Deeply Awake Proposal — Patrick Hears Voices 10-23-13 By Kathy Vik

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The only way I will be able to get this written is to imagine that I am talking to a very, very good friend, someone who is supportive and kind, indulgent and wise. You, dear reader, now sit across from me, at my dining room table, and we are enjoying warm beverages and sweet danishes this morning.

Because we are friends, both of us know that saying “yes” is intrinsic to happiness, and saying “no” is also, at times, more than appropriate, and because we are friends, because we trust and value each other, neither of us fears saying these two little words, carefully placed, lovingly uttered. They are gatekeepers to realities, those two little words, and because we are friends, we both know this, about those two little words.

In seven days time, I start another year of NaNoWriMo.

This is an international event, NaNoWriMo, one that most have never heard of.

All over the world, on November 1st, the clock is set to zero, and then for thirty days, writers just like me, all over the world, set before them a nearly impossible, a truly impressive, task.

From November 1st through November 30th, we, as individual writers, we come together to support each other, laugh with one another, inspire and encourage each other, as each of us wrestle, individually, with the novel we want to create in thirty short days.

We log on to during that month and log our progress, with our word counts. Some post their work, many, but most do not. We tick off our days with knowing the numerical goal, understanding that to reach this lofty goal we must write daily, and for one month out of the year, the natural isolation a writer feels sort of dissolves. We get together in coffee shops and libraries and private homes, to do exercises, to laugh, to let our freak flags fly, to share our usually sequestered minds.

I have been doing NaNoWriMo for some time. My sister introduced it to me, because she is nearly always aware of cool, hip and awesome things first. My sister is cool.

Anyhow, this year I am excited about the event, rather than nervous, because this year, I have a novel in my head that is ready, whole, and it’s finally one that I want to read!

Why tell you about this now, rather than just putting nose to paper and cranking it out?

Well, here’s the thing.

If you are like me, novels, even movies, anymore, are beginning to not feel right. There is not so much light in a lot of it, and we have to work hard to see through the layers of old ways of thinking, and being, and feeling, to get a bang out of things.

Things we read, view, they are still a little dark, sometimes. And though darkness adds contrast, what I have discovered is that within a well lit home, there is even more beauty, even more wonder, than in a darkened home. It’s easier to breathe, and celebrate, and reflect, in a home with the lights on. The contrast of darkness, oh, it’ll always be there, but, using it as contrast, it has not been able to be done quite as easily before now.

I want to read, and write, a book which is standing in the light, talking about our world, as it is, now. The world each of us plugs into, some of us from dawn to dusk. Channelers, videos, stories and posts, about and from home.

Not a projection, and not a reflection, but a travelogue of extraordinary folks, just like you and me, is the novel, Patrick Hears Voices.

Patrick is a boy who is in seventh grade. He has friends, and he has loving parents, but Patrick is a little odd, and very misunderstood. He is “an indigo,” a starchild, a wayshower, a baby lightworker, in the midst of those who are not.

And one day, he is taken away in light and sound, there by his locker, while readying for math class. After making a relatively quick recovery, and because his folks wouldn’t really know what’s going on, Patrick makes his way to the school’s counselor. Just for a little advice.

Turns out the counselor is a lightworker, and knows all about being taken away in rapturous thought.

She lives in an apartment block downtown, one tenant of currently five, each members of a loose, informal and wildly supportive place they’ve nicknamed “The Light House.”

Each of the folks who live at the lighthouse came to it in weird ways, but each belong there, for this moment, and what they creating is a beautiful thing.

Five folks, each unique, each a little odd, actually, and all just funny as hell.

Two of the folks who live at the lighthouse have kids, just about Patrick’s age.

Patrick takes to this slowly, comes and goes, has conversations with people he comes to understand are sages, his teachers, his friends. His family begins to show support, and fascination, for the changes they see in their boy, and his family comes to love those who live in the lighthouse.

There Patrick learns about the mechanics, the esoterics, the applied physics, of spirituality. He learns to pendulum, to change, slowly, his eating and drinking habits, learns about the Earth’s history from brand new perspectives, and grows into himself as a happy person, in this new context, gradually, and with great humor and light.

It is with his friends at the lighthouse he discovers a burgeoning sense of self-worth, and of internal power, and it is, eventually, from there, that he changes his reality.

When I got this idea, initially, I understood this is could be the first in a series of books. But honestly, it just feels like something I would enjoy watching play out on the TV, an HBO or even NBC series.

But, you have to start somewhere, and Patrick has gotten sort of bored, waiting for the stars to line up, for his story to be told.

You can see, can you not, the possibilities in this, right?

A novel to go to to learn how several highly enlightened folks each interpret running light, praying, paying bills, dealing with the man, doing their jobs, always while holding the light.


** Author’s note 1-24-18: I went on to write Patrick Hears Voices, Ahmed you can read it in its entirety at I completed nano in 2013, 5 days ahead of schedule. I’m hoping life will conspire with me to make 2018 another nano completion year, because it’s super fun to do. I encourage writers to check it out.

In this essay I went on to request readers reach out and assist me financially, to get the thing written. I’m not including that here. I’m not proud of when I asked readers to contribute to the cause, and so, in re-read,  I decided that even for historical purposes, a page and a half of highly persuasive begging is unnecessary.

It never worked very well, and those who’ve helped me are therefore Very Big Deals to me, giants, saviors, beloveds.

I’ll not equivocate, the poverty that’s accompanied this work grows tiresome.

But, I prevail, and I am assisted now by a benefactor who has made each day sweeter than I could have imagined possible in these circumstances, and i think you can tell I’ve got a great imagination.

So, I’ve edited out my begging, and end this piece instead with overflowing thanks to you, gentle reader.

If you read Patrick, please do so with soft eyes. It’s a first draft, but it’s worth a gander. The story is more complex than this proposal, but the heart of it is true to the intention: it’s a book for lightworkers like you.


