Deeply Awake — Glad Tidings Of Great Joy On Christmas Day 12-25-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — Glad Tidings Of Great Joy On Christmas Day 12-25-13 By Kathy Vik

I want to tell you of the wonderful things which have occurred for me, inside, and out, this Christmas, and to share with you such glad tidings of love.

Yesterday was Christmas Eve, and Sam and I had a lovely morning. Without complaint, and with some excitement, even, Sam readied for church. I didn’t have to cajole or remind him, even. He seemed to be aware of the time, and of the things he needed to do before the magic hour, when we would go to church.

I’d woken up feeling the sort of foreboding I always do on Christmas, knowing my meager presents might be judged by my loved ones, feeling like I was coming up short. But, laying in bed, I considered the truth of it. I thought on how I feel when I get a present, any present, any present at all, how I am flooded with a tingly giddy happiness. I am so sentimental, there are no gifts given to me that I do not either proudly display or put in special places in my house.

Ah! I think when I get a present, Look! Someone has given me a token of their love, a symbol of their love, and most, they were thinking of me! They were thinking about me, and they love me enough to breach that barrier and give me something. They took time out, and thought about me, and now they have given me this lovely thing.

When Sam was a boy, he would select rocks, from parking lots, parks, wherever, and give them to me. We still have them, in a bowl, right at the front entrance. Gifts from a sweet boy, little pieces of wonder.

And so, I decided, I am going to imagine that others feel this when I give something to them, and we will all be blessed, today, with reminders of how much we value each other, and it matters not, really, what is given, or if anything is given, anything at all, and the ones I am with are going to be happy and feel blessed and loved.

I layed there and felt much love, and happiness, warmth and brotherhood. And then I began to feel happy expectation.

My friend texted me from Minnesota, and we exchanged information on our families, both with old ones who are getting sicker, and we gave each other love and encouragement. I told her how much I am looking forward to December 26.

And she told me I should go to church. I’d almost decided to blow it off, was on the fence, until she told me that. Reading her words, I could then see the church, and I felt profound love. I knew we would go.

And so, obediently and happily, Sam and I left our house at the proper time, without argument on his part, and without foreboding on mine, and we drove to Mile Hi Church of Religious Science.

We got there just in time, and found that the service was so full that the mega-church was overflowing. We got to sit in the old chapel, the one I’ve been attending on and off since girlhood. The pews are soft, and the feel far less commercial. We both commented on how lucky we were to be here instead of the big church.

Sammy stayed awake through it, and he draped himself on me through much of it. We held hands, each seeking the others’ hand at certain points.

There is much about the service I cannot language, but there are some things which must be said.

The service was profound. It was highly stylized, very symbolic, and just so beautiful. Singing, dancing, candles, light.

Jesus was called a Wayshower, and this felt so good. The point of the service was to celebrate that we are all pieces of the Christ consciousness, that it lives vibrantly within us, and we are each an embodiment of the creator.

To hear this, from all the speakers, each of them, over and over again, it moved me to tears. I spent the first part of the service weeping tears of joy, quietly, wiping my nose on my sweater, since I didn’t have Kleenex, so moved was I, so moved.

Please know this. I felt that love, that indescribable, overwhelming love that I am certain is going to take me away, a love that urges me to hang on and ride it, that expands and intensifies into a swell of emotional depth that is beyond words. I felt so much love, so much love, so much love.

Oh Holy Night played, was sung, and this was the first crescendo of this love. Fall on your knees, oh hear the angel voices, oh night divine, when Christ was born.

I understood that this Christos, this holy light, this was the year it was being birthed into our consciousness, always available, but never fully touched and owned until today, somehow.

I realized that this is a group of old ones, the ones who could articulate these thoughts. I thought that this is quite a risky thing they are doing, so blatantly saying that God indwells each of us and is well pleased. Filled with hope, filled with recognition, I sang and cried and watched, filled with wonder, with relief, with a sense of homecoming.

I could feel the old days, and understood the timeline, could feel our walk on this planet, the acts of great love, to erase our collective memories and start again, start again, start again. I thought of the last flood, and the love this took, to wipe away, once and for all the old energy, to start again and try again and see, can we do it this time, can we get there?

And we have done it. We have done it. We have done it. We are awake now, and it is safe now to be awake, to be in love, such profound love, with ourselves and each other.

In the center of each of the stages, there was a huge, fat, white pillar candle. It was the same size and brightness of the candle in my last dream, when I’d realized that I was in my new home, but I’d left a candle burning all this time, that I had been gone so long, and yet the candle had been burning all that time. A big with pillar candle.

From this candle were lit seven others, and they each were symbols of our own interpretations of this light, reminding us of our power, our compassion, our love, many strains of this Christ light. The last one lit was to symbolize our peace.

This again moved me to great waves of love and joy. I thought about how peace, just simple peace, just peace, had always been my heart’s cry. To just be at peace with all of it, with being here, to know and understand why, and to be at peace, in my heart.

It was such a good celebration. I thought of my friend, while we watched and celebrated. I thanked her.

