Deeply Awake — Tether Breaking 8-10-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — Tether Breaking 8-10-13 By Kathy Vik

I feel better, more clear and more on purpose, right now, than at any other time in my life. I feel deliberate, joyfully so, and I am not feeling much boredom, which is a blessed relief.

It’s funny, because I have made it very clear to my support team, my guides/angles/higher selves, that I want to hear from them, I want them loud and involved and gently obvious, and I find we are having quite the two-way conversation now.

A few days ago, something happened to me as I was waking up that is continuing to affect me.

I woke up feeling better than I ever have, ever. I felt clear. I felt joyful. Not just happy. Steadily joyful.

This is not my usual state, so I hung with it, and realized that it is the stories I am telling myself that cause pain. The narrator was silent, and I had no access to any of my stories, any of the explanations I have for things. I mean, it went deep, about finances, and my career, and my apartment, and all sorts of stuff.

And I realized, in this flash, that it’s the stories I tell myself about this person or that situation, or how I will behave or what the outcome will be, it is these stories which cause the problems, all the problems, all the emotional dissonance that I experience. They create the emotional constructs, the emotional weave, of my life.

And I woke up with none of them, just for a short time.

And then, they descended upon me and it felt so heavy. I could feel them settle on me like the fabric of a heavy dress, and there, there I sat, on my bed, thinking the same old thoughts, anticipating the same disasters, as the day before.

But, see, I’d had a moment without.

And now that I know what it feels like to not hold beliefs, opinions, about stuff, wow, I want more of that!

So, then, yesterday, something happened which sort of cemented this for me, thanks to my son.

During the day, I’d learned about this guy who’d snapped, killed his wife, and then posted a photo of her body and his confession on Facebook, even going so far as to reference his “friends” on fb with a “u”. He’d said he’d murdered because he said he couldn’t tolerate her being mean to him anymore.

So I took a nap, and then I got up, and then I was on facebook, and there it is again, so I read a comment, that someone just went on his page and it’s still up.

So I actually took the time to look him up. I did. And there was the picture. He’d posted again and again, his wife. And he’d written other posts. I think the worst one said something like “Just posted bail, what now bitches.”


Sort of chilled me to the bone.

And it is such a normal thing, or I used to think it was, to just take that darkness by the hand and let it lead me anywhere it wanted.

So I sat, on my bed, after seeing the carnage and being hit with such inky darkness, such unthinking, messed up darkness, and I thought, hell, my kid has access to this. Every day. Every day. Every day.

How do I protect him from this?!

I drove to his daddy’s house, that afternoon, dictating a deeply awake that would maybe help Sam. I wanted to make sure the darkness did not seduce him, that he does not get abducted into those dark territories, from which emanate guttural cries of soul pain.

So, yeah, I’m in full-on drama mode.

And we drove the long drive home talking about many things, some of them quite dark, and then, by the end of the ride, there I was talking with him honestly and openly about this very awful thing I saw on Facebook, telling him I really just don’t want him to be exposed to such things, but it’s all over, so available, oh what to do?

And I can’t tell you exactly what he said, because he really says very little, a lot of the time, but he got out his phone and was urged to play me a song, right there, in the car, in the basement garage, before we even got out to go upstairs. Insisted on it.

It is a song done by a new comic, called “Creepy Doll.”

It’s a great song, a really well-crafted tune, funny as hell, about yuppies who buy an old house, and they are plagued by a creepy doll.

And I sat there in the car, laughing and looking at Sam’s profile, and breathing a sigh of relief.

After the song, I told him, you know, I don’t have to worry about you, and I am really sorry that I spent this car ride worried that you could be pulled into such nonsense.

You see, there is a lot of this stuff that just sort of glides right off of Sam. He is untroubled by some of this darkness because he simply does not recognize it.

And this is not because he is so naturally dark that darkness seems normal to him.

It is because he doesn’t seem to have the natural receptors for it.

People look at me weird when I refer to Sam as bulletproof, but I always have. The kid is bulletproof.

And so, I think I saw, yesterday, that this is not so much a matter of whose light is brightest, whose light can vanquish the dark, blah blah blah. It has more to do with seeing things as either applicable or not-applicable.

Sam did not see the mess that dude left on Facebook, the mess he’d made of his life and his wife’s life, he didn’t recognize it as something that was his, and he did not get troubled by it.