Deeply Awake — The Ballad Of Lily And Jane, Songs From The First Wave (December, 2012) By Kathy Vik

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The Ballad Of Lily And Jane, Songs From The First Wave By Kathy Vik

— I —


Then, one by one, over a million people, in the space of a few hours, vanished. One by one, and in groups, people just sort of blinked off, present one moment, gone the next.

The networks didn’t report on it. No one reported on it but the new age blogs. That blogosphere was more than ready for this eventuality. A network of helpers and communicators activated, and everyone who needed to know what was happening was informed. That’s why God invented phone trees and internet message boards.

Within a week nearly all of the people who vanished had returned to their lives. Not one of them gave an explanation, and not one of them experienced problems from taking their break. Seamless integration, the ascension blogs proclaimed! Miracles abound! Wake up, people!

This is how it began. An under-reported anomaly, a weirdness so singularly weird that it went largely unspoken.


“Scootch over, I want to do some driving for a while.”

“Are you up to it?” Lily asked, smiling in her indulgent way.

“Here is my raspberry iced tea. Here is my Slim Jim. Here are the car keys. My bladder is empty, my mind is full, and I just did a nice fat ball of hash. I am driving.” Lily barked out a laugh, opened the passenger door and slid in.

We were headed to South Dakota, because Lily had gotten bit by the idea that it would be awesome to yodel from Theodore Roosevelt’s forehead. I explained to her that this would not be possible, since all the president’s heads are off limits to the public, owing to the fact that the treasure of El Dorado is tucked away inside that mountain, but, since I didn’t have any plans, I agreed to the quest.

We were in a Conoco station outside of Thermopolis, wind whipping around us as we made our decision about who was driving.

As high as I was beginning to feel, I was also feeling the benefits of my morning meditation, with waves of magenta stillness enveloping me now and then. It felt good, and I felt right, sitting behind the wheel of our 1973 El Camino. I’d bought it two weeks earlier, then had it gutted and rebuilt for this adventure. It ran like a charm, a real muscle car.

Lily turned on the lecture we’d been listening to by Delores Cannon. Dolores had sent out a CD for all her graduates, filling us in on a new technique she’d just stumbled upon. It was fun to listen to, because we’d just gotten off the phone with Delores at breakfast time.

Overlooking a forlorn wheat field somewhere between Colorado and Wyoming, Delores called Lily asking for some advice. We’d studied with Delores for over a year, she’d called us her artists in residence. She’d rented us a cabin on her property. It had been a good year. A happy year.

Delores called to rehash the interview we were in the middle of listening to, but also to tell us about a session she’d just had with someone whose SC (subconscious/superconscious/ higher self/ oversoul) had informed her of split time, a concept she was having a devil of a time understanding. Each of us had a go at what it could mean, what the ramifications could be. Dolores left our minds still just a little hazy, but it was good talking to our old friend, as we sat in our old car, letting its wheels do what wheels do best, putting distance between points A and B.

We look like two grandmothers. There is our bag of peppermints and here is our bag of lemon drops, here is our well-worn Thermos filled with green tea. If someone were not observant, they would recognize us as boring old friends out for a Sunday drive. Only the astute, and the open, would come to know of the singularly ridiculous and happy reason we were headed north on a strip of road just outside of Thermopolis.


“Hey, you guys, I really think we should pull over. I gotta pee.”

Lily looked at me, I at Lily, and then both of us turned to look at our old friend Eddie.

Eddie is mine, he is a visitor who has been with me throughout this lifetime, and he is a bit of a headache.

It was only after the winter solstice of 2012 that I could actually see him. Before that, he was just a force in my life, a voice in my head, a trickster and an imp, a mischievous, loving entity whose only job is to lighten me up. Thank God Lily didn’t mind him. There were still some days I couldn’t stand to look at the sucker.

“What is it, Eddie?” I asked.

“What Jane meant to say, just then, is, ‘It’s such a pleasure seeing you again, Eddie! What is it that you have come to give us today?’ That’s what she meant to say.” Lily said.

“Well, I see you are on the road. The yodeling, that was all you, Lily, but the Theodore Roosevelt’s forehead image, that’s a hard one to shake, and we made it that way on purpose.” Eddie announced.

“So, what can you tell us about what we should be aware of? What is it we are to accomplish, who are we supposed to be meeting up with?” Lily asked.

“What Eddie will now say,” I interjected, “Is this: I am not here to give you an itinerary. I’m here to give you slidy, slippery, surprising, obscure directions. Like a treasure hunt.” I caught Eddie’s eye in the rearview mirror, “Right, Eddie?”

“Oh, you know me very well. But, no, my dear, I have pretty clear directions today.”

Lily poured herself some coffee and offered Eddie some. Eddie smiled, materialized a chipped and stained pink Fire Kind mug, and let Lily top it off. The dark fluid he’d materialized in his Fire King smelled suspiciously like Kahlua.

“You are to go see a Dee Wallis in Rapid City.” Eddie leaned forward, and said in his unnecessarily dramatic voice, “She’s waiting for you, although she, of course, is unaware of this”

He settled back onto the polyester seat cushion, smiled and said, “OK, that’s about it. Anything I can do while I’m here?”

I winked then, and said to this impish sliver of my higher self, “Dee Wallis. Rapid City. Stealth Mode. Thanks for the direction. I was beginning to think this road trip was just for pleasure.”

Lily playfully touched my arm and reminded me, “Dear, they are all just for pleasure. You know that, right?”

I smiled, cranked down the window, and got a lungful of Wyoming air.


We had not been able to find our favorite hotel, La Quinta, so we instead settled on a nice, clean Motel Six right next to a Wal*Mart. Being the veteran road trippers we were had brought a consistency and predictability to the unpredictability which is road tripping. Wal*mart based Motel Sixes were always good, ranking high on the convenience scale, while ranking low on aesthetics. We are not picky, and we are not fancy. Pretentions were the first thing we gave up when we came together.

