Deeply Awake — I Can See Home From Here 11-11-13 By Kathy Vik


Image result for cosmic beloved  gif



**Author’s Note: This remains one of my favorite works. I find it particularly beautiful.

I am going to travel deep into the weird today, and I guess I wanted to say that to you up front, so that only willing passengers into the weird would tag along. This is not for everyone. If it doesn’t resonate, put it down, k?

I have had a series of integrations, of realizations, I suppose they could be called, although that word is a little weak. It’s like a settling into my bones, a shift in my center of gravity, perhaps, but a soul sort of gravity. A self kind of gravity.

It started on the 8th, while at work.

I was trying to write Patrick Hears Voices, and was stalled. I began to be hard on myself for having wasted so long in expository writing, wishing I was better at fiction, all that old crap. So, I decided to read my last two Deeply Awake’s. I felt there was something in them I needed, and re-reading happens most often for me when dwelling, once again, for as little or as long, in disbelief.

I was sitting quietly at work, as all of us were, while I re-read the last two, and was aware, during the reading of simply feeling the work acutely. By the end of the last one, I was crying, shaky, moved, unable to continue. I coughed, and, without turning, until my eyes dried, I asked if I could go on break.

I went to my car, and talked to myself for a half hour, alternating with meditation, praying. I understood something, then. I could feel something within me move. I don’t know how else to describe it.

I drove back to the hospital, from the back parking lot that I’ve parked in for the last couple of years on break there, and walking back in, I heard myself say, things are different. I felt different. I felt a cleave, a split, and I felt whole parts of me, their absence. That is the only way to describe it. All the setups I walk through now, they seemed as matchsticks a big grown-up walks through and breaks, Popsicle houses, irrelevant, playtoys, childish things.

I felt a wholeness, an integration, and an awareness that what has come before is not that which will come to pass. I was on new ground, walking back into my hospital, at 3 in the morning.

It had been a hellish night, people up all night screaming, calling out, begging, it was bad. And yet, as I walked out at 7:30, the first thing I was aware of was that tangy smell of fall leaves in the air. I stopped stock still, and I breathed real deep, and what came to me was the feeling I had had in my car, and walking in from break. The old is done. The new is here. This is all new. I am home.

What drove me into the arms of this new world was disbelief herself. Self-doubt had me re-read my work with a focused mind and heart. And I don’t hear a lot about this self-doubt a whole lot on the interwebs, but I do hear a lot of judgmental stuff about how we shouldn’t trust our ego, and we are a house divided, stuff like that. I don’t think it is true. And I think it is counterintuitive, an internalization of a misunderstanding, to distrust ourselves, to denigrate our own consciousness.

Of course, discomfort leads to looking for easy to ease that discomfort, and when things get too uncomfortable, either within or without, then we must recalibrate, examine, comply or disagree, but move we must, always taking in more of ourselves, appreciating the more of us.

It’s funny to me that I am really quite eager to write more fiction, but this seems to be a pendulum thing. I have to get out this stuff that sounds unreal, but I know is real, and integrate it, before I can go run and skip in the daisies.

Deeply Awake was written for many reasons, but what drove me relentlessly to my little netbook, day after day, essay after essay, was this need to examine what had just occurred, evaluate it with a really keen eye, dissect it in writing, and see if it stands up. Many of the early stuff was just this. Taking new ideas for a stroll.

And things have changed now, for me, as a persona, and therefore, as a writer.

There are some things that I just no longer care to argue about, either in company or by myself. There are some things I understand that have been very hard won. Very. I have been striving for this clarity of soul since I was a girl. I never really saw the point in much else, in understanding. In understanding everything. Why? When? Who? How?

These basic questions hounded me, and sometimes, all they did, really, was make me sad. When I wasn’t working on the puzzle, I was pretty miserable. But, see, I understand now, am beginning to appreciate, just now, that when things got challenging for me, as they have and continue to do with many many many, and believe me, I’m still not out of the woods in 3d land, all of the missteps and things I have criticized myself for, they were ok, deliberate, even. Purposeful and beautiful, opportunities to see the truth, to love, to forgive.

