Deeply Awake — Obsessive 10-24-13 By Kathy Vik
I’m not sure how many folks are like me when it comes to having pit bulls in your head, unwilling to let thoughts go, but so it is for me this morning.
I have a cluster of thoughts, actually three highly incongruent thought groups, images, and I don’t know how they fit together. All I know is I can’t stop thinking about them, and I keep thinking, even though I have other things I have to do today, no-longer-optional things, there, they are, crowding me in the hallway, smiling and fawning and insistent, like 15 year old girls who’ve decided to crush on a random nerd.
What I cannot shake is this: one of my first boyfriends, the dreams I keep having, and the thoughts I had last night when I was watching Ancient Aliens.
So, let’s do the BF first. I sort of have to get this out of the way, because it is embarrassing.
My senior year, me and Tim were sort of thrown together. I think it started junior year, but by senior year my mom was sort of in a mad itch to get me in bed with someone. I’m sure it was much more the date-fall-in- love-marry thing she was pushing, but it sometimes felt sort of lewd, base, kind of. What is the big rush, I’d always think, as I swallowed the little pill labeled, “If a girl isn’t in a relationship, she is unacceptable.”
So me and Tim. Both of us were sort of [pressured into these awkward dates and get-togethers, awkward only because we each understood the pretext: we were suppposed to be attracted to each other, and neither of us, well, we were both just a little repulsed by the other, not in a bad way, just in a way that lets you feel real comfortable sitting next to someone, but not on top of them, that’s all.
So, we fumbled a bit, gave it the old college try, neither one of us sexual enough to force, guilt, manipulate or shame the other into sexual congress. Thank Christ.
And after an adequate time of “trying,” he and I sort of had a truce, just let it be, we can be friends, but that other stuff just ain’t happening… we crossed that bridge, and about a week later, his dad croaked. I forget how, a heart attack or an accident, but it was, you know, what you’d expect when a 40-something bites it, leaving a mom and some kids in suburbia, fully insured, set.
So, I enjoyed watching their little clan grieve, and how the whole thing just got super intense. I liked it. It felt strangely calming to be in the midst of such strong emotion. It was like sitting and watching the ocean, being a weirdly disconnected, uninvested but gratefully invited guest to their grief.
So, to fit in, thinking this is the way of it, I visited the grave site a few days after he’d been lowered. I’d been there for the funeral, the dutiful pretend girlfriend, just along for the emotional ride at this point, if truth be told. I knew I had no real future with this guy, and we didn’t have a whole lot in common, and we got along ok, but I we each had friends we liked to hang with more. So, conclusion reached, death comes knocking, so I stick around, sort of to hold the space, just because I can.
Don’t forget, at the time, I was 17. I wasn’t yet a hospice nurse.
In hospice, I think about 80, 85% of what a good nurse does is be able to hold the space for another to work through their grief. Not everyone is capable of looking on, and not everyone needs to have the watcher, but some can, and some do.
Anyway, there I am at the grave site, maybe a week after that ghoulish ritual, and I made it to the little marker which I had remembered was where his body would be.
I went out there to have a little chat with him. And myself, I guess.
So, there I am, and I emote, and am pondering the big questions, the ones that seem impossibly weird but important at 17, and I get to crying, and then, there’s like this crescendo of emotion, and all the of disappointment about things not working out with this awesome guy Tim, his dad dead and Tim’s life forever really different, and just all of it, oh, it swelled, and then it roared, and then it subsided.
Standing there feeling a little sheepish for having gotten carried away, I saw a guy in overalls making his way toward me. It was all fresh graves here, and he looked like a modern-day gravedigger.
He was nice. He asked who I was here for, for some reason. Maybe I didn’t look like I was authorized, I remember thinking, but I am sure he was just making polite conversation.
I told him the name, knowing there was only going to be one person with that name in this big boneyard.
He shook his head, the guy in the overalls did, and then he told me I was at the wrong site. None of the sites had stones yet… the graves were too knew. I had been talking to a plot of dug up dirt with a number sticking out of the grass.
I asked if he was sure, and then, what else could I do but start walking?
But I just wanted to be still. Take this in. This was a big moment, a formative one for my consciousness.
I realized, right there, that I had been talking to the wrong body, the wrong plot. This could have been an Aunt Mable or a Baby Doe.
But, if that is the case, I asked myself, were the feelings, the thoughts and words and understandings, were they real?
I mean, what do you do? I’d just been talking, for about a half hour, to some dead guy I had no truck with.
Is what I experienced valid, even though it was induced by, it turns out, false stimuli?
Part of it was, I’d felt a little guilty, knowingly standing there and using him as some sort of emotional foil, when I never really even knew the guy, and felt neutral about what heard. By the way, feeling neutral about a parental figure, at that stage of the game, was a pretty big feat. I expected all adults were secretly monsters.
