Deeply Awake — The Law Of Benevolence 10-19-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — The Law Of Benevolence 10-19-13 By Kathy Vik

You know, I was looking at this work with the somewhat jaundiced eye of a literary critic, thinking, nah, today I won’t pound one out because it just feels like rambling on and on about sad things sometimes, and it seems just a hair too intimate, too real.

More appropriate to clothes these thoughts in outfits I’d never own, propping characters up in a parable that goes on for 250 pages.

But, no, I am here again, and it is because of such marvelous movement, inner movement. There may come a day when I can step back and just tell a story, but a few things had to get knocked into place, for all time, before I could presume to tell another’s story.

Last night, canceled again, I didn’t have time for my usual ritual of Blue Moon Bookstore and the Chinese place next door for Curry Beef, nope, I just got showered and drove to the monthly kirtan at Mile Hi Church of Religious Science.

Last night, I had time to hang out in the lobby, undisturbed, as it turned out, so I slowly looked at the art. Big photographs, with a quote underneath. One was of Fredrick Douglas, his statement that is easier to create whole children than to fix broken men. There was a big acrylic painting with a yantra, and many religious symbols painted in, and at the center, a painting of a nebula.

I just grinned, going from painting to painting, thinking, ahhh, this is home. I fit here. I reflected on my quite rocky inductance, into their congregation. The first church I have ever chosen to be a member of. That is the sort of thing that would make me sweat, thinking about being a member of a church.

Don’t get me wrong, I really, really, really wanted to. I considered conversion into many faiths, have loved many of them from the inside out, but always there was this fatal flaw in them, something that I just could not state, in good conscience, that I agreed. It didn’t seem right, to me, to agree to be a member of a faith that I did not concur with. So I searched, and finally just gave up hope that I could find a place that would accept me, a church inclusive, sweet and non-judgmental enough.

And here I was, roaming its halls, the halls I roamed as a teenager, taking classes in working with a pendulum, going to a group in high school named “JAYA,” Just As You Are.

And I am a member here. Wow, I thought, as I roamed.

I finally sat down, there was only one chair left, alone, on the side of the lobby. I decided to read the last thing I wrote, and because I was open, and ready, I sat there and cried and a couple of times squeezed out a “Oh! It’s just so pretty!” Sometimes my heart just breaks open in love when I read what I wrote. That’s the tricky part, actually.

Anyway, I got done with my essay as the first “Om” was being sung. I sat smack dab in the middle, pretty close to the back. Thinking I would very much like to hold this space for all of us, set it up, get it spinning.

I went, in meditation, exactly where I went two days prior in meditation, which I found very odd. It is the structure of the music, I think, the repetition of the sounds, which helped to bring back the understandings and the visions, nearly verbatim, fro the time before.

But, this time, I was able to go farther.

Before kirtan, I approached a friendly looking woman whom I saw at that Boulder event, and at the leader’s house, sometimes. And the funniest thing happened. We were discussing the big Boulder concert, and she just sort of checked out, letting her friend take over. And then, her body began to just move away from us, and from me, It was like watching a magnet push off its opposite. It was sort of odd. I saw, while in the lobby waiting, she and her friend had gotten up and were standing, talking in the hallway. I couldn’t figure out what I had done, or said, or failed to do or say, to create such a reaction, but there it was.

I had taken to reading because, as the lobby filled up, even though I was smiling, giving appropriate eye contact, no one responded, really. A nod here, quick mutual eye contact, but then, nothing. So, I sat and read, and then the fun could begin.

I see us, each of us, as old trees, in kirtan. Regardless of how we talk to each other in the physical, I just see us as these glowing, huge trees, fed by the same patch of soil, leaves brushing each other. Sometimes I think I can hear rustling. We are holding each other’s hands, as we chant.

I had a lot of fun, and wanted to give you a highlight before I get to the conclusion. I decided it would be very fun to conjure up and put into a book, a nice, old, antique leather-bound book, every single hard luck, sob story I have encountered.

I mean, I put them all in there. And there are a lot of them. Good God, the mistakes I have made, and the bad luck I have had. I got to the book idea, because I sat there in kirtan thinking, you know, when all is said and done, I think what is blocking me a lot right now is having had the juice turn off in the late 1990’s. I’d say from 1998 to around 2008, eww… tough times.

My luck ran out. No juice. No synchronicity. None. Just flat, and sad, and weird, really. So, I decided it was time to stop psyching myself out. I know how to manifest, and I have done really fun, miraculous things in my life, have won huge amounts of money repeatedly, had great love affairs, traveled… and then, I don’t know. Things got bad.

