Deeply Awake — My Son Demonstrates 9-28-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — My Son Demonstrates 9-28-13 By Kathy Vik

This is just so neat, I want to sing about it!

This morning, I woke up and felt clear. It was the second day of my life, and I say this is the most literal of fashions, it was the second day of my life that I woke up able to immediately disengage from the narrative.

Do you know what I mean? I had cogent, spiritual thoughts from the night before, about the first wave, things Kryon had said on a tape, Dolores Cannon’s work on the First Wave that I just bought, and there, sitting on that couch of wisdom and joy my elders fashion for me with words of a truth I know as my own, sitting there, pretty as a picture, was my awareness.

I had asked last night in meditation, is it really going to be ok to be here, above, just slightly above and to the left of things? I had been admonished about this since childhood. Told by The Others that it is shameful to not be right in the middle of the suffering, thoroughly convinced of the irreversible tragedy of it all.

Is it going to be ok to just ride the energy now, understand the energy, and not get too hooked into any of it? Is this the definition of mental health, or mental illness? The mark of a great master, or of a great mimic?

And I had my answer, I really did. I could see great superhighways of energy running, bifurcating, splitting into patterns, all in symmetry and in love, but I saw this as my life, great powerfully, forcefully blowing, free-flowing tubes of light, just running. Beautiful.

So, I knew within me that I had permission to finally be spending just as much time as I see fit above, connected, but above, my life, and as strange as it sounds, I am loving it all so much more from this perspective.

Anyhow, it wasn’t quite as abstracted this morning. This morning it was more like a sense that I could dip in and inhabit any of the feeling states I have come to identify as “normal”, that is just fine, or I could just spend a moment observing, in great love, in awe, for the creativity and symmetry of it all. More immediate, this morning, but no less part of something I see now as plastic, magically fluid, forever mystical and deep, this little, simple life of mine.

And then, I settled onto my bed and read the blogosphere, checked my comments (sad to say I do this…), and then I settled, once again, on a photo of my son I have sitting opposite my bed, on my bookcase, just a few loved knick-knacks on it, and there is Sam, from age four, maybe five, taken on an autumn day when he was four or five. Short hair, loving gaze, hugging a tree, red leaves surrounding, framing him, and a smile of utter joy. So much love and joy on that face.

And I had gazed on this photo quite a bit yesternight when in meditation, because it is nice to look at, but today, it called to me.

I felt Sam whole, and I tried real hard to feel him whole. He is a big one, a slippery one, and I do not have access to him as I do to most. This frightened me at first about him, and I thought myself a bad, a defective mother, because I found within him something so big that I couldn’t imagine it. It was beyond my abilities. Maybe that is “Mother Love.” Maybe that has everything to do with my climb within, to attain self-worth and love, but I do think it’s more than that.

There is something in him that is so big, and I looked at that picture and was feeling love, so much love.

I felt I needed to tell him, so moved was I with finally feeling, this morning, like I have just a bit more access to the part of him that has always felt a little off limits. So I thought, hmm, to celebrate the love I have discovered for him, I can’t tiptoe into his room… he asked me to let him sleep. What to do? What to do?

So, I sat quietly, and decided to just project myself to him. I was overcome with love. I looked at his face as it is now, but could see the baby, and I could feel the man, and I felt so much honor. For his path, for his choices, whatever they may be, so much love. And then I laid down briefly, and just held him, gave him a hug, and then, all at once, I was back.

I went on to other things, probably lit up a smoke, and went back to reading. But very soon, I heard Sam’s door open.

I wondered if my projection had disturbed him, awakened him, and I was very moved, when he came to my room, to tell him what I did. But I held my tongue. He had a big smile on his face, and he looked very calm. He wanted to talk.

He tends to reveal himself very sheepishly, and with an angry edge, so willing, he has forever been, to clip into derision and attack, if his revelations are in any way commented upon, encouraged, or praised.

So quietly, silently, I listened to him tell me about the dream he had just had.

Because my son is so reluctant with the details of his interior with me, I am unwilling to share them here. So I can tell you that this was a dream like a dream I had when I was about his age, a dream where I found myself within a loving family, kids and a husband, on a farmhouse, and we, I was happy. Fulfilled. Satisfied. Loved. Loving everyone. It was the opposite of what I had come to know occurred behind suburban walls. And that dream kept me warm on many long, cold nights, into my forties.

His dream was similar, but his was about true love. And I am here to tell you, I could see it coming from his face, glowing was he, in knowing, knowing, knowing, what it feels like to be absolutely loved by another, someone you love and cherish and honor and respect and feel part of.

And then it hit me. All at once, all at once, all at once.

I had gone to him, in his sleep, and I had given him the most pure love I could be aware of, just because he deserves it, just because I am moved to, and I wondered if maybe, just maybe, he interpreted this into a dream that would have meaning for him.

Could his soul use my love to spur Sam toward synchronicities which are lit up with love? Might this just be a way for us all to get home? I mean, it is a little spooky, and to quite honest, this is the second demonstration of this, so I guess I need to talk about that too.

So, anyway, in this case, I am going to take this synchronicity as a demonstration Sam engaged in to show me how it is translated when we get hit with love/light.

I realized, as he was talking about his specific dream images, which were vivid, individualized, meaningful and seen only by him, known only by him, I came to understand that this love we get given to us, that is ours for the taking, then, when we individually receive it, then we TRANSLATE it, and it is our translations of this light that are amazing.

I realized that I have translated this light to a call or purpose or future that, well, let’s be honest here, I am making it up as I go along, just as Sam, in a way, made up his dream images, used them, visually and emotionally, for him to understand he was loved.