Was it ok to have done what I did, and can I be ok with having had this false experience?
For a time, all I could feel about having made that mistake was shame. The whole thing felt like some weird imposition, me to them, an uninvited, volunteer mourner.
I mean, it was one thing to help a pal out, quite another to go off into these sort of depths, right?
But what I walked away with, from that grave site, was this.
All emotional states are valid. And now, I can almost imagine the ghost of that guy, standing under a tree, watching me and smiling. He’d done me a great service, or someone had, that day. I learned that it is valid to feel, and the thoughts creating them were what was at issue. It mattered that I had that talk, and if it was to someone I didn’t know, well, somewhere, I thought, he heard me, I think.
I also realized something that day. That we each, each of us, are self-contained emotion factories, and the stuff we react to might not even be congruent, in context. And it’s in just being ok with this, just being able to not shame oneself for getting it all wrong but having an aha moment anyway, I think that’s what I learned that autumn day.
I don’t know. It still lingers, but is receding now, which is a relief.
Next is the recurrent dreams. I am going to write down, verbatim, what’s in my handwritten journal, used mainly for dreams and class notes, anymore.
10-21-13 0230 – awake
Understood this idea of mine, that I have not encountered anyone who doesn’t have a bottom, this was incorrect.
Each has this, me included. I have places I have not been able to go. These limitations are like the edge of the person’s bubble. It’s the edge of their field of what they themselves think is possible or probable. I see a bubble around a person and it’s the “no’s” that crate the bubble.
Sometimes I feel infinite. That’s when I’ve dropped, even momentarily, my definitions, my expectations and “needs”
So don’t judge anyone’s inabilities. I HAVE THEM TOO.
Woke up understanding I am intact. I run this light and no matter how others behave, no matter what they believe or think or feel, I am that I am. I am running this beautiful light. Kathy is an entity running pure light. How people behave is their business. It really is. I cannot be diminished or lessened or changed by how anyone acts or thinks or feels or behaves.
And this light attracts ease, friendship, ease, money, love. I am this light, I am that I am. Undiminished, unaffected, unhurt by others and by circumstance. See what I have endured! My light remained unchanged. Strong and pure and true, no matter what.
I am unchanged, undiminished by others. They may not see or understand this light. They may be repelled or attracted, but it doesn’t CHANGE the LIGHT, how it’s behaved at or toward. Doesn’t change it. And this light has magic. It can bend matter, space, time. Let others do and think and say anything they please. Please. Go right ahead. I know I am unchanged. Eternal. BEAUTIFUL.
I can’t harm others. The light won’t allow real harm. Lesson, we all have lessons. It’s what keeps the interest and moves the narrative along. It’s storytelling, after all.
Can what someone tells themselves about me, can THEIR narrative change or harm or diminish this light? No. They are STORIES.
This light cannot be diminished with behavior, actions or thoughts of others. Yes, energetics changes, but the core is UNCHANGED.
So, there’s that.
This teaching I know I am getting while sleeping, this remembering that is going on. I can remember thinking yesterday morning, I think it is going to be best for me to think of people as not awake or asleep, awakening, any of that. We are all remembering. It’s like I’m been being put together, reconsolidated, the last week or so, at night. I wake up with just vast feelings.
This morning, I was aware of what I am now doing is learning how to modulate in the body when also attending to many levels, simultaneously. How can I contain, when looking at a person or situation, this sensation, these understandings I have, while also maintaining the present moment, as it is playing out.
Above, or through, or between all physical circumstance hides the web which creates it, whole, paradox included, and then unpackaged, savored, bite after bite, in physical form.
How do I manage this? Much of what I have experienced this past week has been to see the person in front of me whole, whether in conflict or in celebration, and to just enjoy it, to not label or anticipate or need. Just be in it, feeling it, but staying real, real clear, all the way through. There is this weird sort of hyper discernment that I have felt kicking in. Sort of like a running narrator that feeds me all kinds of information, and all sorts of images.
That’s why this work is as valuable as it is, for me, and me alone, when all is said and done. Somewhere I can go to make the obsessing stop. To finally lay to rest what seem to be conflicting thought groups.
The third such which I is bugging me and yet can’t understand why, is this thought I had last night while watching Ancient Aliens.
I love watching that show, for the old, old structures, the ancient stuff. Oh my goodness, how fun to see the caves in Turkey, just all of it. It’s just like home. I love it.
And so, I watch Ancient Aliens, and I let the impressions come, and swells of emotion. I got a real good hit on what Carnac is all about, and it was beautiful, and poignant, what we did there. Beautiful. Someday I will tell you what I think happened, what I saw, felt, tasted, while I let the DVD spin on. But, what I came to, at the end of the hour last night, was a very strong message. It felt like a transmission, or an hah moment, one where all the tumblers click into place.
