, maybe, I just don’t know, but I am getting less and less interested in puzzling it out. I am interested in going into the Great Central Sun, into the All, into our collective Selves, exploring there.
And this is the tricky part, the weird part. Part of the parcel, the download, I got today was about self care, and my aversion to it. It is personal and an unnecessary detour, but it came up, big as day, for my understanding.
I have been, for over a year, largely disinterested in what anyone thinks of me. I have been exploring, here in my apartment, at work, with my kid. I have been learning. And yet, I have an aversion, always have had, to self care.
What I came to understand is that self care is validation that I am physical, that I am here. I had become disappointed in my ability to manifest, and had gotten very fatigued, living in the constructs I had built to explain my disappointment. Basically they wavered from “I’m too early, it is not yet time” to “I am socially retarded,” but the truth, it dwells much deeper than that.
It has to do with seeing someone walk through their life the ultimate victim, the ultimate emotional punching bag, and she never whimpered, she was always kind, and she never, ever, ever, not even once, not even on her death bed, did she catch a break!
I saw a dearly loved human being radiate nothing but acceptance, indulgence, love, and she was crapped on from beginning to end. This of course wound up killing her. I am, of course, talking about my mom.
It is hard to walk away with the lesson of how my mom coped and not feel a little like a sacrificial lamb. She laid down and took every abuse, every humiliation handed to her, and trust me, it was so exquisitely painful to watch, so hard to endure, her love never being returned, her being so unfulfilled, and still, she gave. The last words my mother spoke were to my sister’s friend, encouraging her, saying kind things to her. That’s how I remember my mom.
But today, I think I have broken through something. I love my mom, and will defend her vivid honor always, but, I began to see today that what she was giving was the best she could do, but was it really, really and truly and honestly, a big love like what is so readily available now?
She was still tied to the old paradigm, that women keep their throats closed and men keep their hearts closed, and she did the best she could. She came in with an agenda to NOT awaken, or to stay quiet about it, if she did. This was one of her gift to suffer things silently, to refuse to create that pain, the bad pain of words that should never have been said, angry and hurtful words. She refused to speak any of it, if she was feeling it.
She had strong opinions. But she did everything in her life with harm to none. Can you say that about many people? I can’t. But I can say it about my mom. I hold nothing but honor and love for her, and this is true, also, for my dad.
Just like the nun who pulled out her eyes in a fugue of, what? Panic? Joy? Rapture? Fear? Hard to know what would push a girl to give a boy something like that after their first date, but it is just as hard for me to comprehend how dad put mom on his new motorcycle and urged her to drive it, though she did not want to, and “forgot” to tell her how to brake, so she crashed, and broke her leg, but was told by the ER docs that it wasn’t broken.
She hobbled around in pain for months, and saw the doctor for follow-ups. She told us she was sure it was broken, but the doctors wouldn’t investigate further, and ignored her concerns. She knew it was because she was fat. “they treat you like you’re insulting them. when you’re fat. Everything is because you’re fat, too.”
In time, the leg gave her fewer complaints, though she had a limp after that. Health concerns eclipsed everything for her a few years later, at age 57, when she got sick.
During one of her last hospitalizations that she had, in fact, broken her leg all those years ago. She had been right. And sh’d had to heal it all on her own.
That’s my mom. Enduring. Giving. Loving. And completely unable or unwilling to defend herself.
And so, I think one of my blocks, one of the more invisible ones, core ones, was that to love deeply, from the God part of me, it’s gonna obviously involve getting crapped on a lot, and I did set things up so I could really be victimized, really feel put upon by The Man, rebel that I am, it comes so naturally.
Was she really loving? Yes, as much as she could be. As much as the priests and nuns could, before medicine, facing the Black Plague. You sink into what you know, and you just go on.
I understand now that my folks, especially my mom, she was here to show me love, to show me how to do it, and what the cost could be without the necessary act of self love, and then I have my dad, who just barrels right through everything and then looks back at the devastation his unthinkingness creates and feels remorse. I have a lot of that in me, and I see how it can cause harm to the gentlest in the room. But before realizing this, a brash one best loves the surge taking power gives you, a grand sense of entitlement, and true control of others.
They were here to teach, and to help, and I don’t know their soul “ages,” so I cannot, will not blame their mistakes, their troubles, on soul immaturity. I see things differently. I know that there is a big part of each of us that are together, even now, while I write this, they are cheering and laughing and we are finally getting it, that we played a game, we were chess pieces, but, more, we are also always the hands moving the chess piece.
And so, can I say that there is one true God? Yes, I can. I do believe, I can just feel it, I just know, that there is a most high, there is an essence from which the Creator came, there is more and more and more and more, it really never ends, but what comes next just makes me weak with rapture, to know that I am actually a part of all of it, a real part of it, and I have access to it all in my sleep state, and in meditation, and now, as I walk, as I pass pills, and as I teach my son.