After our bedspread picnic, we googled Dee Wallis and found that she was an interior designer for the boutique hotels and tourist destinations around Rapid City. I found that very impressive. Whenever I meet someone who has created life work that is highly specific, this is a fascination to me.

“What could we possibly be doing for Dee?” I asked idly, readying for the shower.

“Oh, you know, it’s the same old thing. You know we won’t know til we get there. I think this is so much fun.” I looked at Lily and found her face had taken on an angelic glow. She was in the flow, no doubt, really hooked in to Source. I felt myself at 50% at best.

“I can tell you need some fluffing,” Lily said, “So when you’re done in the shower, I’ll have the candles lit. Let’s clear the room and then let’s meditate.”

I winked. I giggled. And then I went to Lily, bent down to kiss her tangled white hair, and I told her I loved her. What else could be said?


Lily always seemed to know that she would lead the life, one day, of a modern missionary. A wandering monk. And I always knew, from the time I was a little girl, that being on the road was the only place for me.

We both did wonderful jobs of tying ourselves down to simple third dimensional existence until the solstice.

At first, the whole thing was not very clear, and each of them struggled with how to interpret their missions. But soon enough, with patience and eagerness, each saw in the other’s walk the road they knew they would walk together.

The details were thankfully easy, miraculously easy, and within three months, they were living together, in the house Jane’s dad had left her. She suddenly had enough money, from the estate, to free herself from all her debt, she was a homeowner, and something new was forming, a new raison d’etre. Both of them knew it, just not how it would flesh out.

And then one night, sitting in their living room reading, there came a knock on the door. Lily answered it to find Eddie and a beautiful woman named Sabrina.

What you must remember is how limited our awarenesses had been prior to the solstice. We didn’t understand that our lives, these things we consider so very important, well, they are just holograms, just projections, just slippery tricks of the light. And the portions of ourselves that know this, and know how to navigate these tricks, we’d grown unaware of. Unable to believe that there is more than one of us, and more help than we can imagine, we’d become accustomed to never having the answer to every question ever conceived. Eddie and Sabrina kick started the removal of amnesia which had hobbled the two women entertaining these unusual, physical, metaphysical entities. Their visitors taught them that this awareness is available within every breath we take.

So here came Sabrina, a manifestation of Lily’s higher self, and Eddie, my manifestation. We’d never seen them before, had never smelled or touched them. Standing on our front porch as they were, we took them to be passing travelers who needed a hand. We rarely got visitors, as countrified as we’d become.

I got up and shook their hands, asked them to find a seat and get comfortable, and offered them up some of my chili and some coffee. They graciously accepted, and enjoyed the spread with gusto.

While eating they made light conversation, about everything and nothing, just gaining our trust, establishing familiarity.

Back in the living room, the sun setting, our two guests clearly coming to something important, working on introducing something big, we waited, in the last glimmers of daylight, for the real purpose of their visit.

Each of us had found, over dinner, that these guests were very well versed in metaphysics. It’s what we kept coming back to over our food and drink, but it was all theoretics and hypotheses and concepts. It was amazing, but it wasn’t the reason for the visit. Once we were comfortable, confident, then the purpose was revealed.

What they shared changed each of us so fundamentally, I think it deserves its very own chapter.


“You understand that the solstice changed everything.” Eddie announced, like a physics professor announcing that you are sitting on space and space alone. That everything is energy. It’s sort of pointing out the obvious, but something so obvious to be mind shattering. And here sat Eddie, confirming for us what we already knew.

The winter solstice of 2012 was a big event, but a mixed one for most. Many had built it up and had expected a ton of gold bricks to fall on them. There were many who really had a hard time grappling with what things wound up looking like and what they had come to expect. But, for everyone, there was no disappointment, no let down. Everyone got their share of gifts once the solstice came around.

Those who’d been in training, deep, deep training, had energetic shifts which made visits like this one possible.

But they didn’t necessarily know it at the time.

When Sabrina and Eddie first visited us, spring had come to the earth, and the light coming onto the planet was a particularly benevolent one.

As a peculiar quiet held that little group on that odd spring night, Sabrina started to sing.

She had a voice from the ethers, the voice of an angel.

She sang a song to each of us, one for Lily, and one for me, and then she sang one for the two of us. Each of her songs were achingly beautiful, so holy and full of reverence and joy. The music seemed to never end, yet once this beautiful voice became still, her gift hung in the air, turning into sparkling life. Breathing this charm in and out, renewing and refreshing everything with every breath, we were then suddenly ready. We understood through song that our lives were now turning, taking a turn, heading toward a road as new and as ancient as we had ever contemplated.

Eddie took over.

“We are here to tell you of the agreements you two made. We know that as soon as we bring it into our full consciousness, you will remember your contracts. We ask you to prepare. This is the big one.” He grinned foolishly, cleared his throat, and gave each of us eye contact which could not cloak his otherworldliness. He was doing a very nice job of focusing, but looking into his eyes, it was clear he wasn’t from around here.

Jarred as we were from the view from Eddie’s eyes, we allowed ourselves to be held in this expectancy, this before-and-after vibe.

“We have a job for you,” Eddie began. “Each of you spent many lifetimes as nomadic teachers. It’s not my bag, but we know you love this kind of thing. Do you remember any of this?”

Lily and I looked at each other blankly, then turned back to Eddie.

“Jane, you remember that lifetime with your mom, when you died in the desert. You were an ascended master. You came into full consciousness on the road. You died because you felt that was totally fitting to that lifetime, although it surely was not necessary. You remember that, don’t you?”

I got a grin, because as he began describing that lifetime I had physical sensations, and a deep heartfelt love for the entity who had played my mom that lifetime.

“Of course, I remember that.”

“Well, then, good. And Lily, you may or may not have conscious memory of one particular lifetime which has been lighting you up that last year or two. Do you remember the French countryside, and selling herbs? You were a traveling medicine woman, an elder stateswoman, known throughout the old lands. Do you remember, dear one?” Eddie asked with great gentleness.