They were running on and on about how malevolent spacemen came to seed the population, all the mythology, all the duality, on full display, projecting motives that are stubbornly dark, imagining everything but the obvious. We are and were the ancients.
I love it when the thinkers of today say out loud, “we can’t do this, and we are the smartest ever. So, it must have been done by somebody else, with more power and brains. Subtext: we are fucked if they ever come back, outgunned, outwitted, outmatched.
But, isn’t that just the way of it?
It was we who did the things we now look on as mindboggling, miraculous, and sort of weird and non-purposeful. It sort of is a hoot watching that show, just to see how thick the veil is and how funny we look, puzzling this out without imagining our grandparents are incapable of harming or scaring us, that we are doing all of that to ourselves.
So I am thinking these grand thoughts and just feeling about 90′ in all directions, smiling, peaceful, and then, a thought hits me.
I have been looking for someone to tell me who I am, how I fit in this thing. But that ‘s actually sort of funny, because I know what I am good at.
I am a grid keeper. I have always known that. I know I run the grids with the whales, that I am one of them. I fully acknowledge the bigger meaning to that statement. But it is a yawn and a tickle to me. It is what it is. I don’t doubt it, I know it.
Hmm, I began thinking, what else do I know, that I would just not allow anyone to argue with me on, because arguing about it would be silly and dumb, like telling a mountain it’s a kitty cat.
So, what else?
I know harmonics. Energetics. I see and feel energy, I play with it and mold, sculpt it. I love doing it, and I have recently had several bizarre, sort of profoundly indisputable things go on which tells me in no uncertain terms that when I run light, it is felt. Immediately. And it changes everything. Absolutely everything.
Lately I have gotten a glimpse at what this is all about, and it is big. To be respected. To be discussed with very, very few people, the details. So, again, I know it is true, for me. Beyond question.
What else? I am an empath, I can feel bodies, but more, I can feel psyches, somehow. Helpful in my profession, not so much when not on the job.
And then, it came to me.
How I appear to many, I think is extremely over-eager and effusive. I think some folks just totally turn off from me because I long ago got very tired of hitting the off switch. I tone it down, but I seek out, now, the extroverts, the unafraid, the smiling ones in the crowd.
This is probably the biggest change of all, with all the changes that have gone on for me. I was once just such a gigantic sad sack. Totally depressive. Debbie Downer.
It’s pretty fun to let myself be this other person, this gregarious, friendly, benign, helpful, considerate, open person.
And here’s the thing. Some don’t want me to be that way. To stop it, folks use the most creative tricks. Shame, rejection, absence.
As Ancient Aliens played, I decided I think it might be best to just be ok with thinking of myself as having a little Asperger’s, anymore.
I have always thought of myself as a Golden Retriever, just smiling, tongue out, unapologetic, and super shiny-happy. That’s what I am, I have often thought.
So, the way it plays out, and has been contrasted, I find that an amazing thing. All the opportunities I have given myself to time after time just go easy on myself, and not take it to heart when someone I really really like, can see nothing but good in, shuts me down, stops me cold, says “go away.”
See, I want to be done with that melancholy. It is a song familiar to all of us in the first wave. I know I am not alone. I know I am not alone in this. I am not the only one who feels alienated and confused sometimes by the lack of kindness from others.
And watching Ancient Aliens, I think I can finally start reconciling this.
It requires that I take this stuff seriously, the stuff I know, in my bones, is true, whether anyone else knows it, agrees with it, or understands it. There is just some stuff I know. It gives me peace. It makes me different from a lot of folks I know.
And there it is, right there, shining so brightly on this sainted page.
I am done with looking so much on this darkness now, wanting only to include it, see through it, laugh at and with and for it, let it die, right there, on my bedroom floor.
I am that I am. I feel things deeply, and sometimes what I feel is triggered by things others would find absolutely ridiculous, and maybe even a little macabre. But my inner reality is my own, I am the keeper of it, and I have a right and a responsibility to tend to what is inside of me, nurture it and make sense of it, especially if it is driving me to distraction.
So these three thoughts, seemingly separate concepts, of emoting at the wrong grave, recurrent dreams about oneness, and knowing what I know.
I can see how they are tied together, and how they relate to relating to others, to others’ equally valid emotions, knowings, motivations.
The heart of this matter is separation, I see that now.
Can I hold the truth of it, that we are one, and we are different, that we love each other and act as if we can’t stand each other, can I do that?
Can I tolerate it when I walk around in love with everybody, and myself, and some find this unthinkable and odd?
I guess that is something that deserves being said. If I am running this light, and feel such high regard for everybody, and they say no to it, is that ok? How can it be, if we are all connected?
It’s then I think on the ancient times.
There were those who carved out the truth about the ark, later incorrectly assigned Mount Ararat. They then took to the caves, and the ice came. They understood a few things that their contemporaries did not know, were not ready for, and could not have understood.
