Deeply Awake — Reboot 8-27-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — Reboot 8-27-13 By Kathy Vik

It has been just a wee bit harrowing, sort of fake-harrowing, I guess, these last several days. And because I have finally, joyfully and fully feel recovered, and because it was very clear and obvious when and how things got better, and because it felt so weird, familiar and yet not at all, I want to talk about it.

It’s been weird, I have found myself greatly pressed, squeezed, and really just very flat. I thought on it especially while driving yesterday, when it sort of peaked. I realized that I had gone for days not even thinking about listening to the trees, not even thinking they could talk. Colors were not very vivid, and everything just felt sort of grey, flat, very very flat.

It came from having gone too far, in my littlemind, with my last essay. I was mortified. I was blown open. I cross these energetic barriers within myself, break another taboo, discuss something else that has never, ever been languaged by yours truly, and then I get knocked off my horse a bit.

That’s a big part of it, I think, just feeling like I have gone too far. But when I am in any relationship and one or the other of us “goes too far,” well, at worst, there is no more relationship, I mean, that happens, but usually, time passes, and then there is perhaps a brief discussion, a very important one, actually, and then you go on, usually, right? Everybody learns a valuable lesson in whatever, whatever the lesson is, and then you go on. Don’t tell me I am alone on this one… everybody has had this happen to them.

Well, when I write some of this stuff, I hit dams, and there is such momentum to the information now, that the dam gets broken, busted through, but then, in the stillness, bobbing in my inner tube, just sunning and bobbing, then I think on the old way, the dam, and sometimes it’s not so serene there in my inner tube. Sometimes I am just so uncomfortable.

What it boiled down to is that I thought I had gone too far with my talking, and said things that shouldn’t be said, blah blah blah. But this was a particularly sticky one…after that last essay, I felt such aversion to writing, and couldn’t read anything I’d written. Further, I couldn’t get behind anything else to read, and Kryon’s recordings just struck me wrong.

That’s when the cotton got real tight in my ears, and I started to not feel, and colors got less bright, and I stopped considering the possibility that trees, my friends, could talk.

Awful, I say.

And then, yesterday, I decided that it was time to stop this nonsense. I read my piece, and before that, a different one, which was perfectly placed for the lesson that was at hand. I read these two pieces, which thoroughly admit this weird friendly sort of alive friendship I have with Jesus, honest, I know it’s odd to most, but there it is.

And then, time passed. I was doing the laundry yesterday afternoon when it dawned on me, hey, I’ve been writing about this crap for over a year. I didn’t take any chances that I haven’t taken before, you know. The whole thing is just weird. So, there you go. It’s really ok. I didn’t do anything wrong or bad, or even that original. And then I laughed, and kept putting away my clean clothes.

I began to feel put together. And this is after a particularly difficult dark-night-of-the-soul on the 25th, up all night, sometimes weeping, just miserable. Ugh.

And now, things are better. I feel there is value in this writing, once again. But it is a marginalized sort of value for me, at present, because I am well aware that this is not salable, not now.

Maybe later, but not now. And that saddens me. Of course, that is just a story I am telling myself, so there’s that, too. Except, mostly, it feels like something I just know. It’s not time, it’s not time, it’s not yet time. Tedious, that old mantra.

In any case, what helped, what nursed me along while I was in the doldrums, and what helped me to come here and reboot, it was Convoluted Universe, Grandma Cannon. God, that woman is precious.

I had so much fun reading her words, and when I was my flattest, I just read it like science fiction, not believing one word of it. Thinking it nonsense. I thought on the people I have so enthusiastically loaned it to, and how it was just as enthusiastically returned, skimmed, unread, and I identified with them.

Yeah, that was just a few days ago, folks, that I was

Does that make me spiritually retarded, not-advanced, unworthy of being “saved” from my “lower self?”

Well, maybe, but it think instead what it means is that I had greatly expanded, more than I realized, obviously, and instead of the little bitty contractions I have gotten SOOOO used to, I had an extra long one. And it sucked.

See, that’s what I believe happens when we grow emotionally, or in any other way. Our energy or mind or whatever you want to call it, when it expands, and we are bigger, we stand bigger, in our compassion toward ourselves and those around us, then it takes some time to adjust. And the adjustment time is called a contraction, or it was by my teachers, and I like this term. It has the imagery of birth, which is nice, and plus, often times, when in contraction, it’s common to feel “squeezed.” And this is an apt and fit description of the state.