Today, when Sam came home, he told me of his history teacher who told the class that she was their mother while they are at that school. Then, he said, that she told them that as their mom, she will punish those who misbehave.
And do you know what my Sam said? He said that he knew this was not the truth, because “My mom doesn’t punish. She doesn’t play take away with me.” And he said it like, duh, why would an old bag talk to kids that way?
My kid, at times, being a teenager, acts in mean and nasty ways, really quite rude and unthinking. And this used to grieve me, and embarrass me, and it used to really peeve my dad and my sister, the way he’d talk to me.
I had been bringing his behavior to his attention, explaining that part of loving someone is demonstrating kindness, it’s just part of the package, and I just do not comprehend why anyone would act like he does at times. He has made me cry more than once, with his words.
And I have been getting this for about two weeks, and rejecting it whole, until today. I have been told repeatedly that what I need to do the very minute he starts talking mean, starts being denigrating, is to go up and hold him. Bring into my heart and then breathe his best moments, think on his personal achievements, the walls he’s busted open, the love he has shown me, and just love him. Just love him. Just love him. Told that again and again.
So, this afternoon, I told Sam about this, after he got snarky, when my response was to lay on him. We were chatting on my bed, and then came the moment to demonstrate this, to try it out.
I thought, to give love when someone is being an asshole will only encourage the assholery. But I was dead wrong.
So now we have an agreement. When he gets snarky, he is going to get a full on love moment, as long as he needs. And if I forget to do this, he is to say, “You promised me.” We have practiced since then, to remember the phrase.
We did this when he was talking suicide. We came to understand that when he talked that way, he was feeling overwhelmed, and feeling misunderstood, so for over a year, we had signs in the house, our key phrase. If he wanted to say “I want to kill/hurt myself,” but he really wasn’t going to do it that minute, he was to say, “Please Understad Me.” We told his teachers. We let everybody know. Sam agreed. And it worked. No more suicide stuff. Please Understand Me.
So now our new agreement is, no more of this mean stuff, these unkindnesses. Before the words are spoken, when the urge strikes, that is the time to say, “you promised me.” We can live with that. And if he does not stop himslef, if he gets bullying and mean with me, that’s when I crack open a huge can of love on him.
This Creator, this Vast One, this beloved, this love I have for something I have never seen with these eyes but know in my core, oh! I am so in love. How wonderful to finally understand that this love is also for me, from me, of me, and is me. I know profound love for my God, and my God is what makes my body, me and my guides or some such, all of us together are pulling this off.
And everyone living on this planet today deserves the same sort of attention and love. We all may not carry this agreement, but form now on, it’s what I want to do with all others, anyone I am aware of.
It makes physicality a priority rather than a burden. This helps me to see that the details which have heretofore completely flummoxed me, they just don’t have to anymore! I have God within me, the Creator of the Multiverses. God loved so much that one become the all, all I see in front of me, and these details, this minutiae which just makes me feel dead sometimes, these details too are sainted. They matter.
I am thinking that there are no problems, because the solutions are contained within the set up.
Our DNA is awakening, and these bigger thoughts are possible now, but they weren’t before. Can I really do anything but love those who do not see? Can I do anything but feel mercy for those who do not understand that they themselves are creator gods?
Those who do not awaken, those who choose not to, for whatever reason, I have no feelings for them but love anymore. And that has changed. I am at peace with my brothers. I am finally at peace with myself. I made this my intention long ago, to awaken, and to do so in a way that honored me, and in all my days, in all my days, in all my days I have been honored, and I have been blessed. I have longed for a different life, this life, all my life.
And so to close I will tell you a secret, something I have never told anyone, something which has haunted and troubled me. Where else but here, where else? can such a thing be discussed?
You see, since I was a girl, I knew that I would be rich, well-off, a philanthropist, as my first teacher said. It is the only prophesy of hers that has not come true, and the ones she gave me were doozies. Stuff I KNEW could not happen in my life. Working with children, living in the mountains, on and on, all these random things which I laughed at, they have all come true but that one, philanthropy. And I have had teachers at school tell me since I was a little kid that I was destined for greatness, with my writing. They all saw it.
And so I knew my destiny. I knew where I was going, and it was GOOD.
And then, my life took a sharp turn. I found myself sobering up in a Minneapolis dorm room, surrounded by very nice people, attending nursing school.
Throughout my career, I was absolutely convinced I was not where I belonged, and was not where I was going to wind up.
Imagine my shock and surprise when I realized that here I am, 51, without savings, without money, living hand to mouth, and I might be a floor nurse for the rest of my days. That is when the depression really set in. Oh my God, I have wasted my life, missed my shot, yada yada. The sparkly life I knew would be mine, well, it began to feel like a delusion.
And then things changed, I changed, and the earth woke up. I count January 25, 2012 as the day I took my life into my own hands, said no to yet another victimizing boss, another in a long long line of Grade A Horrible Bosses, and I walked away. My dear friend Linda urged me to go onto unemployment and to just take some time off.