Instead, in full knowledge of that insanity, he played me a comedy song.

And I have stayed with that little twist all day, and into the night, and it is my companion here, now, as I write this to you.

I am a warrior, I know how to do battle with darkness, and will one day discuss this further here, but for now I will tell you, I do know the dark, very well, and I know of its hypnotic qualities, its pull, its great ability to seduce.

I know my light because I have used it, and I have beaten great darkness back with it. I have seen it retreat. I know of light. But I learned about it by busting through dark.

I believe there is something that is beyond light and dark, beyond this duality, this polarity. And although choice is a big part of it, I think there is more to being within that reality than simply choosing it.

Having that experience of being free from my stories, my explanations, it made me see that this is where the power is, the true power, over how reality is not only formed, but experienced.

If I am reading a book, and I do not like the choice of words, scenery, characters, conflicts, within the story I am reading, I could spend a lot of very frustrating reading time arguing with, hollering at and reasoning with the words on the page, and yet, the story will not change. It can’t.

But if I could spend a few minutes with the author prior to the act of writing, then I could say, hey, just for today, how about easing up on this storyline, and how about punching up this idea? How about bringing in some other people?

And it is there that all things are, obviously. An author sits and thinks and then writes. Maybe about a green coffee cup. Maybe about humans hunting humans on a remote island.

So, if I am more in tune with the dreamer, with the author, with the one who is making up the stories, the explanations, then, maybe I can get some better stories going. And maybe I can have some rewrites, find alternate meanings to the things I am reading which have, up until now, really creeped me out.

And if this is the case, then maybe when I see things that are off-kilter or ugly or jarring, I can recognize them as a story I don’t like, and just let my eyes lift from the page.

This is the idea.

What will I focus on today?

How about Christmas, 2012?

I was so broke, so broke, just on my knees broke, and I realized I could only get Sam one thing. Oh my God, this was a big deal for me, having forever cherished the idea of making up for all parental goofs one day a year, just as my mom did all those years, and here I am, able to buy him one thing, for less than $20.

He didn’t think one bad thought about that. He thought about his options. He could get one thing, just one thing. Hmm.

I told him, ok, let’s play with this. In all the world, in every store, all the items in the whole wide world, anything at all, and what, my love, will you choose for Christmas, for your gift?

He said he wanted a blanket.

And I found him one, a super soft one, one he still has, and loves. And on that Christmas morning, as he was opening his gift, I realized, there it is. In all the world, in all the stores, of all the things, physical things, that could be in Sam’s lap right now, here it is, this blue blanket from that WalMart, wrapped with this paper and that tape, here it is.

Sam thought no bad thoughts about me, about us, because I could only give him a blanket. He was grateful for and happy with his soft, blue blanket.

Yes, creating a happy life, a sainted life, it has, so much, to do with choice, choosing wisely that which we focus on, but there is more.

There is rising above the good and bad, the have/have not thing, the happy/sad reality, the safe/unsafe, clear/cloudy reality.

Above it, making it, is a reality that has any story, any explanation, any plot at all. And if I am more aware of it than the fallout, then how bad can things get, how lost can I become?

There is freedom here, and I feel like the tether that holds me down gets snipped every time I realize that my explanations I tell myself about this, that, anything, it is the story which can be changed, and by changing the context, I change the meaning.

This renders identity and reality so plastic, so fluid, that many choices, any choice, can be made, how I choose to let anything impact me, anything at all.

I’m beginning to feel like I am in a groove that I have had forays into, but have never been able to sustain.

So, I want to end this by saying a good-bye, of sorts.

If you have been reading along, you know that I have built up all the teachers in my life, and, I will always and forever say this is meet and right, because there are some folks whose impact is so altering, so liberating, they really do earn a certain status, stature, within a person’s personal pantheon of saviors.

But, I had it wrong, you see?

I had it wrong. I used to think that while I was with The Teachers, especially, that it was then that I was happy, and without them I was sad. With them I had answers, and without them, I did not. With them, I was conferred a different status, and what I had within me was seen as good, not as the bad it had been told me it was.

And then they went away, and I put a meaning to this, many, actually, and it is these stories which came down, there at my bedside.

