Deeply Awake — The End Of A New Year 1-1-14 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — The End Of A New Year 1-1-14 By Kathy Vik

It feels like there has been a literal clearing of things, dead wood, debris. I felt it last night, and have been aware of it all day long, with much gratitude, because these are understandings and approaches that I really do want to work with and get to know.

I will tell you something that happened, along the line of a miracle, first.

It’s sort of a hard one to tell, so I will get through it quick.

For the last several weeks, I have been feeling increasingly apprehensive about my car, just feeling like something was wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I mean, the old girl needs a good diagnostic checkup and some minor work, but it runs like a top, and has been very reliable for a long time, now. But still, this feeling of apprehension, distrust, a little bit of blunted fear, even. And this came with a very faint wobble I began to notice when I drove.

The wobble stayed very faint for a long time. But the last few days, it has been more pronounced, and was beginning to worry me.

If I had a stash of cash, or any credit, this wouldn’t have been an issue, just something to attend to so I could pay attention to more important, perhaps less basic issues. But here I was, with a worry, and a wobble.

Anyhow, I let it ride, and worried, since I have been remarkably underemployed recently.

About three days ago, my dad sent me an email in which he says he had noticed a problem with one of his tires, and he got it fixed immediately. And then, on the 30th, driving yet again on the highway to pick up my son, feeling weird behind the wheel, I asked, as I often do while driving, if “they” would please talk to me, just talk to me.

Suddenly I was reminded of my dad’s email. And then a truck with a huge tire weirdly lashed to the outside of the truck barreled down the highway. I remember laughing about that scene in Bruce Almighty, when he is saying out loud, while driving, “Please! Just give me a sign!”, and just then a truck passes him transporting tons of road signs in the back, and Jim Carrey ‘s character again laments that he just needs a sign, and again and again, the environment answered him, and again and again he just didn’t see it. So I laughed, and told them, ok, noted, I need to fix my tire. I had been told by my mechanic that the passenger front tire was looking sad, and would need to be replaced soon. That was a couple months ago.

So, we drove home, and I felt, by the time I got home that night, a sort of doom about my car.

I had also just been feeling a lot of doom, really, the end of the year not ending very gently for me. I feel I was doing some collective clearing. I was just so phenomenally aware of the cultural collective, and was so freaking bothered by it, the continued lack, on many people’s part, to see that anything has changed, still acting badly, still acting out, the culture, in general.

Extreme excesses in abuses of power, and bizarre reactions from those who are affected by the greedy ones, the immature ones, the sort of dark ones.

This was really getting to me, like it hasn’t since early 2012, and this set in a discomfort.

I went to sleep the night before New Year’s talking out loud, talking to them. And I asked, when all was said and done, I asked to be told, to understand, to finally get, who I was, who I am related to, what my role is, that sort of thing, but it boiled down to one thought, one prayed: just tell me what this writing means. Please just tell me that. I just need to know what it means, and this will help me to know who I am.

That night I had a dream in which there was a tremendous, very long lasting silver column of energetic light, and its strength was just beyond description. Just pure loving power, the power of love, of benevolence, of wisdom and magic and honor and mystery, oh that column had been there a long time, and it was not entirely permanent, it was an intentional manifestation, in other words, but it had a sense of permanence, a catalytic permanence, influencing the grid for all time, with or without its presence.

And this column had four columns squaring it. And this column, I then saw, was a point down, and to the right, on an old canvas map. And then there was a destination up and to the left. I didn’t know what to do, stay with the column, or go, because I understood I was to do both.

So I felt into the other destination, and suddenly, I was within that part of the map. And then, just as quickly, though I knew it had been an incredibly long journey, I was once again at the place with the column. And I realized, I had done my duty, because I could see, after exiting that line on the map, that it was a very long line of towns and adventures I had had, but they all were sort of intentional, to get me back to the silver column.

And so, I woke up understanding that a very long journey had come to an end and I had returned to the place I never wanted to leave in the first place.

And, once I woke up, I realized it was New Year’s Eve.

Through a processed in which Peter and Paul lend each other money, I had a little over a hundred dollars that morning. I had to go tested for respiratory equipment, mandatory for my practice, and yet, although my management says without it I cannot work, they refuse to may for it. That used to be illegal, something employers couldn’t do. And yet, here I am, giving $35 for a test an RT in the hospital could knock out in two minutes for free, no, here I am.

The tester told me, for some reason, he said he just no longer believes that humanity is good. He’d lost all good feelings for people having to work at a whiz quiz place, all the deviousness and dishonesty he saw, he told me. He told me that my generation was just more honest.