So, this fascination with cosmology, science, human nature, spirit, religions, it grew over the years. It expanded, to began to fully occupy metaphysical stuff, a larger mind there waiting when the lights came on in 2011, 2012. but I get ahead of myself.

In 1989, there was the Harmonic Convergence. Did you go? I made my sister. We went to Big Mac, rolled out of bed at some ungodly hour, found ourselves a seat in that cavern, surrounded with other like-minded souls. At the proper time, we all lit candles. It was a beautiful sight. I’ll never forget it.

My therapist had told me about it, urged me to go. I’m not sure he went, but there we were, I was determined, I had to be there. Grateful for my friend, my sister, to travel there and hold this energetic shift. Richard was the one who taught me about multiplicity, who helped me give myself permission to use meditation to heal and understand and evolve.

He told me once that it is true, if we called all your selves together, he told me once, and they converged, they’d overfill the biggest stadium in the world. We worked with each year, each age, each construct. He was a consummate healer, and a great and true friend.

This was the year of the seven, mastery. I was 26, an eight, responsibility in manifestation.

Let it be known that I am not a linear person. I can’t automatically place stuff, it’s more with my heart, or some body thing that I find my memories, always have, but there are dates that are not hard to remember, and not random. Not at all.

The next big thing was when the big shift came, the handing of the torch to humanity, to hold the ascended energies within ourselves. It is said that at one time, this energy couldn’t even be embodied, it was the Ark of the Covenant. It was our own power, cleaved off from us, by design.

And then, more and more, the abilities grew, until we got to 1994. With the permission we granted in 1989, to evolve, to move into our full embodiment, the energy was given to us, to learn about and be with and cultivate, get to know.

1994 as a 5 year, change, change, change. I was 33. A six. This is my birth number. Note my age.

I focused on the 2013 numbers, today. 11-8-13 was a day much like 12-12-94, for me. Kryon is doing astounding work, so intricate, so detailed, so true, I know it, these are my understandings, the one I went looking for, all that time ago.

On 11-8-13, with the assemblage, they’d gathered, and now, for all time, whenever one of us tunes in and participates, a quantum event that will echo for all time, thanks to technology, and Lee Carroll’s willingness, and our native curiosity, this event is a big one.

Here is the audio:

(And here’s Lee Carroll’s / Kryon’s page )

I will let you listen to it, and I don’t want to spoil anything, but there are some things from it which I need to discuss, because all of this hit really close to home. And I am beginning to think that many of us, when we sit down and doth numbers, will have the weird synchroncities running through the biggies in their lives, just like I do.

So, this is a year of the six. Yet again. The 1994 date is so significant because this was the beginning of the fractal we are in, the end of the Mayan calendar, the closing of an age. 18 years on either side of the centering of the whole system, which occurred 12-21-12. 1994 started it.

And so, then I did the math for the end of it. That’ll be 2020. A year of the four. Gaia. The beginning of a next cycle. The cycle of the sun, of the 44, the mystical 44, which I feel as this golden light of being, transcending light and ark, moving beyond all judgment, a golden age of compassionate action, of benevolent action, of merciful dealings, a golden age, symbolized in 44, we matching Gaia, Gaia matching us, harmony, integration, partnership, family, unity consciousness.

I’ll be 69 then. Another six. Three sixes, glittering just there, connecting me to all sorts of glittery geometry, all of that going on as I tap tap tap these keys. It’s a splendid thing, being split like this.

I’d felt a little bad about not having been able to be there with that little physical entourage, why the chips had not fallen a different way, me here with my expired passport, making do, but certainly not moneyed enough to travel… I sat with that, as it came up, the first time I listened to Kryon’s recording, last night, 11-12-13.

As a sidebar, I had understood, while walking to my car to go pick up my son yesterday, hours before listening to this recording, I understood that the 11-12-13 was very important, very auspicious, the penultimate of such numerological shows. There’s just the 12-13-14, now. And then, well, that cycle is over. It’s a big deal, and I was shown a hallway, but not a dark one.

It was light and sort of celebratory, and I was told “well done,” and felt a lilt in my step, as I unlocked my car. I’d counted up the numbers out loud on the way to the car, the ones make 3, and 1+2+3 is 6. “A nine,” I said, then I humphed, and added more, and laughed out loud. “A nine.” I said. And out loud I said, “Well, that seems fitting.”