Lily’s face changed from one of concentration to easy happiness. “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed. “I remember an island that is now under the water, up by Scotland, isn’t that right?”

“I was told you were a quick study,” Eddie smiled, glancing at Sabrina.

With a nearly imperceptible nod, the baton was passed from Eddie to Sabrina.

“We are deeply gratified that you have chosen to bring your lives together. We knew you would need a little time to gather yourselves, establish some comfort in the routine of a new life. We are a little ahead of schedule, actually. And I am not entirely sure,” Sabrina said warningly, “which of you thrills over that last statement more. We know you both to be so steely willed, there was a bit of discussion whether you’d even be willing to make the compromises necessary to come together. We are aware that each of you came in only wanting to wake up.”

“Consider yourselves fully awake.” Eddie said.

“And here you are,” Sabrina went on, “as fully conscious as you will ever be. Now it is just a matter of percentages. You have achieved full consciousness, each of you, at times. And now it is really just a matter of getting really good at it, practicing it, and having a lot of experiences as fully conscious beings.”

“So we have brought you a task.” Eddie interjected. He then went on to perform the God-Gives-Monty-Python’s-King-Arthur-A-Task skit.

They all indulged him, enjoying his impersonations. Sabrina then folded her hands daintily in her lap, grinned, and continued.

“So, these traveling lives you once had, they may come in very handy now, Sabrina concluded. “How much of this, dear one, do you recall now?”

Lily looked altered, abstracted, and in a state of ecstasy. She said, “Well, correct me if I am wrong, but what is coming to mind now is that we have agreed to work cooperatively with you, and have agreed to be sent on missions, errands. You’ll give us the ideas, the situations, and then we are to go there and assist.”

Sabrina got Eddie’s attention, cocked her head and smiled. She always knew her girl would come through.

— II —


Rapid City is a beautiful place, full of historic buildings, and there is a grandeur, a feeling of impossibility on the streets of that odd little town. Anyone who has seen the sculpture of Crazy Horse changes somehow, sees things with a different inner perspective, begins to think crazy wild things can happen.

We rolled into town at high noon, and we both commented on that. We imagined ourselves gunslingers, having a high noon showdown, a contest of of reflexes and bitterness. We imagined this for a little while, then came back into more physical awareness, each commenting on the garb of the other in our shared hallucination.

Duel already taken care of, we decided to find a rinky-dink cafe in which to enjoy an old fashioned BLT and some slightly luke and inexplicably metallic tasting coffee. LuLu’s Fine Cafe was the ticket.

Sitting in the bay area of the restaurant afforded all the action of a street side table with none of the mist which was clinging to everyone who entered the little place. The city was still in the grips of fog, a chilled and grey day in South Dakota. Lily complained about how her knees still ache in this weather, and I told her yet again how it is only in grey cloudy weather that I feel good, but that yes, I do get achy too, want some Motrin? Some Milk Thistle tea?

“Her office is just a half a block away,” Lily announced from the map she had called up on her phone. “Let’s just eat and walk over there.”

“This is the part that I find so awkward, Lily. How best to go about inserting ourselves into this person’s life. Let’s do the meditation before we head over there. That’ll help”


We’d been instructed at various intervals for the year following the solstice. We’d have various visitors be at our doorstep, always when we were a little restless for intellectual stimulation and too comfortable to want to leave the house. Such divine timing.

One of the meditations they taught us was precisely to cut the tension they knew would build within my psyche. Ever with an artist’s temperament, I still sort of fear the very thing I am drawn to. It’s just something I observe anymore, and the meditations they gave us helped me with toning out these thought forms, giving them observable features.

Beyond that we learned how to “send out runners.” They are energetic helpers who go before one, clearing obstacles and establishing the energetic signature required for the work ahead. It was a relief to learn these were available. Eliminates some of the heavy lifting.

So we ate, and laughed about the weird tasting coffee, and headed on foot to a nearby park.

We have tried to keep our meditation time as private as possible, because each of us have the tendency to disappear, if seen from strictly third dimensional eyes, while in deep meditation.


The first time it happened, it was quite a shock. I’d been cleaning the downstairs toilet, and was mad about something, I forget what. I couldn’t find Lily anywhere, so I went to my office and started reading. I figured Lily had gone for a walk. She wasn’t in the house. She’d said she wanted to make brownies after she got done meditating, and I’d expected the house to have been smelling chocolatey any time. But no Lily. Even the meditation room was empty. She’d left a candle going, I noticed.

Oh well.

I fell asleep, and when I awakened three hours later, the house smelled like chocolate. I went downstairs and asked her how her walk was.

She looked at me like I was crazy.

“You went up to read after you came and checked on me. I was in the meditation chair in the green house.”

“No, Lily, I checked in there, and you were gone,” I argued. “I thought I’d find you there, or in the kitchen, but the house was empty.”

“But I saw you, looking at me, I was in the chair, and I was practicing open eye meditation. Remember, there was a candle lit. I’d been doing some flame gazing. And then you walked in.”

We decided that the only explanation could be that she had become invisible to me. Had I been in a better mood, a more elevated place, I probably could have seen her in her lighter form. But, no, I’d been too 3d in that moment.

We later congratulated each other on the marvelousness of that scene. Quite an object lesson, that.

So anyway, we avoid public places when we meditate, because on-lookers get a little weirded out. But this was, if not an emergency, then a very convenient place to do some clearing, some readying.

We did our thing, set our intention, established our runners, and, just for good measure, Lily experimented with her new found love of bilocation. She especially liked the lovely red velvet wallpaper in the offices of one Dee Wallis, who was currently on the toilet.


By the time we made it to Dee’s office, the high from our meditation had only intensified. We were each extremely expanded while being highly focused, a curiously lovely state of being. In that state, little is unknown. Energy patterns and signatures are as concrete as the objects we agree are real. In that state, all things are available.