I told him, you have no idea how twisted some of us were, and how much shit we got away with. It’s just that everyone is into everyone else’s business, judging it and commenting on it and withholding employment opportunities and, essentially, money, from those who misbehave.

It should be no one’s business, and it shouldn’t have to be your business to care, I told him. And then I asked him, after he confessed having lost all faith in his brothers and sisters, I asked him, how do you think your life would change if everyone trusted and loved everyone else?

He shook his head and scoffed, but not bitterly, just sort of sadly, and said, “That’s never going to happen.”

I told him I thought he was wrong about that. I think he’s going to come to find he is wrong about that. We can behave better toward each other, I said, and be trustworthy and kind. I wish I would have told him that he was that way with me, as much as his job allowed him to be. He had been more than decent, very nice.

Anyhow, then we get back on the road, and the wobble is scary to me. Twenty miles later, I happened to glance at the passenger tire, and there was a huge bubble coming from the part of the tire where the writing is. I knew I had no choice, the money in my pocket, though I had to save it, it was already spent, on a new tire.

We went four places, and no one had my tire. I was sort of driving randomly, but deliberately, driving the twenty miles home on slow, commercial streets, trying to find a tire shop. Finally in town, on Broadway and Evans, I stopped at the Pep Boys. Andrew waited on me. He had the tire in stock, and it would be $62. Seemed like an all around excellent manifestation, right?

Andrew came and got me soon after I gave him my keys, and told me that the driver’s front tire was separating, and neither of the tires were safe for me to drive away with. I had to ask my child for his twenty, and I told Andrew, I have $134. Can you do it for that? He shook his head and looked worried, he said he would have to do a few things, but, yeah, he could do it for that amount.

I felt so awful, having to ask Sam for his twenty. We’d gone up to his dad’s for that twenty, some of his Christmas money, that he was going to use at a restaurant his friends’ parents were taking them on New Year’s Eve. So you can imagine how low I felt.

I actually couldn’t stop from crying, so I left the store and went outside for a smoke.

There are times of tremendous pressure, and this moment was actually the peak of a couple of days that had felt dull and hard and out of kilter. I said out loud, softly, hand cupped at an angle to sort of hide my crazy, I said a very heartfelt prayer.

I realized that I really, really do not deserve this. That may sound weird, but I was watching an older gentleman get into his fancy car. I said, I just don’t get it. I am playing the game right, I am showing up, and I am here on purpose, and I have an open and kind heart, and this is just not fitting me.

I deserve better.

I don’t know how it is that people who lead lives where they go out of their way to harm others, they have the money, it seems, and I just don’t deserve this. I want to make money without harming anyone, and I want to have financial ease. I want to feel safe. And so I told them, in my hands, now, right now, I want to feel protected. I want to feel safe. I deserve this. I deserve this. I deserve this.

I went back in and talked to Sam. He was happy, because he understood that we could now go back up to his Dad’s and he could get another twenty, and then he could have a nice night. He forgave me having to ask him for help, and he was very loving, very loving and kind. I apologized to him, as I do sometimes when it hits me the sacrifices he makes without even realizing it, and he told me no, no, that’s not right, I’m an amazing mom and he loves me.

Andrew got us out of there at $122. I looked him in his eyes and told him, “thank you for keeping us safe.” He never smiled, that kid, but he nodded and gave me recognition that he understood what I meant.

We went back up to Jerry’s and Sam gave me $40, and he took twenty, and he then negotiated things, and we left knowing that we would always be in each others’ corner.

And here is the miracle, the physical body understanding I carry with me now. When we got back on the road, the car didn’t wobble.

On that same stretch of road where I’d seen the oddly secured tire hanging off that truck, I realized that I had been talked to the whole time. I had been urged to cash a check that I had wanted to save, but felt I had to cash, it was imperative. Two days later, I would have been sunk had I not done so.

The email, the memory of it, the truck with its odd tire, the wobble, the feeling of dread.

And I remembered, and smiled as I did, the prayer, the command , the plea I had made. I just want to feel protected. I want to know that you are protecting me, that I am safe.

And I knew, driving up to Sam’s house for the second round of cash, that I am, we are, protected. We are safe, and it could have happened, any time, for months, that tire could have blown. It hadn’t even been on my radar. I had been told by my mechanic that it was fine, the driver’s side tire.

I knew, and I know, that I am protected, and further, that I am talked to and guided. Now, I will say, I am sure these signs were always there, and I think a lot of my discomfort, in the old days, was in seeing the signs but not really wanting to or knowing how to follow them, talk with them.

And sometimes, if there was any synchronicity AT ALL, then I felt it was a sainted thing, something I had to do, and if it failed, somehow I was flawed. I know it is not a typical way to see things. But it’s how I saw things.