I remembered, and giggled there in church, when she’d responded to my complaint of wanting it to be December 26th. She’d texted back, “Well, just remember, it’s just a Tuesday, and Jesus was born in July.”

Thank God for Diane, I thought, smiling and gently laughing in my pew. It brought all of it into proportion, just as thinking on the Lemurian times helped, as the service played out, thinking on the old times, happy to be here, amazed, actually, and so grateful. It had taken the temporal pressure off of this day, and reminded me of our history, the one we sense but sometimes cannot even think to language, our time spent here, loving God and each other in so very many ways.

I want to tell you what I did at the start of the ceremony, as a way to close out this portion of the essay. Always there is a time of centering and going within, before we continue with the service. In that time, I wanted to breathe and become green again. I wanted this a lot.

I closed my eyes, and at first it did not come. My thoughts were angular and they did not connect. I felt oddly troubled that I couldn’t just settle into this. And then, it came. I was a forest, I was green, I was sequoias and moss and fern and deep, silent forests. I was green.

From there, I ran my light, bright white and crackling in intensity. It felt good. And then, I expanded it. I could feel my green breath expand into my field, into this squat disc thing that was green, and I could feel everyone in that little church, all their hearts. And then everything turned the white, the crackling white.

Then I realized I wanted to do both churches because it is true, it is true, there were many in these buildings who knew how to and were indeed doing the very same thing. I could see two massive columns of white light, and then, they merged, and my god the light we were running.

Right there in Lakewood, Colorado, just humans, just humans, and oh, so much more than what we think. I could feel this light, and I knew it was true, what we were doing was good and healing and right for the moment at hand.

I understood the light would run without my consciously attending to it, for the remainder of the service, and the essence of this great light would not, could not, ever be diminished. For all time, I knew, this profound light would still be shining, the light so many of us were consciously creating, as a group, as souls who were finally free.

At the end of the service, each of us got to light our individual candle. I am moved to great swells of love thinking on it now, and this love always seems to express as little tears, heating up and wetting my eyes. Such love.

These lights, oh there were so many of them, oh my goodness. In our little church, and in the big one, that we got to see on big video screens this whole time. Each of us, a light. Each of us, a light. I knew this was a fit symbol, a great acknowledgment of the light within each of us, and it was so gratifying to see that each person there was acknowledging their light, and holding it high, we did, each of us, many times, we were asked to raise our candle, for peace, for unity, for love, and for those who were not with us, who were struggling, saying out loud, the leader did, that we are all one, and each of us have this light within us.

I could feel the grid I have so long talked about light up. I felt part of something bigger than just me, sitting on my bed, telling you of odd hallucinations and visions. Each person there was physically engaging in this grid, and oh my goodness the gratitude I felt. Oh my goodness.

I had been wondering, through the service, what makes me any different than anyone else? Why have I been so troubled and forlorn, wrestling as I have with knowledge and longing? Here are others, so many others, and they are all down with this thinking. Why have I felt so alone all this time, and am I any different, really, than anyone else?

And then this lighting ceremony, and something healed in me. I understood that this light which blazes within me, illuminating my life and my days, it is unique, precious, known to god, and that each person who walks this earth is also a universe unto themselves.

Each are just as shiny, and it matters not what someone knows, how far down they decide to dive into the pool of reality we have come to know. What is true is that we are each divine entities, whether we know it consciously or not. And each are to be honored as such, always, in all ways.

We walked to the car laughing, loudly, about things that were both crude and outrageous, laughing and joking, light, relieved. We drove to a store and bought some candies for his Grandma, and then we went to Grandpa’s house.

The old anger, the old fear, it just was not there, last night. I was repeatedly aware of how gentle it all was, how loving I felt, how at peace. I was not troubled.

The celebration was a gentle and fun one. There was so much laughter and so much light in that living room, so much good feeling and respect and hope. Yes, there is the spectre of change, lurking about, with big and final lessons in its hands, but somehow, the face of this spectre was softer, and there was no fear.

At times, I thought on the people gathered, thought of ancient days, the betrayals and the losses and the cruelty, and yet, immediately, like it has been for me for about two weeks, as soon as I had such a thought, I was given a gift. I thought on my own life, but more, I thought on the ever-present, undeniable truth, that this person who did bad things or was mean, they are also loving and kind, doing their very best, and all is forgiven.

Again and again, I could not hold a resentment. Again and again, I was filled with compassion, love, tolerance, kindness, gentleness of spirit.

We parted, and got into our respective cars, to pursue our individual things. I was going home alone, thankful for it.

I was in a place I have been many times before. Regardless of how tired I am, or how distracted, all of it sort of goes away. I knew I had something to do, a ritual, in this case, and so, I drove home knowing I had one more thing left to do.

Without getting in more comfortable clothes, without pausing for refreshment, I found paper. I got out a little pan, some sea salt, and some rubbing alcohol. I had something I had to do, moved, being moved, to create something I could see, but did not fully understand.

I put salt in the pan, and put in a small amount of alcohol. And then I wrote.