Maybe the dreams we carry within, the aspirations we have as individuals, maybe they are simply the translations we have constructed to enjoy this light. Maybe it is ok to do anything at all with it, and enjoying it, reveling in it, I think this is the best way to greet it now.

Because, I think we are fed on this light. It is breathing us. It is available, in other words. All that is preventing me from knowing this flow, this creative geyser that is pure love, is linearity, my soul desires, the needs of those I travel with, the timing of the planet, of the experiment. So I guess there might be more to it than just which images do I want to place in my awareness.

This is deeper, more intricate, and more playful, more joyful, than I anticipated.

Thank you, Sam, for demonstrating to me that my awareness, my life, my experiences, they are my translation of this light, and as such, they can be changed in the time it takes to think a different thought.

I think this is the mechanism for “dropping down” certain realities, just seeing them as optional, voluntary, a lark and a whim, but, no, let’s do something else now. I think that is how chapters are opened and closed in a life, too.

So thank you, my son, my magnificent son, for once again bringing to our awareness a great truth, through your meek smile, a knowing one, a face touched by an intimate and personal translation of the light which has meaning, and may well become a homing beacon for my kid.

He is a kid, after all.

Last night, before sleep, he told me of the rash on his belly. Forever fascinated by the seeming fragility of his body, forever somaticizing, just to get his legs under him , I think, he had me feel the bumps on his belly. Just a normal variant, so I soothed him, and he spread lotion on himself.

This morning, just now, he told me that he thinks the rash is spreading, and it is bad. He is next door, our rooms separated by a decorative cloth panel. Hi tell him the rash is nothing to worry about. He volleys back that it’s getting worse.
I tell him to take a bath and use the pregnant girl oil. Then he bellows, “I need you to come and take a look! You just don’t even care enough about your own son to come look at his belly.”

And I then replied, “Um, Sam, your rash hasn’t changed and it’s normal…..” and then it came to me, “Um, are you needing me to come in there and rub your belly and love on you? If that is it, can you just tell me those words? “

“Mom, I need to you to come in here and love me and hug me.”

And so it goes. The training continues. We are both very stubborn, and very prissy, knowing full well we know full well. I see in him my grand impatience, for my slowness, for my need to have things down deep before they are mine, and after that, to hell with what anyone else thinks.

I’m going to hug my son now, and then I will come back to tell you of one more thing, one more precious thing, that these kids are teaching us, reminding us of, ok?

Mission accomplished, coffee replenished, and this last is a small thought, a compact and pretty one, so I will soon be signing off.

Last night, while listening to Kryon talk about the new kids, it dawned on me that there is a real real good reason why some of us were gifted with these unusual ones. There is a good reason why we had trouble in our lives. And it is a simple, simple, simple reason.

I can remember beaming with clinging, parental pride, but also feeling a little weird about it, that here is my two-year-old, and If we give him a broken radio or other machine, sitting there in his high chair, he can get it working. I remember so often telling anyone who would listen, and him, when he got older, that he has this gift for seeing things whole.

Seeing things whole.

This is what is described as a conceptual thinker. Someone who has no problem thinking outside the box, because to a conceptual thinker, the box is as much of a construct as the puzzle in which it sits.

And this is also described as quantum thinking.

And now it comes clear, now it is so clear, dear friends.

Are you like me, someone who felt they never fit in, even though they appeared to be able to do so whenever they saw fit? Someone who never could have satisfying conversations because they never went deep, far enough, and your need for depth in fact began to further alienate you as you walked through your days?

That is from thinking conceptually in a linear world.

Last night, Kryon asked the crowd, what would you do, human being, if you could see things whole, and every day you were told you must think linearly? What would you do if you understood the answer to a problem your teachers just told you they would now take three years to explain to you? What would you do?

You would quit, Kryon said. You would walk away. But a child can’t quit.

And so, then, you begin to see the split. These children either go within, or they act out.

And, you know, we are each of us these children.

Each of we first wavers, we each had a hard road, and it could be that it is as simple as this, a benign, loving explanation. We were thinking, all along, many of us, just like these kids, but we were in classrooms, universities, cities, sometimes, with not another one of us to smile at and hug.

Many of us became fast intellectual friends with great thinkers. I , personally, have a very steamy, sweaty, intimate affair going, intellectually, with many great thinkers. If I ever meet any of them, I will blush, and they won’t know why. But I will. I am in love with their mind, so hungry I am for the intellectual coupling which must occur, just through simple magnetics, when quantum forces meet.

Perhaps just as quantum as this new generation, but hobbled so monumentally by the distinct absence of anything that smacked of anything quantum, many of us went within. Living solitary lives, finding no satisfaction in the linearity that our companions seem to think is compulsory.

So, I think this wave theory needs further exploration. I am having fun writing, so I will go right into this, as soon as I sign off here.

I will tell my son thank you, if you find his demonstrations helpful. He is a leader. The voices in my head refer to him as “The King,” which I feel might be a bit grandiose, and then I think on the night when Sam told me he could no longer fight the urges, and he needed to dance for me.

He picked a song, a lullabye, and got real still, then he put foot to calf, hands to heart, and then he moved energy like a master, swirling, pushing, kneading, that little boy, right in front of my eyes, turned into an old Chinese dude with long beard and fingernails, honest to God, as he danced to that song, and ran light.

That night, before bed, as he was drifting off, I was honest with him, I told him what I saw as he had been dancing.

Sam quietly said, dismissively, “Oh, yeah, that’s who I was one time. He was like jesus, but it was a really long time ago.” and then he rolled over and went to sleep.

Deep are the mysteries walking through my house this Saturday morning, and blessed am I to be among them, being caressed by these ancient knowings, so grateful am I to have this day off with my very own son. I am so happy to be in this skin, in this expression, in this moment.

And so it is.

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