This is the part that Lily just loves, and I kind of dread. The opening shot across the bow, the gauntlet thrown, the invitation extended. Drives me crazy with, I’m not sure what, just a twinge of unpleasantness. So thank God Lily lives for this part. I don’t think I’d ever gotten around to doing these missions if not for Lily’s ability to break the ice.

Dee’s business was in a two story brownstone palace. It smelled of antiquity and struggle. It held many ghosts, many old souls who left part of themselves behind, just for good measure.

The air was fairly thrumming with ghost-talk. Having clairaudience is usually fun, but there are times when I just can’t reach the volume dial in time, and I got blasted.

Lily is much more kinesthetic and emotively cerebral in her understandings. What I get as sight and sound, she gets as movement, sensation and emotions. We each receive big packets of information, downloads, injections of light. That’s different. In our outer expressions, and our inner knowings, we seem to nicely balance each other out, and offer nearly complete psychic services.

We think that would be an awesome trademarked logo for a company.

We are not business people.

Dee approached us, because the heavy door was attached to an old fashioned bell, in keeping with the stifling Victoriana which began to get just a little overbearing the longer I stood in that beautifully appointed masterpiece of a receiving room


Dee was a square, short, older black woman, with a care worn and friendly face. She was an open one, someone who had a happy heart, and very few questions.

Dee’s personality was brilliant, optimistic. She greeted us warmly, and I immediately felt at ease, not an easy feat, during the meet-and-greet phase. I was gratified to see we would be working with one so willing, so open.

I never know how to language any of this. I observe, knowing I will eventually be writing about it. But to language these awarenesses, not my forte. I let Lily take over.

“I understand through some research that I did on-line,” Lily began, “that you specialize in decorating the historic sites of this fine city.”

Dee smiled broadly, and sighed deeply. “Yes, my, well that is very nice to hear. I get to working my little patch of grass here and forget there’s an outside world half the time. Oh, my, I do love what I do.”

“Oh, no, no, your work is well known. And I have come today to ask you a very odd question. I hope you will not take offense, but my curiosity is so very strong,” Lily said. “We’ve traveled a long way to have a cup of coffee with you and ask you a couple things about your work.”

Taken off guard in the very best way possible, Dee excused herself, and came back to her foyer dressed in her maroon overcoat, plastic hat and galoshes.


What happened next was truly bizarre.

I know that’s saying a lot, given the subject matter of this tome, but, come on, there are some things that are normal, and there are others that are inexplicable.

Dee said she would like for us to have coffee with her at her home. It was two houses down, and had a less stuffy, more updated feel to it. Traditional, almost rigid, but pleasing to the eye. I always look for surprises in decor, a sense of humor and irony. There was none of that here, just all around comfort and stability. A nice feel.

We settled around her butcher block kitchen table while Lily tried to explain.

“We are wanderers. Jane here is a writer, a scribe. I am a healer,” Lily paused, gazed into Dee’s eyes, and said, “We both do work with people who are ready for the next level of information available to them, at any given time.”

“Yeah,” I added, “we’re sort of like the Batman and Robin of the energetic world. Except our relationship isn’t closeted.”

Of course, that took Dee off balance, as it was meant to, to get her to see she’d entered an area she’d never had access to before.

“So,” Dee asked in a meek voice, “What do you want with me?”

“It’s as advertised,” I improvised, “Lily is the one who has questions, is always so driven to find out the whys and the wherefores. It’s an amazing quality.” I looked at her and saw the old telltale signal, that I could stop talking any old time I wanted, you know.

“No, what Jane says is true,” Lily chuckled. “I just have some questions, as advertised. And they’re about your work. I just want to know,” she said as she leaned in, ever so gently, “what draws you to your work?”

Dee sat there just as stunned as could be. Why would two women drive from God knows where to ask me that? Why didn’t they just call me up?

“Now, don’t get me wrong,” began Dee, “But don’t you think it’s curious, what it is you two do?”

How could I but laugh. She didn’t even know about the yodeling plan, and my objections to it.

“Of course, yes, we are very curious creatures,” I conceded. “A curious couple of people. Yes.”

“Jane means that in every definition of the term. But me, I’m more of a researcher. I want to know what it is that draws you to this one specific area, and if you’ve ever wondered about that, and what you might be aware of about that whole time frame, in this locale.”

Dee looked encouraged now, and that was good to see. She spent the next three days telling us all about herself. The weird part was when the spaceships came for us at night. That was so not in the Victorian vein.


We had a lovely time with Dee. By the end of it, she had a full time guide on hand, Toby. His last life had him coming from an affluent, very very white part of Connecticut, trust funder, about 22. No one expected that, least of all Dee. I love someone with a good sense of humor.

Dee was, in the end, just as expanded as we’d been when we first walked into her offices. It was nice to see those offices as lit up as they were by our visit’s end.

It was clear, as we put that El Camino in Drive and headed to Mount Rushmore, that we’d done well. Another person reintroduced to themselves, reacquainted with their brilliance.

And it started with the disarming curiosity and good natured care of my dearest friend.

What we have found is that everyone we assist is then so connected to us, not in a karmic way, but in an energetic way, that we can locate each other along the grid at any moment. It’s like a new, free, much more user friendly internet, but there is a process to going on line.

We’ve both come to see ourselves as operating system technicians, the geek squad for the energetic crowd.

Leaving Rapid City was nice, because our work felt so complete. And we had yodeling to consider now.


It turns out that yodeling is not only acceptable, but encouraged, among the more continental visitors to the monument. The uniforms, not so much. We’ll have to remember to pay that ticket when we get home.

It was time to head the car south and find ourselves at home. Road tripping is an enjoyable way to travel, but it is an endurance event. And by the end of our time climbing all over rocks and running away from security guards, we were ready for the simple comforts of home.

I called my son that night, busy studying for an exam. He’d stumbled upon structural design and taken off like a rocket, couldn’t get enough of it. He was living in his own apartment, on a tiny trust fund, finding his way very well. I was glad of it. I felt peaceful.