So, I hung with being down on where little me is right now, and then came to see this a whole new way. I had fancied myself different, and I sat today, also, with the thoughts I’d had last essay, about this little group who has been said to be around.

What I failed to mention last time is that I thought that if there is such a thing as a group like this, then it can be seen as a separating or elitist notion. And it so isn’t. It might look uppity, but it sort of makes sense, I think. How many of us now are talking these things? How many are beginning to understand? It is a beautiful thing. But then, you see, there are some that lived it. And have the number confirming things, if only to them, written right there, next to the big dates, next to their birth name, their birthday. Some of us chose to be a conscious part of it, and even though I had my time in deep amnesia, we all did, and there really is nothing to be ashamed of the things we did when we were perhaps less switched on, less aware of the bigger picture, and usually reluctantly unaware of the truth of it, that we are creating this, this is a benevolent and loving creation, we are loved and worthy beyond measure.

And so I have come to think that some of us just agreed to have fewer filters. We have it built in, being awakened before. This is not our first rodeo. It feels good, to wake up, and it happened in stages, to be sure, and it was very messy, a lot of it, but it has all since been forgiven, and the memories now, they feel like a film, as I drive past the restaurants and houses and streets and landmarks I have driven by since I was 7. I can inhabit whatever is there, but instead, I thought yesterday while driving, I don’t feel compelled to. I watch my consciousness, now, dip in and out of linearity, and am always glad for its surfacing in the bigger ocean I prefer to bob within now.

That made me cry in Kryon’s recording is a message he included to humanity, and to anyone listening, and by extension, anyone reading or hearing these words, for all time.

Don’t fear the old soul. There is nothing here to fear. Within us is divine love, we are the embodiment of compassion itself, and we remember many things that can be useful and helpful. We have always carried this knowledge, but it takes the ticking of the hand of linear time for this to play out, and so it has.

It is nice for me to feel as if I am finally complete. I searched so long for answers, for this riddle that was the riddler and the puzzler both, dueling often, making the other cry sometimes, evoking bellylaughs from time to time.

I know what I know. I know I am one with the cetaceans, my brothers, the whales. I listen to their songs at home, in the car, sometimes for months at a time, and I understand their language, it is vast and varied and they are my family. I know this. I know we run the grids together, we are one. And I know this points to obvious conclusions, that I resonate more with our makers than with my personality self, and it speaks to origins, and mysteries, and the unknown.

I could dwell in the stories I have perpetually told myself, the explanations which seemed to make sense, but if I cannot alter my outlook when new information is presented, then what does that say about me?

There are just a few things I came in sure of. I was always sure, underneath or through or in spite of all the nonsense, I was sure of me. I was sure I was good. That’s what caused the dissonance, you see.

And I was sure I was a writer. I knew I would wind up here, and I knew it would carry me as soon as I found it. I knew it was where I would wind up. 28 years a nurse, I’ve been an RN since I was 24. Another six. They’re all over my history.

This is my personal year of the seven. Mastery. In the year of the six.

And so, I know that to get to where I found myself at all those critical junctures, working with and loving and sometimes not loving those in my pantheon of great play actors I have done fine work with so far, there is now 17 more years to go, in this fractal, in this grand opportunity.

I know that I have nothing to fear. I have nothing to fear. I have nothing to fear.

All is in divine timing, and it always was. We had, on 11-8-13, great souls helping us to participate in a ritual I could feel, and have since experienced again, in meditation. Today, while listening to the recording, again participating in the activation of Lake Titicaca, I understood that we are each suns, not children of the sun, but I could see so many of us as balls of sun, physically lit up, on the grid. It was beautiful. To understand we are solar angels, all of us, and some of us can now wink at each other.

It was a fine time with Kryon this morning. I felt moved to write, but was still weighing my options, when I put on my glasses and was drawn to look out the window. At first, I just saw clouds, and then a white flashing caught my eye.

It looked like a big bird, but from that distance, the thing had to then be massive. And I remembered the merkahbah of angels I saw in the volcano’s ashes, that big Iceland volcano, a whole flock of angels, and I saw another such photo, and there, out my window, I knew I was seeing an angel, I was being hailed. I was being loved.