And now I see things this way, more clearly, and I am in constant communication. Constant.

My son urged me to go through with it, go to kirtan on New Years’ Eve. I had RSVP’s for the two of us, but Sam got called away, and here I was, alone. He said he thought I should go.

I had a dream a few nights ago where I had a very long, lush conversation with my pendulum, and was taught how to use it better. So I excused myself, after Sam said that, and I pendulumed, is it for my highest good to go to kirtan tonight, and an immediate “yes.” Then I thought of how much I wanted to just lie low, so I asked, Is it for my highest good to stay home tonight? And got an immediate “no.” So, OK, it’s kirtan tonight.

I dropped Sam off at his friend’s house, came home and took an hour nap. I felt dull, just weird.

An hour later, I woke up and got dressed, and found my way to kirtan. I’d pendulumed again, before getting ready, and understood I was to meet someone important to me.

It was a full house, a happy crowd, and there were many new faces. I sat up by the band, and boy, did I have fun.

Three songs in, I was back. Sober as a judge, and having an amazing trip with light. And there, bigger than I’d ever felt, was a huge white column, silver, blasting. We always open a portal, or I do, when we chant, but this was the column from my dream. I knew it right away. I didn’t, and still don’t know what it means, really, but there it was.

I spun off this awkward, angular oppression I had been feeling, and this sense of classism and inequality that had been dogging me. I found that the things I had been letting consume my consciousness, this job or that job, I need to clean the house, Good God I need a new car, all those thoughts, they were finally details again. They were storylines, and then, something clicked for me.

I understood that I am indeed divinely guided. I am protected, and I am so very very loved.

And then I had that vision again. I’d once asked, please just tell me who I am!, and my meditation had been a sequoia forest, and one huge, mossy tree, with a long, delicate flower at its base, a long stem and a single flower, a white flower, so white against the green of the forest, of its mother tree.

I remember thinking only one thing after that mediation. Imagine the tragedy of that beautiful flower wanting to be something else. Imagine it longing to be a cabin, or a kite, or red. It can only be that which it is set up to be.

And in kirtan, I came to peace with it all. The underemployment, the lessons that poverty has taught me, the lessons of humility, and getting to the place where there can be no other option than to just finally accept it: I am loved, I am supported, I am cared for. My angles kept me safe. Sam lent me his money.

This whole thing is ok. And it’s temporary. And even if it isn’t, I can make it better. I can change a few things, but not out of hatred for or disgust with what my life is, just because it is not time to change form.

The person I met is special, and it is a story I do want to tell you, but tonight is not the night for it. But I do need to tell you of what I understood as a result of our first meeting.

I understood, while we brought the new year in, in silence, the group of us, listening to fireworks going off, breathing deeply, and holding silence, I understood that I might just be someone else’s manifestation.

I might be what someone else has been prying for. Isn’t that funny, I thought. And if I find that their desires for me are not shared, if I don’t feel the same way they do, for whatever reason, or I see the relationship differently than they do, what is the solution to this?

I realized the only solution is to feel love and compassion for them. I realized that I can, now, look into people’s eyes and see that they are the creator, they have within them the same design I do. And though we may be at variance with how the story rolls, its tempo or its meaning, bottom line, they are me, and I am then, and each of us is to be loved for being a part of the whole.

I’ll end by telling you that my sense of awareness of what a person is about, just about them, where they are or what their focus is, has gotten very acute. I have had it borne out, it’s accurate, this new sense of mine.

And in silence I understood the only reason to have such a sense is so that I can feel love for my fellow travelers. Understanding they have within them full mastery, but some are not ready, some will never be, and some are not interested. The ones who are not interested were not at kirtan last night, you see? There is a huge part of the population I just don’t get, and now, I can love them, and find compassion for them, where once all I felt was impatience and superiority, I guess.

And the ones in the room, some have been doing their new age thing for decades, and are stuck, want to argue with this simplicity, with this airiness, and want to argue that things are still hard, that the dark still looms over us, is still prodding us and hurting us when our guard is down.

Some are caught up in mechanics, and have lost sight of the heart of the matter. Some have been switched on once, and are seeking that again. And some, they love. They can just love. Laugh. Throw off awkwardness and yet blend, ease the room, give off a glow. And I am one of them.

So I can and will and want to show compassion. It is past time to get caught up in the poor me stuff. I feel I have been through a wash cycle, and have been left panting, still soaked and spinning, really.