The reason I decided to write about it, to be honest with you, is that when I was in that state, or just extricating from it, I had a big realization. I had been trying to help myself by thinking on how things are different from the me of before… what is different for me, better for me, now, than a couple years ago? That helped a little bit.

But the big aha came when I realized that maybe everybody feels like this, that flat, angry way, all the time?

And then it dawned on me, wait, now, if I am really really honest, I can honestly say that I felt like that for years, right before 2012, I would say the whole 2000 decade was just one big spiritual vise, in many ways, for me, and coming out of it, it was like walking into a garden, having only seen the city for twenty years. 2012, and even before that, there were stirrings, it was a magical thing, looking back on it.

The aha started coming in loud and strong once I began to once again think that some of this spiritual stuff might just be true.

When in deep contraction, I am feeling dark and knowing that my mind is somehow locked in thoughts I cannot seem to pry my focus from. What made it worse, before 2012, is that I never really knew if I would feel anything like permanent relief.

And that is something that is important to talk about. It should be shouted from the rooftops. But I will just say my piece here, and then walk away knowing that if I ever get real lost again, I just need to read this one!

When you learn a great truth, when your heart sort of blossoms and then settles into a radiant bloom, right there in your chest, and you know, down deep know, that you are right with the world, and all is well, that stuff sticks around. It imprints within you, and it cannot be removed, erased, deleted. Nope.

But, things can obscure it, shoddy thinking, fear thinking, contraction. It’s cool. Here’s the beauty of it: it is stronger, that pristine state is stronger, than any fear thought you can conjure, any time-consuming adventure in self-absorption.

And because it is strong, it will shine through, once the dust settles. It is permanent. And it is a choice. And once you get there, it gets easier and easier to get back there, because it is just like any other habitual thought construct. Live in it, and it is yours.

Squatters rules, when it comes to thought constructs, I think.

And when I was in my contraction over this grand sextile on the 25th, of course I forgot all about that rule, and all about many many things. Many many things were forgotten. It’s like my being was sort of locked up, frozen, but I did not ever experience the true despair that was my one true companion there at the end of 2011. the despair, and the panic of wondering if any of it was real, any of it at all, that’s gone. It made this contraction, this case of the doldrums, livable, passable.

So I felt great compassion for myself, worrying always, wondering forever if I’d ever feel happy ever again, and despairing that even if I did, it would be temporary, well, that sad sack was proven right a lot, and proven wrong more, and she is now sitting in a recliner having some tea. Gone, now, are the doldrums, and there is no need for despair here.

Despair is a cheap trick. And that is what I wanted to mention, that this contraction, even though things were very uncomfortable and familiar in just palpable sadness and defeat, I knew, a part of me always was standing apart and knew that this was temporary. It felt permanent, and it was harrowing, I have to tell you, but I held no despair. A part of me knew it would all blow over.

And that is a new feature. Brand new.

I am finding that there are certain circumstances that are just incredibly upsetting, and I am just sort of shrugging and opting out of being very upset. I find myself first just stopping the scream fest in my mind, when I meet with something I consider worth screaming about, and then, I tell myself that I am feeling so horrible because I am opting into believing that this is horrible and awful and irreparable, or something to that effect. And nothing is.

I have applied this, in the last year, to being dumped, to having car and money problems, to being really shabbily treated by folks who should know better, and now it’s applied to little things too, like the washing machine breaking, or someone being just amazingly mean or rude or unthinking toward me.

I’ve remembered the new vows I took, ditching those of chastity and poverty, for four ones I came up with a while back.

The fat farmer, the love puzzler, the supreme hedonist and the queen. I like that. It helps to reframe, and to think thoughts that are more forgiving.

I think that is what I am learning, in the end. It is very easy to fly off the handle and assume the worst in a situation. Tons of people will tell you they don’t do it, but everyone does, on certain things, until you get to, like, supreme mastery level. I am just certain there were things that pissed buddha off. I am sure that once in a while, before full-on buddha hood, the little dude had his foibles and quirks and stuff that got his goat. All of them, they were all human, you know.

There is something that Kryon talks about, something that is sticking out for either polishing or lopping off, either that, or I will need to super-size this whole structure, because this is a big thought, and I’m trying to encompass, make peace with it.

Is the definition of mastery being able to have anything, just anything at all, breeze right through you, because you do not judge anything?

I really want to know. I believe that the answer is that yes, a master is so filled with soul, with home, with compassion, with love, with active, happy, complete, full-on love, that there is nothing they cannot see love in. They can see the bigger picture with any of it, all of it.