I realized that the stories I told myself about The Teachers, and me with them, these were things which had to be done, but I no longer had to be tethered to these explanations anymore.

I had been more awake then, but I had still been functioning under many difficulties. I was in my thirties. I had not yet had a kid.

I used to think, those were my christed years, and now that my life no longer looks like that, I can no longer be christed.

Yeah. Right.

So, the story I told myself, that I was healed with my teachers, and broken without them, this was an apt and fitting tale, but not very accurate, so it led to suffering.

I’d hated myself for not having been able to maintain what I knew with Them.

But, as the old stories burn off, new ones, better ones, much more sturdy, they are, these stories, and they are kicking in. Better explanations.

It is quite a stretch, something I normally do not do, but I will tell you now the story I tell myself about the Teachers. Then I’ll be done for today.

The story I am now telling myself is this. I came into this lifetime open, wide open. I have had teachers since I was a girl, many of them highly advanced, and I did this in full knowledge. I would not have come in any other way. I set it up like this. I am part of The Teachers, and of course, of course, of course, they would come in to help me, because I wanted them to.

I set it all up. And the last twenty years, my desert years, I set that up too.

There is no way I could have practiced at the level The Teachers were teaching, unless I had chosen to sequester myself. But I instead chose to walk among men, and to take on many lessons. I chose to walk among those who were actually revulsed by what I knew.

And I began to forget. I began to doubt, and I began to dislike that which I knew was fueling reality, because no one I chose to hang with thought life was fueled by anything.

So, now I have lots of support, and I feel that the earth, the stories, my life, my body, they are all conspiring very nicely to keep me here, where I am, finally, happy and balanced and free.

So, I no longer see myself as someone who failed, who could not sustain a high degree of awareness. Some of the stuff the Teachers taught me simply could not be sustained, could not be practiced, in the older energy. Things had to loosen up, lighten up.

So I have come to see that telling myself stories which keep my dangling on a hook, those stories make me feel things like desperation, fatigue, resignation. And those stories which bend the nail and let me fall, very gently, to the ground, no longer suspended by doubt and fear, those are the stories I want to hear more of.

This is what I loved most about the Teachers, actually. I would go in with a problem, a big koan, a literal mind-bender, and I’d walk out an hour later wondering what it was that had been troubling me. They gave me the gift of perspective.

And now I see that it is the lifting of the story, a suspension of the narration, which can help the very most.

And so, my kid maybe doesn’t have a narrator who is fascinated by the dark. Maybe his job is not so much to be a warrior of light than a generator of it, I don’t know.

I am just glad to know, in my heart I know, that my kid is not going to hear the siren song of madness, of darkness, the way maybe our generation did. And I am not going to expect him to have the same story driving him that drives me, informs me, allows me to notice some things and ignore others.

I leave it there today, letting you know that I am aware these are indeed big times. We, I have been hit with such extraordinary light the last few days. Things are clear and they are staying that way, for the most part, and I LOVE IT.

I hope your stories are getting sweeter, and that they are allowing you to lose interest in the things which used to bring you pain and fear. I hope your stories, your explanations, are ones which are lightening your mood and allowing you to see that you are making this up as you go along, so you can think anything you like, anything at all.

Remember that last Matrix movie? When Neo and Trinity are flying and they pop up, above the clouds, and they see the sun and blue sky and it is light and clear and beautiful, and you, as the viewer, breathe a sigh of relief, because it had been soooo dark, and somehow seeing the clear blue sky, being with them, suspended above the madness, all of us, in that moment, know that what we are doing to ourselves, in our own heads and to each other, it is all something that could be so much lighter, and then, in the movie, the vehicle ends its brief moment of being suspended.

And then, oh no, yes, it is inevitable, it was within the extra push that pooped the lovers up and out of the madness, and then once again they plunge. They plunge into the dankness, the confusion, the threat, the mess, the darkness, the problem.

See, I feel, the last month or so, that there is no tether pulling me back into the machine. I am going in by choice anymore, but I am no longer tethered to it as I once was.

It is how I felt at the edge of my bed, aware that I was not aware of my stories, there, briefly. And I could make any choice at all , any at all, about what to tell myself.

And it is from this place of freedom I am telling you that I am physical by choice, and I am no longer tethered as I once was.

Please join me in this freedom. Let’s play, together, shall we?

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