We head home tomorrow and will be petting our cats and sleeping in our own bed in just three more days. We can do anything for three days.

Yeah. That’s what I thought.

— III —


We’d driven over four hundred miles without a break. Lily enjoyed doing the marathons. I see myself as a butterfly, a fish in a stream, and so, although I need to always keep moving, I like little stops, looking at the world’s biggest ball of twine, or the corn cob palace in Iowa. Sort of like Michael in that movie, Michael. I don’t smell like cinnamon buns though.

Lily had the glow, plugged in as she was to her CD on hypnosis in the autistic population. I’d hunkered down into Atonement, my fall back novel. In the evenings I still put myself to sleep with Douglas Adams, but during daylight hours, Ian McKewan tells it like it is.

Lily’s hand came to rest on my arm, and that was very pleasant, until it wasn’t anymore.

She began squeezing my arm so hard, it felt like an Indian burn. I turned to her, ready to start yelling, but then I got a real good look at her face.

She was blankly mesmerized. She sort of looked like a zombie.

She was staring straight ahead, completely lost, completely gone. I got, real fast like, that this was a very dangerous situation. We were rocketing at 75 miles an hour, and here is Lily, frozen. Oh. My. God.

And then something very odd began to happen.

We very slowly, very gently, began to float upward.

I know that sounds crazy, believe me, I am aware of how weird this is. But that’s what happened.

I was on fire with curiosity and this amazing relief. I was just giddy, I remember. We’re lifting higher and higher off the ground, and I know I am going home. Through my tears and laughter I gathered Lily’s sagging shoulders, making my body into a cradle she could nestle into. No need to be afraid, dear friend. No need to be afraid. Not now. Never again.


Our car came to rest in a place that looked, to my great disappointment, like a big garage. I had hoped a space ship would look less like a movie set.

Lily began to stir, and she looked at me with big, watery eyes full of an unusual horror.

“Dear heart, everything is fine. Look into my eyes. Hear me. Feel my hands,” I chanted, “You are encountering turbulence, and that’s all. It’s just like Delores talks about. Shake it off, that terror, can you do that? It’s not real. Maybe it’s an overlay. Remember what Bashar says. It’s just a collision of belief structures! The terror is the dissonance. Do you remember?”

Lilly shook her head a bit. Her pupils dilated, constricted, came to rest where they should be, and appeared somehow lighter to me.

“What the hell just happened?” she asked, calmly and politely.

“Well, it would appear that we’ve been tractor beamed into a space ship. You were driving, and you had a little catatonia, and then, well, here we are, in a very clean, well maintained garage. Apparently in a space ship.” What else, after all, could be said?

“So,” Lily asked, “How did we get from the ground up? I have always wanted to know what that’s like. Did the little greys, the little androids, were they here?” She was working herself up. “Gosh, I have always wanted to see them. I want to tell them I think they are really ok. You know that.”

And with that, she slugged me, nice and gentle, two team players replaying a vital, a key play.

“Well, there were no greys, and I didn’t feel dematerialized or spinny or anything. I think it’s funny we are both sitting here,” I paused for effect, “Feeling gypped. Look where we ARE, for Christ’s sake.”

“You know I don’t like that language,” Lily admonished.

“And you know that I am convinced that guy, above all, is not going to mind me my name dropping. He just doesn’t care. I don’t know why you should,” I reminded her, at my prissiest. “Anyhow, all I was saying is, this is a pretty awesome predicament, really.”

“Thanks, friend. I’m right there with you now. I’m better. Thanks for the adjustment.” Lily was once again grinning, enthusiastic, my energetic puppy dog once she’s on to something new. Such pure joy radiated out of her. Such a perfect picture of health. She said, “Let’s get out of this car!”

They were waiting, on either side of the car, for us to finally make that decision.


These beings were pretty humanoid, bigger heads, almond eyes, kind, kind eyes, and smaller, slighter bodies. One of them stepped forward, and did a very curious thing to me.

He put his thin, dainty hand right over my heart. And then, oh my, the download I received.

It was Bashar.

He’d come to welcome me back.

My oh my, what a pleasure this was.

Although there is much that was shared that must, for now remain private, there is much that Lily and I were given which we were given directives to share with anyone willing to learn. This is a soul group, a civilization, to which we each have energetic ties, in different ways, so much of the instruction was done with different groups, which was still fine with me, but regrettable, in its own way.

It turns out that during my time getting schooled, Lily got in very tight with the navigatrix for the ship, and by extension, was able to meet some very well respected scientists. Lily has been talking about anti-gravity for so long now, and there she was, at the foot of masters, who could remind her of all the dreams she’s had, and more fully explain the newest propulsion systems, the foundations from which they came. She got an ear full.

Of course, we spent three days on board. Nothing less would be appropriate. It was a very good visit, one which further cemented our utter weirdness when once again introduced back into the wild, among those who think of nothing more than what is right ahead of them, condemning anything different than their way of doing life.


It was decided that the gentlest way to end our time together would be to get deposited on our driveway. Road tripping just seemed too disorienting, after having been plucked from the earth for three days of deep down instruction, and the loveliest of homecomings.

That evening, Bashar gave Lily all the encouragement she would ever need to make that wonderful transition from ship to earth. Together we sat in our dusty El Camino, gently being settled back onto our parking apron, then that moment of uunnhhh, landing, feeling the gravity once again take effect.

We got out quickly to watch them, and they did a drive by for us.

They explained that because of their vibrational signature, most people cannot visualize their crafts. If they are seen, it is because they are wanting to be seen, plain and simple. They have to lower their vibration to be seen. So we knew the drive by was harmless, that we had, in essence, some pretty amazing invisible friends.

We each dragged in a suitcase and a travel bag, and greeted a tidy house, and three very lonely cats.