And maybe that’s not so hard to do with something like Hitler and the Holocaust, or any other massive “event’ which, looked at in the right light, becomes a shockingly layered and amazing metaphor and psychic tableau on which a generation’s psyche is then played out, a backdrop of sorts. It’s possible to do it with the big things, but what about the little things?

And I mean the things that really, really get your goat, you, yes, you there, reading. Think about something that just really gets your hackles up. It can be small. I’ve got one: I have a very very particular way I like my groceries bagged, and I throw little conniption fits, not dramatic ones, just mainly internal ones, but I just go crazy if things aren’t bagged “right.”. Now I know this may seem petty to you, and it sort of is, because it isn’t connected with the survival instinct, but still, it serves the purpose.

If I can let that go, or even not observe it, not notice it, and am cool with my groceries bagged any which way, then what does that make me? I mean, if being cool with everything is the goal, then what? Will we be a zombified nation? Folks who gave up caring to gain spiritual oneness?

See, I don’t see it like that at all.

I can understand the thinking, but this is how I think it goes:

There will always be preferences. Preferences are the feelers, the little probes that our akash, our amalgamated soul, our future self, sends out, by putting out preferences. And meeting our preferences is a great way to attain enlightenment, in my opinion.

I think that was one of the worst things about this last squeeze: I wasn’t getting shivers of delight with simple things, and I really really missed that.

Yep, it’s time to super-size the structure. Here goes. I think that the idea is to know oneself so well, to know the truth of how the soul just goes on and on, has a multitude of expressions, and I am just one of these, a great one, but just one, and my soul is riding around with me, this old friend who knows all about, and I have, by virtue of the path I have walked, I have preferences.

And I have found that it is pretty awesome getting my preferences met, and it’s less fun when they’re unmet, but no one can withhold me true happiness, true pleasure. But it would be a lie to say anything but there are things I prefer, and things I don’t prefer.

When it comes to people, well, they are a mystery to me, most of them, and I have decided that this is mainly because they are a mystery to themselves. Those who have traveled far into the land of self-acceptance, I like those folks the best. Most of the ones in my life are not practicing new-agers, and are allergic to religion. They are whole, and reasonable and tolerant and super kind. They take care of themselves, speak up, and are honest with themselves. They know what they like, are happy regardless, and strive to live according to their preferences, because it’s more fun that way.

So I am taking a cue from the wisest ones I know, and seeing things like this: my needs are always met. Miraculously, sometimes, but they are always met. My preferences, the things I fancy, the things that light me up and make me feel all warm inside, these are things that should not be denied or rejected, just as they should not overwhelm or cloud good judgment.

They should not be seen as anything but what they are: preferences. If kept in the proper perspective, then they become a road map of sorts.

Something was happening before the big squeeze. For two or three nights just prior to 8-21, I was having this experience upon awakening which has been a guide of sorts, during the days that followed.

I had the oddest sensation of being very tall, or high in the air, and sort of giggly giddy. I saw that I was “dropping down” all sorts of things into my reality. I could see me “drop down” scenarios, feeling states, new people, new perspectives. They were like parcels, and I was having one hell of a good time dropping them down.

And then this part of me would speak, and say, this is how reality is formed. You don’t HAVE TO feel or think or even DO anything at all. Nothing is set in concrete. Just drop it down. Whole stuff. The corollary to this is that I can tell myself any story at all about stuff. Any story at all. And if I am distressed, usually it is because I am telling myself a story that ends badly, or has me as its villain. That’s when I start getting sad and upset with life.

And this dropping down idea, the odd part was, when I was doing it, just choosing things and dropping them down, it looked so super easy and fun, and I didn’t have a care, I was just having fun. It was so natural feeling, I did not think to take notes, which I regret, because it is not as easy as it looks.

While walking around, coping, it is harder to get the idea that what I am living is what I am agreeing to, dropping down, choosing. The only bit of power I have over some situations is what I tell myself about them, boots on the ground.

I think it is important to repeat that what got me on track the most, what really jolted me back to a full, upright position, was this tiny thought: It’s real. I have lived this. It is not theoretical anymore. I have had the NDE’s and the huge, twinkly meditations, I have seen the eye of God in my living room, and those things are as real to me as my hair or my kid. Real.

And from there, things clicked into place.