So, I got that raggedy book, and saw it was just filled with side-splitting stories of misadventures and hijinx, great creativity, lots of poetry, but mainly, it was just so funny. Extreme, some of this has been, unexplainable tragic, some of it, and just a long long run of bad luck.

Once you have a run of it, after being wildly lucky, it messes with your head, I tell you.

But the juice is on now, and it’s so mega-wattishly, really, I mean, things are super sparkly, better than when I was with The Teachers, who came in a really just juiced it so I could create so much clearer.

And, so, swinging my short little legs like an 8-year-old as I chanted Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram, I put that book of funny, just hi-larious stories, on an altar of sorts, sort of like a scooped out rock.

And it was immediately lit by a red flame. Ruby red, alive, but the book, of course, was not consumed.

So, then, after a time, I thought it best to call on the Violet Flame of Transmutation to do its thing with the book, and me, of course.

So the book was lit up with light, not fire, but that beautiful violet ray I love. And St. Germaine, he was very big, behind the flame, which came as a column and ran forcefully, joyfully through me, too.

Through all of this I am chanting, chanting, happy, happy. And I look again, peek into this place where my funny-as-hell book of all the things that just crapped out, it was then in a very intense white l light. Very intense. I could tell the book was changing shape, but it did not seem right to look at it all that much. I went on to other things.

When I came back to the book, I saw it was not lit up, just on a stone altar, ashes. And then, the ashes stirred.

It wasn’t a phoenix, but a big bunch of white geese babies.

I saw them stir, and they were so cute, so self-contained and purposeful and beautiful and gentle, and I decided the only thing left to do is to set them free.

Actually, I settled on a little place I used to imagine as I read Sam one of our favorite books, about a squabbling pair of ducks who finally find a home. There in front of me, the white geese waddled on their new grass, in their new home. The squabbling ducks are gone, but their much happier children and grandchildren were there, and all the animals lived in peace and harmony.

Then I thought the whole thing could use a caretaker, so I conjured up a gentle old man whom the geese imprinted on, so for all their days, everyone would feel connected and loved.

And then the voices said to me, see how your problems were always something quite different than they appeared. They prefer this life. One of happiness and community. Your problems once looked like little demon children, did they not? And now, see how your problems are free to express themselves within sainted parameters, happy and free and just part of the mix. Harmless. Happy. Released to become what they always were, your creations.

Lots of other things happened, too, and I wish I had the ambition to discuss them here, but, in the end, for me, it all ends up being light. I get into a groove, early or late in the process, and I just become light. I no longer have the same relationship with my body that I once had. I am dispersed.

I do want to mention something that has happened, now, twice, and I am thinking it is significant. It makes me feel so good to think on it, even now. I feel myself a column of light, and of course, there is an up and a down, to some extent, right? So, where is the light going to”

And then, I feel very hooked into family. I see blue, purple, lots of colors, and I can feel, physically, being embraced. And then, I look down and see my consciousness. I inhabit my consciousness, embody it, but am split. And then, as I have been doing for a long, long time, I go and visit my brothers in the ocean.

I swim right next to the eye of an old blue whale, and we then run the grids together.

And there I sit, an unassuming woman in t-shirt and jeans, super hungry, and I am none of it.

I am split three ways, and I am alive, with a pulse, a radiating pulse of love and union.

I realized last night, when it was happening, that this is, actually, the definition of ascension. The coming together of all parts. The integration of these three parts, I could feel this, and it felt good, because my perspective kept changing. First high, high up, then there, on the church pew, then next to my brother, and yet, I was one, and I could then feel the swirling of an energy, maybe the tell-tale whiff of that light that changed me in December.

At the end, that is what my prayer was. As always. Nothing in my life matters as much as feeling that feeling, inhabiting it, embodying it, for all time. To be filled with such profound connection and benevolence, to see all as divine, knowing that humor and love and care are what is the only motivation, the only story being told.

But, see, what is fun, while running this, when maybe not as enraptured as when I was saying my heart prayer, but in the high energy, I like to open my eyes, put on my glasses, and just look.

Last night, even that was not sufficient. I wanted to eat. So I got up, during one of the chants, and obeyed my creaturehood.

I found a table in the lobby and cracked open my Gardetto’s.

And then, a man come toward me, from the opposite sanctuary exit.

Dark and beautiful, youngish and open, he encouraged me to talk, laughed at my jokes, and offered little information about himself. He said he had never been there before, it was sort of an accident he’d found it. He wanted information on the group’s playing schedule, and I found him a postcard with the information. We talked and laughed. And then, I was full, and I wanted to go back. He shook hands, and his hand lingered, did not let mine go for a bit. We smiled at each other, and I went back in.