I rolled my suitcase right to the laundry room, firmly telling myself I would get to that first thing sometime this week, and then headed to the kitchen. I could hear pots and pans. Surprised that Lily would have any interest in cooking, I made the corner to see Sabrina and Eddie putting food on plates, ready to serve.

Lily and I always enjoyed it when Sabrina and Eddie cooked for us, because they always knew what would taste the best to us at any given moment. Therefore, they were rocking chefs, and it was always close to orgasmic to eat their food. It eased the intrusion just the right amount.

Lily and I gratefully dug in, waiting for the conversation to turn, turn, turn to service, to adventure, to travel.

“Tonight,” Sabrina began, “We have a gift for you.”

Funny how with these guys, you could actually feel their feelings. Both Lily and I got a big rush of joy and anticipation, and that sweetest of experiences, delight.

Eddie was fairly squirming, and the joy and the blazing pride he was displaying was just a bit too brilliant, sort of blinding. He was clearly very excited about something.


“Your visit with our dear brothers was gratifying to witness,” Sabrina said in her lovely, formal way. “We wish to instruct you now. It has to do with the vibrational signatures that their culture was teaching you.”

Eddie started, “You can’t see something until you are able to see it. And who is in charge of what you can see? You. But you, this you, is still in amnesia, here and there, and this amnesia is a soulic one which will remain with you to whatever degree.” Eddie took a professorial tone, and continued, “You see, we are always growing. This means we are always in a state of becoming, of being. This implies that we can never, ever know everything. We are constantly becoming more.” he sighed, loosened, smiled, and asked, “The amnesia is loosening, isn’t it, guys?”

“Well, now it has, yes,” Lily said, “Quite a lot, really.”

I nodded in agreement, and all eyes were back on Lily.

“The end of the lesson is that you may not be aware yet all that you are ready for. Your signature has indeed been altered, raised. You will feel physical sequelae for a few weeks as a result. Much water, much sun food, and rest, please, whenever you need to. You two know that portion of the drill.”

Lily settled into her chair and said, softly, calmly, “It’s just that, now, you have earned yourself a different, bigger variety of experience, due to your willingness to spend the effort you exerted with our brothers.”

“And, it’s our way, to celebrate this sort of thing,” Eddie added shyly, surprisingly so. He said, “We recognize your service. I was enchanted with everything you did. And Jane, I want you to keep writing about those experiences. It’s important that people know about the shifts you saw.” He coughed, paused, gathering himself. “It’s just that, well, you guys have earned a vacation.”

His toothy grin lit up the room, and we all started laughing. It was true, really.

Sabrina lilted, “We have chosen quite the venue, and I think you will have many stories from your time there. Everything is in place.” She paused, reconsidered, then said, “You will know when it is time to go. You will state this, with intention, as we always do when we are not together. And you will then have tickets delivered to your home. They will be to the destination which holds your highest good at that moment in your story. All resources will be available to you, you will have no restrictions of any sort.”

She approached us, holding each of us close, telling us, as a mother would tell her most beloved children, “And you will go there. You will find peace and joy there. And we will be there with you, in our own way.”

With that, Eddie and Sabrina disappeared, triumph in their faces.

— IV —


We looked at each other, shock and awe reflecting from the other.

“I just can’t believe,” Lily sighed, “how deep we are into something so multidimensional. It’s sort of taking my breath away, really.”

“I am curious,” I asked, hoping not to offend, “how one goes about packing for a vacation like this.”

What a vacation we had already had! Both in our flannels just minutes after Sabrina and Eddie took off, we decided to get to sleep by coming up with the perfect vacation scenarios. We’d each do one we’d always imagined taking alone, and then we’d imagine one taken together, and we did that for, gosh, maybe eight rounds.

Remember, we are each travelers, by soul, so it was really hard to stop, actually. The best vacations we had ever dreamed up were the ones we would have gone on whether we were alone or with someone, so those were the ones we decided, in the end, to concentrate on.

It was hard to narrow down the field. Here is our attempt to solidify a dream vacation.


How about a rail trip all through Europe, spending as much time in any city that calls to us, just going from site to site, historic places, chateaux we fancy lived in, monasteries, all that stuff. The past-life-European-tour. Then add in Stonehenge, all the old sites in England. Yeah. That’s good. And make sure we hit England and Scotland during rainy season, please. No, really. The rainy season. Please?

OK, there was that one. Then there was Indian extravaganza, hooking up with swamis and teachers and just getting to know the country as much as we want to. Then swinging over to some of the other Asian places we’ve heard about on Ancient Aliens, maybe even that weird tunnel one in Turkey. Heck, we could then go on to Africa, seek out Credo, if he’s still alive.

So, then there was the South America junket, with all the old Mayan and Aztec stuff, lots of peyote and good vibes, hopefully some beach time and just a lot of decadence. Sounds a little shallow, that one, but it had to get on the final list, after all.

Then came America. I voted for traveling the Canadian/American border from one coast to the other, ending in Montreal, Quebec, where we would then live forever. I had the same notion about the corn belt, the east coast, the west coast, and the great northwest, the Iron Grange, the headwaters, so, really, that’s where it all breaks down for me. I wind up wanting to pull up tent pegs and settle wherever I go. But really, that’s not just a domestic problem. Feel the same thing internationally. And I want to go everywhere, especially in America. I want to live everywhere, hence, for me, in a real way, the whole world is my home. A traveler.

Lily is thankfully not as much of a nomad this time around, and she’s done her best to make my house homey enough for me to want to think of it as a base of operations, at least. We really though about the road tripping Americas being a dream vacation, but with so much available, why just go poking around our backyard? Why not run away from home and explore someplace brand new?

At three, we finally retired. It was so energizing to talk about all the places we have always yearned to know. For all our compatibility, it is always a joy when we can once again celebrate even more of ourselves and each other. Two old travelers, swapping postcards of long lost, long loved places.



That morning, we finally got moving close to ten, a rare luxury in our house. Both of us feeling just a tad sheepish about all the rest, we exchanged greetings and went to get the coffee going.