I know they are real because I remember them, and I remember they happened because I wrote about them. They are big events which can flit away just like dream images, but I made them real by writing about them. I know they happened. Even if I’d never written a word, these events, they changed me, they changed me and they were real to me. From there, I ran through some of the things I have experienced, and oh, it felt so good to remember. How did the door to that room get closed? It’s just awful around here with that door shut.

And so, it was the thought that all this stuff is real that turned me toward home again, and I then realized that it was because I was trying my darndest to imagine that none of it had been real, that’s what caused the distress.

So this morning, to and from dropping Sam off at school, I felt great honor and happiness with the trees. I greeted them, and them I, as I drove. I complimented them, of course, and thanked them so sincerely, because I love them so very much. It’s back, I thought, as I was rounding the curve to home. Everything is vibrant again, and I do not feel that pall of hopelessness, of heaviness anymore.

This is a state of grace, and I know it. I am grateful for it when it visits me. It didn’t, for far too long, and now, it is my desire to be in that state of grace continually. Get a hit of it and you will know why.

A place where shame and fear and anxiety just are not applicable, they do not apply, they are old weapons and there has been a general disarmament.

Before I lost consciousness during that string of NDE’s at the casino (you’ll have to look it up, weird experience), I remember that I was in a group, in a circle, and I couldn’t see the faces of those I was with. Their faces changed every millisecond, like, and so there was just a blur, but if you focused you could see all kinds of faces. It was a little dizzying, and they told me this: I will know them not by face, but by energetic signature.

This is very important, they told me, to get used to energetic signatures. They explained that I had the experiences I did so that I could come to know my own energetic signature. They said I had to get to a place where I was examining each thought, each thing, and to get so clear that I would know, just know, my own energetic signature. That without this, it is impossible to go further. It is imperative to know one’s own energetic signature.

And that group, the ones around me, the ones there, in my car, visiting me as I lay dying, I felt them and knew them, and I knew I was in a circle of love, and it would be fine to die that day. I knew then that there are other fish to fry, just as big, just as juicy, just as real and valid.

And then I woke up, barfed, and drove home. They told me I could call these episodes NDE’s, or an NDE, that would be fine. And I have come to think that, had I not made the choices I had, I would have died that day. I think that was my penciled in date to die. It would be fitting, perfect for me. Found dead in my car, in the parking lot of one of my favorite casinos, with $22 and a coupon for cash in my wallet. Yep. Fitting.

But before this event, I’d been visited by a big white light, while playing slots, induced by realizing in my heart of hearts that I have always been in love, stone cold love, with God. And from there came the light, and in that light, I was made whole in a brand new way. Sure it looked like I was having a seizure, but I went somewhere that day I never thought I would go. After it all happened, I went back to playing slots.

And then all the lights went out, the slots died, all of it, dark. And I heard laughter and a voice in my right ear say, “Whoops.” They explained that when you get blasted with that much light, there is a physical rebooting that has to go on. They told me to expect it with all my major electrical devices, and one by one, in the two weeks after this, all of it when dead at a certain point, phone, car, laptop, all of it.

Rebooting, they said. You need to get rebooted.

When the slot game came back on line, it started with some typing on the screen. As god is my witness, my bank of machines popped on with these words:

chkall>>>>manifest>>>>>>>>>>>>>

over and over and over on the screen. And they said, just check it off, and manifest it. Check all, manifest, check all, manifest. They were laughing a lot by this point.

Then I left the building, and drove to another casino, and in that parking lot, with cash and coupon in my purse, I died.

But I didn’t die. That was May 25, 2012. This week, I held no despair while not being plugged in, and even though it might not be as overtly dramatic, to me it is a big, big deal, to have gotten that squeezed, made that small, and still, I held no real despair. Angst, pain, sadness, fear, yes, all those, but no hopelessness, no despair!

I know I did go too far, a bit, last essay, and not in a bad way, just in a big way, and that’s just fine.

It got me here. It helped me to remember, in vividly flat technicolor how life used to feel for me all the time, and made me feel more empathy and compassion for those who are still in the grips of fear and anxiety and dread, self-loathing, self-justification, and maybe they too are in relationship with difficult, unloving, angry people.

It’s worth the work, because this hope is indelible. It has been written onto my nature, my countenance.

From my time in the wilderness, I have come to see what I need to physically do next. The next little patch is clear. I have inklings, and I feel excitement, not fear. I feel exhilaration, not panic, and this is the difference.

I am off to make my preferences come true. My dreams, well, they already did.

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