Deeply Awake — Master Of Reality 10-18-13 By Kathy Vik

Image result for master of reality gif

 

Dedicated to my childhood friend, Chris.

Funny, how this works. After finishing the karma piece, I had another beautifully intense “dark” night of the soul, but this time, it did not feel dark. It was intense, and I felt every bit of that intensity, let it course through me, the emotions, the longings I couldn’t even find words for, I let it all be given to my loved ones, the ones around me who hear me and know me and love me, all around me, within me. I let my cries and my words echo in my room. I let it all out.

Is it necessary for me to tell you the specifics? No? What do I long for? Well, what is your soul cry? What do you NEED to be different, and yet it is not, and you cannot see how it could be any other way than how it is, painful? We all have these pockets. We all have these blocks. And if you do not, I would like very much to get to know you. There are those among us whose work is more complete than mine. And there are more, still, who have yet to begin the work.

So, I cried and spoke, prayed and laughed, riding the waves of high emotion, there in my bed, covered up by a thin blanket, being licked on by my cats. They come to me when I am in distress and loveone me. I love them so much.

The bottom line is, things moved after that, and this movement is what I feel must be discussed now.

I rarely dream, and love, love, love to dream, so when I get one I can remember, it’s just sort of a given, a remembered dream is a significant one.

Paralleling this emotional/spiritual work was my consuming, in a few days, season six of Rescue Me. Denis Leary is someone I want to have a meal with. Always have wanted to know him, since his first MTV commercial. And I watched with all my mind and heart, that last season.

I watched the last two episodes right before bed last night. The season was ended on an initially dissatisfying emotional note. I did not fully understand what the writers were trying to assert. I went to bed, had my outburst, and still, a part of me was puzzling it out.

Upon awakening, I’d had a dream about the crew in Rescue Me, that last episode.

Clear as day, I understood something very beautiful, pristine and simple.

If nothing changes, nothing changes.

Now, I know this is a standard cliche used in psychology (and facebook poster art makers) to, I don’t know, I guess to motivate people. I have always found it a shaming stance. If I could change, I would, asshole.

But there it was, from my dream.

I realized that I could spend the remainder of my days squabbling. Squabbling with family members, friends, my inner biological circle, who just don’t get me. And they are so self referencing, that if I am not what they want, I am somehow bad, deficient, bent.

I realized, hey, if I want to stay in that position, then stay among them. It’s fine, but do not expect to feel anything other than how I feel around this crowd. Minimized. Unseen. Barely tolerated. That’s pretty much how I have walked through my days. Feeling barely tolerated.

This is an old, old pattern, one that I came in with. A block to smash through. A belief that I, because of how I am built, who I am, what I think and what I know, I cannot be loved.

A block, you see?

It is not true, it is a belief. It is just a belief.

The dream helped me to see that what is required is happily moving on, and seeing things bigger. In the dream, the song Three Little Birds play. This has been, always has been, the song my angels have used to get my attention. I have a rule about this song. I am not to own it. The only time I hear it is on the radio, and I set it up long ago that when it comes on, I know, I know, I know, I am being loved by my angels, by God, by me.

And on the way to school this morning, driving through the first slush of the season, in that 10 minute round trip, what was the only song that I heard, due to conversations and commercials, what was the only piece of music piped into that car this morning?

Three Little Birds.

I smiled, told Sam about how this song works for me, and how my guides work with me, and oh! I was so hugged, so loved, and so confident, driving my car to the school. I knew I was loved, and I needed to heed what had been told me in the dream state.

I went home, and nothing that used to feel good to do felt right. No internet cruising, no posting on tumblr, no email check. No reading. No Kryon. Nothing felt right. I was told to go to bed. I felt heavy, and I felt physically kind of exhausted, all of a sudden. So I returned to sleep. Feeling sure I’d be canceled tonight, but not wanting to bet my physical stamina on that intuition, I returned to bed, and slept.

I awoke once, and I was getting blasted with information. I was getting the dictation so loud and forcefully, happily so.