I know that balls of light are more accurate of the way of it, and still, there, out my window, fluttering, and then gone, a very distant, huge, long white flashing thing, and I felt happy, because my eyesight is coming online, and I was seeing a friend. A miracle. A miracle, right there in my granny chair. A confirmation. A visitation. A love letter from home.

And so, is this the fiction, or is Patrick Hears Voices? I doubt I will have the answer to this for a little while. That’s how this stuff works. I feel disbelief, chords of it, even now.

I have asked, in prayer, to have them strip from me certain character traits or fall-back responses. Go deep and go long, and pull them from my energy, from my countenance, like the rough twine they are, and let my energy then run smooth, free from discordance, free from contradiction of my innate self.

And so, I see I need to do this with this disbelief, language it as I have not before, so that all know I give permission to remove the last of it.

I know that this makes me odd, and that’s why what Kryon said made me cry with gratitude. Don’t fear the old soul. Know that it’s the old soul who holds the love that will only enhance religious doctrine, can only bring peace, can only heal. Do not fear the old soul.

And so, I think I will take the Kryon’s advice. I think it is the only right thing to do.

I will go within and I will stay within that admonition, that permission, and I will remove the last of it. The doubt, the awkwardness, the hesitance. What will remain is restraint. Wisdom. Patience. Tolerance. Kindness. Good humor. Perspective. Balance.

And I will bless the part of me who has interpreted all of this in a very unique and colorful way, and I will allow me to be as I am, and love all of me, all of my seeming mistakes, all of my longings, and all of my abilities. I’m good with it, with me, and I no longer need to defend or explain to anyone anything, nothing at all. It shows, you know. Has for a while now. Has for a while.

I am at peace, and I hope you also have found the peace which passes all understanding. I hope that you know that it is done, the prophecies fulfilled, the hard times are over, and things only get better from here.

I have no doubt, not a one, that there is nothing but good for us from here on out. Sure, things are bound to get slidy. This is big stuff, potent, and everyone interprets it their own way, based on their plan, their preferences, their choice.

I am celebrating that you and I am are not arguing about this, not pulling it apart, not finding things wrong with it. For me, that time has come to an end, and I consider this and this alone a privilege from the cosmos. To understand. To have my questions answered, just for me, just for me.

I wonder how this works, how to manage, now, in the land of deadlines and goals and comparisons and sales. With a big hole in my jeans and pumpkin coffee in my favorite mug, watching the traffic, hearing the workmen outside my door sanding our apartment’s doors, I think that it is fine, for this moment, to just be here now, and be quiet in this now, and be full in this now. I am sooooo covered. I am so loved. I am so tended to, tenderly loved, beloved of my beloved.

And so I leave you with an understanding I think I wrote about a while ago, something that came to me in my travels one day.

If it is true that everything I am and everything I am aware of is of the beloved, my concept of a benevolence so boggling to actually be physicality itself, then if I find fault or trouble with anything, within or without, if I fight against or argue with anything, inside or outside, then I am arguing with, fighting against, and fearing that which I love and am. And that is a silly thing to do, says I don’t understand, says I am not trusting the benevolence of it, not seeing things as they are.

I could see how we humans are emanations of all that is, and then we emanate all we are aware of. So to tell myself mean or scary or unloving stories about any of it, well, it just says that I am missing the truth of it, not seeing things right, forgetting.

I’ll end it here because it is a better place than when I earlier was arguing for my limitations.

While filling my mug with more coffee, toward the end of this thing, I thought about that, after listening to what I was thinking. I found it repetitive, and, in the end, optional. I heard myself muttering my story, my explanations, my expectations, and it was sort of like automatic muttering, compulsive, in a way.

I thought, well, there it is. Why am I so convinced that what I think I should expect or do or accomplish or have accomplished is even accurate? Does it feel good to keep thinking and saying this to myself? Is it exalted? Is it hopeful? And does it take into account all that I now know to be true and accurate for me?

I returned to this essay and this is the result. And those particular voices in my head have calmed, swimming now, in the sea I am finding calm, now, warm and fragrant and familiar, and from here, I can see home.

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