Deeply Awake — The Arguments Against 9-30-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — The Arguments Against 9-30-13 By Kathy Vik

Things are unusually clear right now, and so I need to sing.

The light upon awakening was alive. It felt alive. There have been other days like this, only a few, at the beginning. But last evening was also like this, and then, today, the clouds pink, and nothing visible to anchor this feeling to, all I can tell you is that the sky, the light, was palpably alive, and it felt GOOD. Take a real deep breath kind of good. Good.

Everything felt immediate, everything felt like it had a pulse, somehow.

Mind you, this is not a drug-induced hallucination. This is waking up. Walking to the window and laying my hands on the glass as if it is not there, and thanking that light, right there in my jammies, feeling part of the movement I could sense pulsating through me.

All morning the revelations have come, and there is a big one now which I must visit, and then I will give you the sweet gift of telling you what the water told me last evening.

Today, I am reflecting on my dinner with family, up in the mountains, at a restaurant overbuilt on a swell in a big creek.

I’m going to now give you the interior of me, and this I have never done before, but I think it is time to know that this is what it is like for some of us.

My dad picked us up, and Vel was with. He looks very healthy, and there would just be incredulity among you if I showed you how hale and hearty he presents, just four months after having open heart. It is gratifying and uplifting and encouraging to see that he feels so much more comfortable. There is a struggle that has been removed from him. It’s nice.

I was feeling unusually expanded, and knew I had to present more in nurse mode. At work, anything expanded is off limits. Very off limits. So, I have to find a way to fit within a very narrow band of expression. It is oppressive at times, but I have found it is an enjoyable thing to look at as a pastime, finding ways to express my great and big love for all All of it, in a way that won’t scare anyone off. Because, that is, after all, what we are talking about.

So, with dad, I have permission to be a bit more expanded, but with him, if I miss the mark, it doesn’t feel good at all. It never feels good when I miss an energetic mark, but it matters more to me to be compatible with him.

We talked about supplements which led to herbal remedies and Ayurveda medicine, and I could sense, oops, there it is, the boundary, no response, quiet, so, I would dial it back, ask about the house, comment on the weather. God, it is so tiring.

So anyway, I am given a little bit more permission with him than with many people to discuss things that fascinate me, which fall outside the standard conversational guidelines we have all become accustomed to.

I wanted very much to tell him my news, that Ordinary Magic Radio asked me for an interview this week. I mean, nothing is more important to me, here in three dee land, nothing, than to see all of us begin to discuss this stuff more openly and freely, and I just love to talk, and I think I have helpful things to say, so it is very nice to be asked to speak. I am over the moon about it, and this, this is then present to my dad, me again 8 years old, sitting behind him in the car, on the road to eat, a scenario I have relived with this guy for over 50 years, thinking, well, now that others see something in me, maybe he will…

And he did not react. There it is, the absence, the flight. He just did not have much to say about it.

And I scratched my head. I got still. I felt very odd.

I understood, in that fraction, what was being said, and it sort of surprised me. This is how I have always lived, given these insights, and I have lived my whole life thinking this is just idle chatter, but of course it isn’t. It never was.

I understood, in that silence, what he was thinking. His heart told me that he was a little embarrassed for me, the content is unseemly or just not right, and he just is not sure how to react to this expression I have chosen, and so he gave the gift of silence.

And so we moved on to different subjects, and idly passed our evening in pleasant conversation, silently acknowledging now that my writing, any spiritual pursuits, god talk, the show, all off limits now.

And so it was. And it was fine. These hits of whatever you want to call it that I get, there is absolutely no way to validate these awarenesses, you know. That is what has caused me to feel crazy, in the past. Knowing what people are thinking/feeling/really meaning, and sensing their permissions, their internal admonitions of what is too far, it just has always been available to me. It’s what can be off-putting, I think.

It helped to work with Norma, my current teacher, because she can validate for me what the rest of the group is going through, or what individuals are experiencing. She has been a great help, proving to me again and again, quite independently most times, but upon request, at times, that what I am hearing/feeling//just knowing about someone is indeed accurate.

It’s never mean. In the case of my dad, whether it is true or not, I have someone (actually four someones) in my camp who appear to not have interest in this thing I’m doing, this life I am living on paper. Just complete disinterest, and varying degrees of thinly veiled contempt.

So, I do not have a broad and merry band of cheerleaders. I have a 13 year old who loves me and will do anything to please me, as is true for me to him, and that’s about it. So, I guess, I was thinking, jeez, it would appear others think I have something to say that is valuable. Surely now, when I present this to him, he will see that there is nothing to be embarrassed about.