I saw that there is a trinity here. The higher self, creating and inhabiting the body. The consciousness, point man for awareness, maker of explanations and meaning, and then, something else. The body, I think. Something else.

I could understand, I knew, that healing is a simple thing. The higher self is what heals, it is the holder of the blueprint. I was told to put my hands on my belly, where I have a resolving skin issue. I was told where to place my fingertips, and then I was shown what to do to reset the cells, to see them whole, healthy and pristine. There in that space between dreams and physical reality, I was suspended, healing myself with my fingers, and with a great love I’d never felt so fully before.

I felt shiny, white, rainbow-y. I felt real good.

And now, several hours have elapsed. I am awake, and have been told there is not work tonight. I get to, instead, go to kirtan again.

And now, here is the thing. Now, the weird sadness which used to swallow me whole if someone I like or love rejects me, this has morphed, quite beautifully, for me, and I am changed.

I see now that this creaturehood, this lush and beautiful and electromagnetically bursting creaturehood I currently inhabit, it is a divine expression, just one, but an expression, of something so big, so benevolent and so profound, that I am filled with gratitude, and wonder, and ease.

That others may not, for whatever reason, respond as I would like them to, oh, can’t you see it, it’s just fine. I am never walking alone anyhow.

I was aware, last night while emoting, that I just have always, since I was a wee girl, I have always felt so alone. So dissatisfied with how folks responded, feeling dry and needing water, and there is not a drop in sight.

And to self reference this aridity as a function of my own worth, no, that was nothing but an opportunity to have a little chat with myself. That others have not, so far,…

And there I stop.

It is time, now, to redefine things, for all time.

Yes, I have had much experience with rejection. It’s been something I have explored in many ways. Put 300 pounds on an aging female 5’3” frame, and then tell me how warm and fuzzy folks are with you. I can tell you, they are not. The fat one is invisible, usually, and this is actually preferable, because, when seen, the fat one is seen as ugly, something to remove, make excuses for, pity, wonder about.

I have done this in many many ways. Coupling with those who are in love with others, seeking out friendships with the emotionally unavailable, inviting people to stuff who never, ever agree to join me.

And that is sort of the point, isn’t it? Just how much is enough?

I think I have had my fill, and I think it has been enough.

There is a card in the Taro deck, the Four of Cups, and today it came up in a reading I did on my energy. It was in the position of “Others.”

I looked at the card, and I smiled an indulgent smile. There, in front of the man sitting under a tree, is a golden chalice being offered to him, by a hand in a cloud. Anyone who would have such a physical experience, wouldn’t you think they’d take one look at such a miracle and get up and do a jig? Here is your miracle, the ghostly cloud hand is saying with its chalice. Here is your miracle.

And the man, under the tree, has a grumpy, disheartened look on his face, is looking down, not at the miracle, and his arms are folded across his chest.

I know I am that chalice. I know I am a blessing to those around me. I know this. I know it.

And if the man under the tree has his hands folded, unable or unwilling to accept this miracle, offered in a way that is clearly other-wordly, who loses out?

I have missed many opportunities, have let them pass from me, and I am certain, now, that there have been many many times when folks have been reaching out to me, they themselves the chalice and the ghost hand, and I have, glumly and with great stubbornness, looked down, folded my hands defiantly, defeatedly, across my chest, and let the cup pass from me.

I can see that I have welcomed to me, called to me, experiences which have made it necessary for me to find within me the greatest power there is on this earth: self recognition, self love, self respect, celebration of self.

Fussily, I have turned from friendships, many opportunities, because I, too, have been like the man under the tree. Refusing my miracles, thinking they cannot happen, and so they do not, they do not.

How does one jump the needle here? How does one change form being defensively guarded to openly receptive? How does one turn from expecting rejection to not even noticing it?

It had to do with the one who came and told me where to put my hands on my skin, who speaks to me in billowing words of profundity in my sleep, who allows this and that and the other to shine with significance, where others just see a coffee cup, an abandoned dream, a cat.