I did, and here I am, a year and a half later, all this glorious writing under my belt, and I kept the lights on, I kept food on the table, I made things go as I was deconstructing myself.
But here’s the thing.
That life, that beautiful one, where I am traveling and just held in high regard by those who I hold in high regard, I began to realize that I had, over the years, begun to think, really, to fear, that this intrusion, this life that kept inserting itself into my consciousness, making me feel incomplete and like a terrible loser for not having lived up to it, I began to fear that I had only been tapping into an alternate personality, a different me.
I have, in the past, become familiar with two of the people living lives, very interesting ones, that I am somehow part of. I can’t explain it, except they are discretely and utterly themselves, and yet, I am them.
So, I began to believe that this shiny life that I have always known is mine, and always, consequently, wanted, what if this is just an insert, and implant, a bleed through. What if someone is already living this version of my life, but they are forceful and they blow into my reality from time to time, like some soulic interference?
That’s my secret. It is crazy thinking, is it not? I mean, on so many levels, it is just psychotic.
And yet, it troubled me, really tugged at me, thinking that I cannot have the life I know is mine, because it is already being lived by someone else. I have seen this woman, me, I have seen her, and I know it is my body, I know it is me, these visions I have, but, HOW DO I GET THERE?
And because I was stumped on this question, I got a little confused, a little hopeless, and it has been people, it has been readers, and it has been me as a reader, it has been those who have connected to this work who have brought me further into and out of my self, and made me think that it is indeed possible to inhabit the reality which has been given to me, since I was a kid, teasing me, and at times creating a cavernous sense of self doubt.
I think that some of this is just a little too swimmy sometimes, a little too quantum to language well.
What has kept me from despair, what has in fact healed me, is writing. And so, how can this writer’s life I have always held as a beacon toward home, and yet fearing that it is not available to me, is someone else’s, how can it be that it is not mine to know, to inhabit, to live?
I have others who read this and who can see, probably far better than I, just what it is I am creating.
They told me something today in deep meditation that I will tell you as I get ready to say good bye to you.
They told me that I have actually done a pretty miraculous thing. I wanted to chronicle my awakening. And I have. In a very unique way, which is exactly what awakening is, unique, personal.
They told me that I have done a new thing, a unique and helpful thing, and this has been anything but wasted time. Deeply Awake stands as a series of epistles to friends. To loved ones. Telling of my love for God, for Self, for you. How can this be seen as anything but exactly what it is, and I am not saying what it is. I know it. I have been told exactly what this is.
That’s the weird part about this energetic change we have experienced. It is as if the scales are falling from my eyes, and I can see things more clearly. I am seeing the underpinnings, and the stories, and I am feeling my way through now, detached as I am from the lower agreement fields, where comparing and needing and shaming and blaming are the way.
No one is more aware than I of the times when my antennae seem to shorten and I can’t hear anything. But I am getting better at talking my way out of it now, and it does not stick to me, not like it used to, all the insanity which passes for deep knowledge these days, and all the stupidity I see. Rumblings of war, saber rattling, vindication. These are great psychic dramas playing out for those who need that sort of thing.
Obviously, war is not the answer, and obviously we are going to figure that out. If there is a skirmish, I think it will be small and quite shameful. Lies are being exposed, weaknesses are being revealed, and the man behind the curtain is all but panic stricken, because that curtain is getting pulled back more every day.
If the hypocrisy which I see playing out comes to fruition and there is war, then it will be that much easier to identify the congressmen, senators and executives to fire come 2014 and 2016. Unloving people, uncharitable, unthinking people, they are not to lead us. They cannot lead themselves out of temptation, so how will they lead a people out of it? New leaders will emerge from any chaos now being played out. It is just the old energy doing its thing, but it is shaking people up in a brand new way. That’s my take on it anyway.
This fugue, this unbelievingness that I have struggled with, knowing I have a bright future, but in my fifth decade, wearing thin on hope, I have gotten that second wind, and I see how to do this better than before.
And so, I will leave you, my heart and my mind on this page, my soul laid bare and I am feeling good. With all that has been said, I relax into the truth of it for me, that I am a piece of god, in the flesh, and not about to have anyone make a fuss over it, because anyone fussing is also just like me.
This is the time of miracles, the time of coming home, of getting a bear hug from the other side, from god, from my help, reminding me all the ways they love me, all the reasons they care, all the things which I don’t even know about consciously that make me me, I am loved, and hugged, by god and yet, by self, and yet, by others. It is not strict monotheism. It cannot be. It is not pantheism. It is something larger, more intricate and more personal.
I am loved by god and all that is. I know this now, I have the proof I need. And when I feel unplugged and scared and overwhelmed, I will remember, just as my son now remembers, in our hour of need, we have agreed, when feeling scared and small and about to attack because of feeling so bad, we have agreed to tell someone who loves us, “You promised me!” and remind them that we need a hug. If my son can do it, so can I.