But no. And with the extra empathy comes compassion, more than you will know. That is where we are going now.

At the restaurant, I am not able to remember anything that was said, in any depth, but I can tell you that I am still there, a part of me is, talking to the river.

The water had me. I can still feel it coursing through me. We were right on the river, so I could just feel one with the movement by simply looking outside at it.

All the way up the restaurant, I sort of detached myself from the conversation, and began to notice that I was feeling the momentum of the car differently. In a giddy way, it felt so good to have that much speed, and I did not feel encased in the car, you see, I felt like my body was bulleting along that fast. Odd. Really enjoyable.

The aspens are beginning to turn, and some of them were so gold, they looked like they were on fire, leaves trembling as the winds come through. It was spectacular. The colors were so vivid, the rocks were mumbling, singing, and some of the trees were in full on song, just singing in joy and rapture. It was amazing.

Everything felt so alive, and so beautiful. That there was someone in the car who could not find it within his affect, his heart, to feel encouragement for his fellow traveler, oh, that is a odd thing, but, these trees are magnificent.

In that state, I was given very lovely insights into his psyche, and this helps me on a day to day basis, but it is not the time or place. It’s not the point. The point to this part of the story is this.

This morning, I am sitting with a deeper, a more compassionate awareness, than I did yesterday. Yesterday it was all about right angles and not connecting, at the start of our time together, but by the end, we were each of us so content, so full, so comfortable. It was nice to see. And I was given a very nice insight which is easily applied to many things.

This morning, instead of doing a woe is me no one supports me dumb ass dirge, I decided to look at things differently.

What does it say about me? What am I trying so freaking desperately to tell myself, by placing, into key support roles, those who think my way of life is deviant, somehow dirty, something to be ashamed of, something to hide? Why would I have scripted it like that? What would I be trying to say if this were a character in a play?

You need to stand on your own? Hackneyed. The stakes are too high and I am too fatigued to be living out some melodrama that you can contain in a Bon Jovi song.

No. It’s deeper than that.

So, I thought, as I have been on and off for a while now, maybe it was to help me to embody humility. To really know what it feels like to not be valued. So that when the compassion hits, it is in technicolor, unmistakable, like a homing beacon. I thought those thoughts for many months, and they brought me much ease, much rest from suffering, from a life of constantly feeling like I had to apologize.

But now, a new awareness settles on me, just this morning, and it feels so much better than the others.

“See how he turns away,” the voice in my head said, “And see how you now turn from yourself. Observe the postures. The gestures. The effects. Observe the many ways you have turned from yourself. Believed these things. Believed them. Believed them. There is no need to turn from self anymore. No need. Come home. We are home.”

So I am now more than grateful for the stance my dad took, and am grateful that he is wise enough to simply give the gift of silence, when it would have been so easy for him to pursue the egoic, the inane and exhausting edict many feel, to explain their poison, justify their position of judgment, of authority, of needing to be right, as long and as loud as they can, ad nauseum. There is an elegance in silence. It expands to hold, to support, the answers, if patient with it, when I can find it in my heart to just be grateful for it and not think of it as a rebuke.

As always, I come back to a thought I have been having for a long time, when there is a conflict or interpersonal dissonance. You can see that I communicate finely, at times, but that it is all internal. My conversation keeps flowing, we keep the party moving. We comment on wonder and pretty things. If you have to go linear, then do the beauty of it, I think. If I have to do it, I want it to be pretty.

And that’s what happened. The ride up to the restaurant was like fireworks. The food was phenomenal. The service attentive. But it was the water that spoke to me, and it is this experience I leave you with.

As I said, the movement of the water, the movement of the air, it was really buzzing my body yesterday. I am hooking into it as I describe it, and it feels very nice. It all speaks to me, and yet, the water speaks a different tongue than the trees. It accesses a different, a bigger part of me. It’s a little chilling, to speak of it, and I do not presume to speak for water. That just seems improper. What I can do is say what I was aware of when I was staring at it, what I was understood.

I was told that the motion was an energetic wash that I had agreed to quite some time ago. The water was a gift, and it was removing much of the remaining energetic signatures, or just smudges, stuff that needs to go, the old stuff, the ancient stuff, the stuff that just needs to go.

And then I began to flow with the water, and of course, it’s all connected, all of it, to its bigger self. And our bodies mimic it, it mimics us, in a good way, and we just sat there and circulated, I guess. I felt silvery sparkles, and it felt so good to move with it, but to also allow it to come to me, wash me clean.