I used to think that I was so different, so weird, that no one really could love me. It is an understandable assumption to have made, really, but, just how true is it?

And, really this is the question I find reverberating off the walls this afternoon. Just how true is it, that I am alone, unloved, or rejected?

And I sort of hate to admit it to myself, and to you, but I am beginning to see that it is a false construct, an erroneous assumption, a falsehood.

So, this afternoon, do you know what I did?

I was coached, I have to admit, but this is what I did. I called up the friends I have in my life, and I do have them, who love me so, so much, who see me with soft and forgiving, loving and encouraging eyes and minds, and I called them. I laughed with them, we caught each other up. I felt their love, on the phone, and I could feel nothing but love for them.

And each time I began to fantasize just what being canceled means financially, and then began obsessing on how in God’s name I was going to pay certain bills that I know are coming, each time, a voice would come and say, “You are projecting into a future which has not occurred yet. You are thinking on lack and hardship. So, now, we ask, do you have enough in this moment?” And then one by one, my blessings, my sufficiencies, my supplies, my friends, my happinesses, one by one they populated my mind, and I saw just how blessed I am, right here and now, right now.

I felt good, and realized that this need I have, to project and plan and then problems solve, oh, I am good at it, but its time is done. For this moment, now, I am sufficient. I have everything, actually, to be honest, I have more than enough right now. I have everything I want, right here, and for this moment, I am sufficient, things are ok, I have enough.

They came to me, after I had done that exercise many times today, and said, ok, now the fear thinking can stop. There will be fewer exercises into the realm of fearing for the future. There is no need. You understand that you are sufficient, that you have and are and do enough, here, now. This is the lesson. It has been learned. Enjoy.

The reason I named this “Master of Reality” is how I wish to close.

When I was 19, having had a year of Liberal Arts college, and a year of dropping out to be a nursing assistant, I found myself pursuing my English degree on the campus of University of Northern Colorado. One day, while making my way to class, I looked down, and there on the sidewalk was a little pamphlet. It was maybe 3” x 4”, black, and in white block letters read the words:

MASTER
OF
REALITY

I picked it up, and later that day taped it to my bookcase above my desk, in the dorm. Master of Reality. I knew little of the things I now take for granted, but I knew I liked the cheekiness of the sentiment, and I somehow, even then, knew it was true.

I gave a copy of it to my best friend, Chris. She and I, we were peas in a pod, and each of us delighted in this cheeky little sentiment.

Chris, she is not in my life now, and I really don’t know why. But after many years of estrangement, I sought her out one day in July of this year, hoping against hope she still lived where she used to, on the bank of Boulder Creek, near CU.

She was there. She still lived there! There is her car! I told Sam. Bright yellow, with a teddy bear wired to the front of the car, and the same bumper sticker, “Weird Load.”

I knocked on her door, wild with happiness and expectation.

She took one look at me, and we were no loner estranged. We were so desperately in love with one another, and we held onto each other like I have never been held. She squeezed me, and I can feel her embrace, even now, while writing this. It was a homecoming, an absolution, and act of utter forgiveness and joy and benevolence. WE spent, maybe a half hour, catching up, after spending those first five minutes trying our best to inhabit the others’ skin, in bliss, home.

We held each other, squeezed each other so tight, kissed each others’ faces, and I was held, then, in such love. It, that embrace, it set things right inside me. It healed years of worry for her, and sadness for her having left me alone. It did not matter, none of the circumstances mattered. We love each other, now, here, so so so much.

In that moment it mattered not if I would ever see her again. I did not have thoughts about the future, what might come next for us. I, and she, we WERE love, there, for those minutes. It was more than enough. It healed something in me, and I felt it.

I have not heard form her since, and really do not expect to. I do not know why. It is a puzzle and a conundrum. But there it is. No play, no interest, no friendship in this now.

When I tell you I have issues with rejection, and tell you that sometimes I cry about it, this is one of the reasons why. I am not making this stuff up. Again and again, I have been turned from by those I love so fully. It is puzzling, right?

And it’s all ok now.