You see, during a smoke break out at my dad’s house, I had a realization. I realized that when one gets married, they take a vow, that in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, until death parts us, we agree to find love, to feel respect and hope, to see bigger, and dwell within the love we know for one another.

I got it during my first smoke break, but it was under the stars, during a subsequent one, that I understood this is what I am to do for myself. No longer able or willing to lose hope or faith in me, consolidated,

I guess, not torn asunder, not critical, and always within my love, I decided it made sense to approach myself in this way, to vow to myself that I will always have love and encouragement for myself, just as I had wanted from my husband. I understood he had had an impossible task, because I had not discovered this within me, and had needed him to give me this, but I had not had it within my own self yet. I felt love for him, sitting as he was, next to Grandma, laughing and smiling and being kind.

I said under that great canopy of blackness and wondrously bright starlight, that this comfort and joy is mine now, and it is freely given, and can be no other way. I give to myself the love of unconditional love, of unending hope, of deep and true confidence.

And so, the letter, though I remember very little of it, it did contain this sentiment.

With the letter, I wanted to put an end to the flirtations I have always had with seeing myself as inadequate, unloved, unloving. With that letter, I said goodbye to this old self who so often had her heart broken and was disappointed with others. I can only shake my head now and grin when I think on the lack of generosity of spirit others hold sometimes. No veiled contempt, no world-weariness, now, just love, just love, just love.

And so I lit the bowl, and I watched the flames, and felt my soul licked by this uncontrolled joy the flames contained. I watched, and I smiled, and I let all of it go into the fire. All of the old ways, the pain, now just a distant rumble, all of it went into the fire.

And then, I burned the letter.

I said, watching the flames sputter and die, I am no longer what I was. I am no longer what I thought I had to be. I am that I am.

The flame went out precisely after I had uttered the last “am.”

There are times, in ceremony and in daily life, when there is a symmetry reached, a physical moment of crystalline beauty, when I know that what is in front of me, as real as it is, like this fire, is bending to my will, talking to me, acknowledging me. And the fire did that for me. It felt so complete.

Complete. That is how I feel this Christmas Day.

Moved to happy tears, moved to see so much love and happiness, moved and yet here, sitting on my bed, quiet, still, alone.

I am healed of something ancient today, and I know now that this is not going to change back, it’s not going to be eaten alive with the old thinking and the old disappointments. I realized, before beginning this, that I can sing a new song, and the old way of contrasting things, it is over, too.

I need not revisit, ever, the old things that used to make my heart feel like a cinder, my mind feel like a pretzel, my soul feels discarded. This is something that was the way things once were, and I dutifully spoke the words as they needed to be spoken, wrote what had to be said, but this is a new way, and it will not be extinguished by anything I encounter, not ever again.

I will close by telling you what I always thought marriage was.

I loved having a wedding ring on my finger, and do not feel comfortable, even now, with not having one there. I realized, when I got engaged, that this ring symbolized, for me, that I belonged. That I mattered. That I had a secret place of love that no one could take away. I belonged, mattered, to another. I was safe and I had a home and I was loved.

I understand now that this is what I did, last night, under the stars. I have a home now, and I have a secret place of belonging that no one may ever come into, but that I am aware of, and have symbolized in so many ways. I come out of this love and interact with the world, and I go back into this love when I return to my home, but more, now, there is no need for a symbol, a ring, a sign, a reminder, because this place of belonging and safety, I walk with it, it is me, and it is my soul.

I wondered, in church, what is it that makes me any different, and why did I suffer so with these big and ponderous thoughts?

Driving to my dad’s I understood the answer. I run light. I love light. I generate light, and light is my friend. It speaks to me and I know it. I love to run it, to play with it, and I love to give it away. I can do this, and when I do, I feel good, very good, and I feel home. I can do this for others, and I love doing it. I can do it for myself, though, until today, I have not.

So, once I close this up and publish it, I will have a meditation in which the light I so gladly run for others, the white golden light which sometimes does come with my heart’s wish, that for just this moment, you can lay your burden down, just for this time, you may have peace and lay the burdens down, this I am to truly and openly give to myself. Today, just as I was given it last Christmas Eve, I am going to give it to myself. Not a gift, a willingness. An opening, a communion.

These are my words of glad tidings of great joy, of love that heals all, of a freedom from worry and an embracing of my self, and the beauty of it is that it is not exclusive. It is a fundamental truth, a knowing which cannot be denied, that each of us are this, each of us are light, love, peace, and we are angels here, whether we know it or not, whether we fight against it until the day we lay down to die, or whether we place it in frameworks others have thought up, it doesn’t matter. We are these pillars of light, and I am blessed and honored to feel this, know this, live this and love this, about myself and about you, too.

And so, I love you, you know that by now, I hope, but it must be said yet again. I love you. I feel such tremendous love and honor for everyone, all points of tremendous light, each of us, a point of light on a grid that is lighting up, and we are one, and we are individuals, and we deserve for this to be honored, by self, most of all.

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