With this new knowledge, which is nothing short of a reluctant recognition of the truth, I had a long talk with them today. I understood that I would be canceled, and that I did not have to get up in the morning, as I initially felt I needed to, to write. Instead, I took the day to heal up, sleep, and it was a dark, velvety sort of sleep, deeply rejuvenating, without a thinking to bring back,  except first thing, when things are always crystal clear and obvious, beautiful and straight, lovely and true.

In those moments I was told to just kick back and enjoy this day off, that I would do this essay, and then I could have a beer, take a load off. But it had been building, this need to write, as hard as this has been and as reluctant as I had been to reveal such things about myself.

Today when I had my talk, I was coming from a place of equals, felt I was talking to my support team, not some angel set I supplicated to.

In fact, I realized that I can, now, start things up. I told them, it’s time to send out the delivery team. I’m not sure if they put on uniforms, or take them off to reveal they are angles, but either way, Delivery Team, I’m ready for you. I can trust myself now. I trust I can handle my good. I can handle more money, and this new road, where people actually want to pick my brain, where I can do some good in the world outside of scrubs, instead of inside them. Where I can do the things my heart yearns to do. I told them, I knew it wasn’t time before, and now, I can feel I am not asking for something prematurely. There has been a change, and I am ready.

Because I can finally handle me. I can look into the eyes of a meek person and a violent person, and I can see god in them. I want to do that, with everyone, always. And now, I finally can.

This doesn’t turn me into a saint, however. After kirtan, the dude who’d tried to lure me into a guru thing last time said he was looking for a ride, and although I was going in his general vicinity, I just couldn’t bring myself to help. So I haven’t been cured of an ability to say “no.” And that is really ok by me.

I realized a couple essays ago that the very happiest I have ever been, in a great meld of intellect and emotion and spirit, was when I was writing my novel. And so, I have decided that the next Patrick book needs to be written. I understand that what is coming can be put into a second book, or rolled into the first.

But either way, new characters have started to populate my imagination, and I am hearing conversations again. The characters have resurrected, and new ones are asserting themselves.

I am excited to go on another adventure with the group I have dreamed up. They are an amazing bunch of people. The freedom I feel when writing fiction is as close to godliness as I have ever known. An inner unfettering. I feel bulletproof, happy, clear and solid. It’s only been a month, but it feels like a lifetime, since I have written about Patrick and the gang, and I am grateful to feel them again.

And this was part of my prayer, today, upon awakening. I want to do this full time, and I have earned it. I have earned this right. And now I claim it. I am ready for this, too.

A die-hard essayist, or journalist, these Field Notes will, no doubt, continue, but I will be doing Patrick now, this month and into February, my birthday month. There are changes afoot for me professionally, and I am now able to honestly let go of outcome. If the job I want doesn’t come through, then that is because it wasn’t for my highest good, and that which I dread may hold hidden wonders. But my prayer remains ease, peace and ease. Ease. Ease. This, above all, I have earned and now wish to claim.

Before all this got going, I thought it would be good to review my essays from 2013, see how far I have come, but also, take a look back on all that has happened to me. And maybe I will do that, but it seems, to me, as if 2012 and 2013 are oddly blended, and something I really just want to be done with.

What’s done is done.

What’s written is written.

Reviewing it is something I do when the light is dim and I have forgotten who I am. Before, I was too wrapped up in daily life stuff, and now I feel as if reviewing it all is unnecessary. I am what I am, I am that I am, and this year, this new one, now, is what matters. This moment here. I believe that now, the good can start coming, and I am open to outrageous, fantastic, funny manifestations. Laugh out loud synchronicity. I like it loud and funny, surprising, a wink in every resolution, a wink and a grin, saying, “We’ve got this.”

2013 was a tricky year, and 2012 and 2013 were a pair of doozies for me personally. It blurs and blends, the weird stuff that has happened, all the weird stuff. I like it. I really do.

I’ll end, this time for real, with this anecdote. Twice, last night, I met up with people who openly said that they’d never felt like they belonged here, had felt alien and homesick and miserable since they’d been on earth, just like me, just like my friend Diane, just like so many of you.

And to the one I had dinner with, I said, the most amazing thing through all of this is that now, finally, I get it, I am home.

But the way I said it to her, and to me, was different than I’d ever said. I Am Home. Not a destination, not a statement of location, but a statement about my being. I myself am that which is home, is what I meant, what was beating in my chest as I languaged it.

I Am Home.

It was a good way, a fitting way, to end the new year that had been 2013. I am glad to have a new numerical year to celebrate, and look forward to my own personal new year on my birthday, in another month and three weeks. For me, that’s another crossing, another amplification, and when I can fully step into this. Until then, I will do all I can to walk into this power appropriately, joyfully and without worry.

A new year, and our time, is here.

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