All of it.

In this moment, now, I have this, in front of me, and I feel so full, so blessed, so fully loved, with no one here but my cats, my self and this writing.

People, they may remain a mystery to me until the day I lay down to die. Anymore, I am unconvinced I have to understand the way they act, the choices they make. Many will not, because they cannot, language why they act as they do.

And maybe that is the point.

I have rejected great love. I have said no to opportunities and to invitations, I have, but not anymore.

I have reflected back on how exquisitely I have, indeed been loved, even by those who screw up their faces during or after, and complain about the taste, I have been loved by great souls here, and some of them still walk with me. Many do not. I have loved them all, even the ones who confound and confuse me. I have loved them. I have loved them. I still do.

I know how I have turned from love. I have done it when I have been fatigued with life, with disappointment, when I could not conceive of being available to love. I have said no. And others, they say no too, sometimes turning from great, unconditional, profound love.

I shrugged, just now. What else can I do?

I think now on that final episode of Rescue Me, a statement outlining for us how the writers conceive of the afterlife, and how all of this may play out. The squabbling and arguing, bad choices and anger, they are there, available, and this behavior can be an unending circular loop of futility, of frustration, unless one is willing to simply step away from it.

I can choose any feedback loop I prefer. To focus on the things I have lost, that is one way to do it, and it would be fine if I felt it valid to remain there, in a land of neglect and solitude.

But it is all rather dramatic, and unnecessarily so, I see now.

Just as I have often enjoyed projecting my consciousness to problems which are gonna have to be solved or the bottom will fall out again, just as I have pulled myself from this weird intellectual, energetic habit, I think it is past time to do the same with its reverse.

I can focus on my past and see evidence of rejection and loneliness, but, there, riding along, beside, there is so much love. So much encouragement, so much warmth. I have turned from it, for many reasons, for so many reason s that seemed nothing but valid at the time.

If my focus can shift, and I can pull myself, my awareness, into this body, into this moment, and sense how grandly I am supported and loved right here, right now, it becomes so easy, just a snap, to look back, and even forward, and see love. See recognition. See honor and respect from others. It was always there.

My old teacher Richard, one day, was listening to me prattle on about having not been loved as a girl.

He stopped me cold and said, no, that is not true.

I balked. Here I was, giving him a litany of proofs, all the ways I’d been minimized and neglected and such. And it was the set up, there is no doubt about it, but he said, no.

You were loved. If you had not had love, you would not be alive and sitting on this couch.

He really did not want to argue about it, and my protestations, they began to sound more and more hollow, desperate and immature.

I had been loved. All along. That it was couched in weirdness, so what. I was loved.

So this me and them, this I and you, I don’t know, it is the focal point of a lot of my confusion, and my healing, really.

I can think, feel, and pretty much act in any way I wish. I can encode any meaning I want to onto the circumstances and issues in my little life. I really can.

If I choose to continue to see life as a series of rejections of this magnificent energy, this speaks now to my belief structures. It is a pattern, it is false, and it is time to lay it down.

I have help, guidance, magic and love, here, in my skin, in my eyes and fingertips, in my date book and my potentials, in my friends and family and loved ones. Here, always, love has been here, and I have, many times, sat cross legged and sullen, pulling from it, saying no.

I know there are many folks writing about spirituality today who focus on not admitting that we all walk with these sorts of puzzles. They focus on the astrology of it, or the energetics, the esoterics, but most of them simply do not discuss being knee deep in the shit, trying to figure it out, trying to find meaning and purpose in an oftentimes confusing world.

I’m ok with admitting that I had things wrong, and how I have made things feel better. I want you to know I see this as a cooperative thing, my angels, guides, higher self, always there, always hoping I will see the love, feel it and trust it.

It has been hard to trust life because I have found it to be a confusing mirror, at times, and one whose reflection has made me question just what indeed is a reflection anyway?

I rest, now, ready to attend another kirtan, already thrilled at the delights at hand. I am loved, and I am sufficient, and I am happy. I am a master of reality.

 

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