Again and again, on that show, are the old monuments, made to stabilize grids, create eddies and vortexes, amplifiers, most, but some, they stand to this day with our energy still in them, our love still emanating from the rocks forever locked to Mother Earth.
These things I know to be true. There were those who lived a long time ago, and each attained the awareness they wished, and all were encouraged to go their way, and all chose this love, this knowledge, of benevolence, and wonder, of high mathematics, high consciousness, high knowledge.
And some did not.
There have always been those among us, sometimes entire civilizations, whose focus was on melding. Of holding the godhead within, enlivened by it, eternal, knowing of eternity, there, in one’s robes. Able to understand that in the years before the shift, if we have forgotten, when we have forgotten, Mother, we, our own ancestors, will begin to allow the uncovering of monuments, of our cultures, and what we once delighted in doing – moving huge stones with our minds, and hearts, and sounds.
How it was high ceremony to do it, and it was done for who we would one day be, to help us to remember who we once were, and to help us to imagine what we could become.
There the stones and monuments and cities sit, asking rather boldly, “So, now do you remember?”
But not everyone moved stone in ceremony, not everybody did gridwork, not everybody, not everybody, then. Some did other things, but we all were part of it, the old ways, the old days, before the veil fell so hard, before the last go around, before this last try.
It fills me with wonder, awe, gratitude, celebration, sometimes, watching Ancient Aliens, when I realize, now, we did it. We really did it. We managed the shift. We did it.
All the times before, all the times we pulled the veil tighter, or looser, but there it was, covering things in fogs of disunity, and disorganized thinking, and apparent chaos.
As the veil lifts now, it will be easier for those of us who remember to come forward, and to talk about the old ways, the old days, and to do as we did then, when needing guidance or inspiration or solution, we dropped back into the only thing that was ever real to begin with, we drop into our souls. Our ancient friend who has been with us every incarnation, has seen the sun and the moon from thousands of pairs of eyes, on this planet, and many, many others.
How do I reconcile these things I know to be true, not mere memories, but truth as I saw play out at a poorly marked grave at 17 this go around. True for me. Real for me. No one else needs to ever know I was at the wrong grave, I told myself. I promised I would never tell. I had been a little embarrassed, I guess.
Maybe the best thing is to not think so small, and to not expect anybody to do anything but be themselves.
I end by telling you that I think this is at the heart of it. We are beginning to really know that we are connected, and are not, never have been, never will be, separate. We are of and for each other. We all love each other.
I want to live in that world, the one in which everyone knows this. Where positive regard and good manners, honesty and earnestness, where these are the order of the day. I want to live in a land where shame has finally been seen for the rascal it is, where folks understand that everyone is doing the best they can, and everyone is holy.
I don’t live there yet, not in the physical. I want that to change. It may not, in this current lifetime. Many are bogged down with beliefs about lack and competition and haven’t begun to tease out what a fear thought is. Such is the way of it. It’s been like this for a long, long time.
Where I want to live, everyone is tapped in, everyone has access to the respect mainframe.
And so, I leave the separation, the thoughts of disunity, somewhere helpful. I see them as a group of refugees, in dusty clothes, coming into those caves that have the circular one-way stone doors. The ones used by many Lemurians, long ago, before the ice came.
These refugees, they have the same genetics as me. We are the same biochemically, each fully able to light up, bend time, caress and create time, objects, what some would call miracles. Delightful creations. Delightful creators.
Given a chance, these refugees will come to enjoy claiming, reclaiming the parts of themselves which are, in fact, creating the experience of misunderstanding, fear, limitation, no, lack of compassion, shame.
Each will come to know that these were devices, tools we use in lesson to come to see the truth of it, that we created lesson, we created amnesia, we created the veil.
It had to be done, I keep hearing. It had to be done. It is the way of it.
I remember. I will hold my memories high and enjoy them, now that they are coming to me so nicely. I will discuss them, and puzzled them out.
I have heard that it is our way to come to peace with letting go of examining the old days of limitation. Stop focusing on the dark, I am admonished. Stop looking behind you, I am told.
This is the challenge, after all. See that the light has changed. The focus has changed. The things that were once obsessions are now baubles my fingers worry over, glad to feel such texture and heat from so pretty a thing.
Can I reconcile the things I must, at this point in the game, come to accept as real, true and fun for me? Can I ride along on this new road, unconcerned for and glad of companionship? Can I let everyone find their shade of color, and come to see that it is only with the honest, forthright, unambiguous choices I see people making that we can, indeed, move forward?
Again and again I have been told to be unconcerned with anything but what feels congruent for me in this now, and this one, and this one. Do that which is well with your soul.
I feel a shift, and the one who is doing the defining, deciding just who, or what, is doing that which is well with my soul, it is that which is my concern, my koan, my obsession.