Toward the end of the evening, I saw the woman who’d backed away from me, a smile of ecstasy on her face, she and her friend in an embrace, hip to hip, chanting and swaying and happy.

In the lobby, after the last Om had been toned, this quiet little group mingled. I said hello to many people, and jumped into a conversation, one that was inviting, when I heard someone say that the Denver/Boulder area has a legion of Archangel Micheal’s tribe awakening.

We talked a bit, and I told her I was so heartened to hear her say those words. I told her of this experience I have been having, of feeling as if my family is now physical, awakening, and on their way to hang out with me. That I am now going to meet them in the flesh, and, we both grinned at each other, and said, pretty much in unison, “And here we are!”

I left that night with no one’s phone number, no penciled in dates to go do lunch or coffee.

I have to go slow. I have been in the deep freeze for a long, long time.

On the way to my car, there was the young man who liked me so very much. We waved at each other. I walked, and then looked back, at the sky. Full moon. Eclipse tonight. I saw the moon as it turning back to silver. It had looked red still. It was pretty. Now, it hung there, high, bright, the same moon I have seen, with so many different eyes, wearing so many different costumes, so many, many times. The same moon.

This morning, I realized a big thing.

I’ve been doing the last of my boo-hooing about feeling rejected.

And I saw this morning, that the truth is that I couldn’t ask for a better outcome, than to have someone dismiss me, move away from me, or linger on my hand.

I think what has been the hardest to take with people is their ambivalence, the unspoken, unacknowledged patterns and assumptions and expectations that make folks act in odd and confusing ways.

Thinking on that woman who acted like I was going to give her some sort of disease, THANK YOU! And to the swarthy man who made me tingle in a way I have not since I met a mysterious man named Andre at a party so very long ago, THANK YOU! And to the red headed woman who was standing there delighting how we are, as a tribe, coming together, waking up, finally getting going, THANK YOU! Thanks for not pretending to feel anything than what you do feel.

Because, I saw, this morning, that each of us are our own column of light. How you act toward me, that is your choice, and I encourage you to be honest. How I act toward you, well, here’s the deal. I know I am harmless. That’s like the biggest cosmic joke of them all. You couldn’t meet a nicer, more gregarious and social animal. I am harmless. I am nice. I am kind. I am honest. I am not the problem.

So, do your thing. Reject me, don’t notice me, it is fine.

And then, it dawned on me, has been all morning, things are getting better.

I can see, in just a week’s time, the progress I have made. And the young man wanting more of me, that’s an improvement.

See, I think sometimes that I have thought to myself, how can I be so nice, and so harmless, and people don’t want any of it? What the heck’s going on here?

It’s puzzling. It makes no sense, and it hurts my feelings.

But, I saw very clearly, today, that it’s just part of the story I’d been telling myself. The hard-luck stories, the doomed relationships, and messy unions.

Let’s let not matching someone vibrationally as a good sign, not a bad one, and let’s be glad I get the picture in two seconds instead of six months of equivocating.

And now, look here, in the lobby, so many more people who are receptive! My oh my! So many more of them than the ones who turn away!

So, I was reading two channeled pieces this morning, each of which advocate radical self-love, self-adoration, seeing oneself as whole and good and benevolent. I like the idea that the reason one can do this is because that is what we are made of, from a source far beyond our three dimensional understanding, tapped into in multidimensional states of awareness.

In the biggest sense, we are one. One entity, one being, one consciousness. What would I want form myself, if I encountered myself in the hallway, and I was in a sucky mood? Permission, acceptance, a smile, maybe. I would want my other self, the one not in a foul mood, to not take my mood personally. I would want her to keep on loving herself, regardless of how putrid I act.

Let everyone do as they see fit.

Now, some may think that this invites chaos, but I am here to tell you, in these realms, in this society, the subtleties speak volumes, and everyone walks softly. Everyone in that lobby, int hat sanctuary, was kind, deep, with personal histories and intimate longings.

Each are a miracle and a mystery. Each deserve love. And I am beginning to think that the best love of all is to run straight and true and clear, no matter what is offered, making sure to modulate myself if I can, to allow for more comfort of the other, and absolutely delighting in the company of those who do not require this of me.

I worked with a novel idea this morning, and the place of action is a converted apartment block that the owner has named “The Light House.” Over the door of this house reads the phrase that was given me when I was given my gift of light on Christmas Eve, the thought which consistently steadies and centers and soothes me, the phrase I want to end this with, for today.

The Only Law In Effect Is That Of Benevolence.

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