The Teachers always said, if you are feeling heavy or weighed down or anything, take a shower and ask the water to wash it all away. It will gladly comply. Just cleanse yourself, inside out, energetically with the water. I have long talked to my water, talked to what I eat and drink, but, especially water.

This water was free range, though, alive in a special way.

It reminded me about what we have been told about wind, that this water was doing what was being described in the windstorm, blowing through the house, blowing away all the old ways that I have loved being, all of the old patterns, all blowing away, accessible, but now there are other options. Now everything is available.

I end with this.

I looked down the creek, and my eyes were drawn to a backward wave. I haven’t ever seen anything like that, but I don’t know all that much about how creeks run, but I found it odd, in this modestly running river/creek, that there, right there, again and again, these white capped mini ocean waves were coming toward me, when the creek was actually running the other way. I found it quite odd, and I’m not sure if I should have, do you know what I mean?

But there it was, these mini big kahuna waves, struggling and breaking free just as often as you please, uphill, so to speak.

This is what I heard.

Consciousness over physics, dear one.

And then it spoke to me as only the water can. I understood, remembered, a meditation I had, thigh-high in the creek in Lyons, three months before the flood. The whole scene had gone all sparkly on me, and I was an old one, and I did an ancient sort of bowing thing to the directions, the elements the whole she bang, and there was singing and chanting and all kinds of stuff. I’d forgotten.

It had been the very first time I had physically felt like I was a different person, there in the water, and the voices, then had been deafening. I was told that the earth had moved. I had been felt. The ancient ones awaken, that kind of stuff. Really cool.

So, I get this sort of thing from it, from water. It is more of a body thing, less of something that can be languaged, or that should be. It is a settling sort of feeling. But they told me over and over and over, all of the old is washed clean. It’s gone. It’s gone. The old habits of expression, the old expectations of others, the old patterns of behavior. Washed clean. New. New.

And then, the meal nearly complete, Sam allowed to go outside and play by the creek, we finished our meal very comfortable, speaking kind and encouraging words to each other, some sort of barrier breached, just less jangly, less uptight. Forgiven, seen, appreciated, accepted, brothers, sisters, equals, these are the qualities our conversation began to have, and then, the subject matter did not matter quite so much, and no one was very sensitive anymore, which was a relief.

Just reflecting on it, can you imagine how overwhelming being around people can be for me? It is hard to find an off switch, and sometimes the experiences are so deep. Other times, not so much,but some interactions are so meaningful.

So I finished my meal, and joyously joined Sam in the grove by the creek, where he’d escaped a few minutes prior. I played with him and we laughed and joked. We are always happiest together outside. We are equals outside, alone. It’s a relief.

We played by the creek, and even though it was muddy, there was a little jetty thing, and I wanted to stand right there. So I went out there and sort of sunk into the mud, and laughed my head off. Sam washed my sandals in the creek, and then I used him as my support as I wiped my muddy soles on my jeans, laughing like a fool.

And the folks, on the porch above, I saw taking in the golden sunlight of dusk, listening to the children play, on a crisp September evening in Kittredge.

Who is the elder, and who is the wisest among us, the one who has the strength, the courage, to challenge someone who can think things through like this, or the one who does the thinking? That is the recurrent thought I have. Anyone who chooses to do battle with me, I think to myself, at this stage in the game, I give them honor and I give them my gratitude, because no one enters this field now without agreements, nothing is accidental, certainly, and I have many things to learn. Things to fine tune. People to let off the hook. Miracles to claim. Synchronicity to attend to. Intuition to tap me on the shoulder. A 2×4 or maybe two, now and then, maybe, if I am unskilled, because the energy is exacting, I think, but the room for error is always, don’t you find, giving someone the credit they are due?

I’m not mad for being around folks, loving folks, who are grandly disinterested in this cottage industry I’m cooking up. So what. It’s just words on a page, after all. I am not feeding the homeless or actually getting off my ass all that much, so I suppose this could be seen as the height of self-absorption. To some, this is how it appears.

And I am not curing cancer, I’m not selling anything. I am just writing. That’s it. It guides me, it feeds me, it nourishes and soothes me. That I write close to the bone, so what, I think it is refreshing. Scary, sometimes, but in a good way, because there is nothing exposed here that is not done so unnecessarily, I think.

I mean, after all, isn’t the point to getting the point is to then translate it? Isn’t that the idea? That’s what I’ve always thought. We just all translate it differently.

So, yes, here I am, once again struggling with the question of whether I have a right to exist as I am, to write as I do, to love as deeply as I do. Isn’t it strange, that here, this is once again where I dally. I’m unconvinced this doubt serves a higher purpose. I think it is a real pain in the ass.


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