It’s become a custom for us to, first thing, go to the kitchen and drink some coffee, over which we discuss our dreams.

There is a tribe, somewhere I think in Polynesia, that are tribe of the dreamers. The ones who have the highest status in the tribe are those who can lucid dream, and whose dream life intersects with his waking time. They begin each morning discussing their dreams, and go to sleep each night readying for what they consider that most sacred of human tasks.

Last night, I had nothing, once I blinked out. I was meditating in my forest house, consulting with my guides, and then, blankness, sunshine, coffee.

Lily, as usual, is the kahuna of the dream tribe. She was taken last night to a really big library, where all the librarians were dolphins, and she could talk their language. She had lunch with the Queen, who turned out to be a very tame crocodile, and then she was in her office, giving a massage to Melissa Ethridge.

“A lush land you inhabit, Lily,” I said, genuinely. “Do you have any insights as to where we are going to go, where would be for ‘our highest good’?”

“Well, we were at Stonehenge, right before I came back here. It was a really dark night, and lots of stars, but that’s all I got,” Lily conceded.

“That’s a bucket full more than I got last night,” I laughed, finally hitting the coffeepot’s “on” button, after all the grinding and pouring and water spillage.


“What do you have planned out for the next little bit?” I asked, having forgotten her schedule.

“Well, I have three clients a day for the next four days, and I need to use the downtime to write an abstract.” I haven’t mentioned that Lily is a brain. She’s doing post-doctoral work in hypnotic theory, really deep stuff, really quantum. Her day job is that of a quantum hypnotherapist, doing ultra-life regressions with people.

She has a pretty rigid schedule, compared to me. I am a freelance bum, and just go with whatever is presented to me. I am working on projects, but they’re all so much part of the flow, that I can never tell you exactly what I’m doing, just what I’m focusing on, just what is now available for distribution. That’s sort of how I mind my clock anymore. So we lead different patterned lives, but it all works out very well, very balanced.

Lily would have to clear the decks in order to get away, but really, that can’t happen until we put a vacation place within the context of a time. Who wants to visit Barbados during monsoon season? That’s what was really stumping us.

Where? When? It had become a weird pulse we shared.

“You know,” I said idly, while pouring raw sugar into my cup, “I think we are too magnetized to this. This awesome thing is beginning to feel like a burden, don’t you think?”

Lily nodded.

“OK, so let’s do the old, “That or something better” thing,” I exclaimed. “I’ve got it! Got that old wok? And can you find the Epsom salts? You used them last I think. And I’ll get the rubbing alcohol. You know where I am going with this?”

Lily shook her head. “No, I don’t,” she replied, “But it sounds like fun. Let’s get to it.”


“This is something my guru taught me long ago,” I began.

I poured the Epsom salt into our old, banged up wok. Then I poured the minty rubbing alcohol, something I bought probably 20 years ago, onto the salt. Then I explained.

“What will happen now, is we will have a flame into which we request all energy be run through, purified, lightened. And this flame purifies the entire event. You’ll see the flame spark and jump from time to time. Thought forms burning up, like tissue paper.”

Lily looked intrigued, and it felt nice to be taken seriously about this.

“Then, I was thinking,” I continued, “that maybe we could write down our dream vacations, in as highly detailed a way as we choose, and then we put them into the flame, saying, ‘That, or something better.’

Lily nodded, smiled, looked enthused.

“I’m just thinking,” I concluded, “That if we write out a vacation knowing we might get that exact vacation, we can only create for the highest good. So we’ll pick awesome places, and then just let it go, ok?”

“Let’s light this candle,” was all Lily said.


We took some quality time, writing out our dream get-aways. We kept commenting on how great it was for this to be what was occupying our attention, as opposed, to say, worrying about something.

Once we were bored of the whole affair, we took a break, got ready, and began.

The ceremony, such as it is, is simple. Just a little prayer of intention, and then staring at a big flame, watching it pop and snap, gathering up and clearing all the energy in the room, entangled as it is in the midst of it all. Very clever, very complete, very pleasant experience.

And then I mentioned it might be fun to do the chakras. I like to imagine big balls of spinning color, chakra by chakra, with the room filling up with whatever color we’re doing. It’s fun, really pretty, in my mind’s eye.

Lily agreed, and slowly we began to breathe in unison.

We took turns, bringing awareness of the chakra into language, into thought, and there we hung, suspended within words and meaning, color and song. I opened my eyes at one point, and the whole room was deep blue, that neat indigo color. I slammed my eyes shut. Too much, sometimes, just a hair too much.


Both of us were delighted to find a ticket for us to use at the post office to pick up a certified letter. We’d missed the postman, but knew, by the end of the month, that we were ready to do something new. Lily’s project had finished, and I was between edits on two things, waiting for others to tell me what they think.

In this suspended mode, it made sense we would receive word of our reward, our vacation.

We walked to the post office while spending the morning in town, grocery shopping and such. We tore into the letter on the sidewalk, totally against our better judgment and previous agreement.

There we stood, reading these words:

“Chaco Canyon, this coming Tuesday, dusk.

Wear boots. And bring a jacket, you knuckleheads.”

We looked at each other, each just a little crest-fallen, and in unison said, “Eddie.”

We decided that my kid would join us for this event. He was out of school, and he’d always played a big part in our weirdness, when not doing the scholar thing. I thought it was mighty gracious of Lily, but she’d said more than once that Sam gives her something absolutely essential that I am unable to give. I don’t know what that means. I just let it be.

I dragged Sam to Chaco when he was eleven. He was mildly enthusiastic, sort of tepid. It was a great trip overall. Chaco was fine. I remembered the drive in all to well. It tore my little car apart, that twenty mile strip of hell. So it was decided we would rent a big truck, insure it, and call it even. We did not find it weird that when we called Hertz, there were reservations for our truck, with Sam’s color choice, royal blue.

We had a lovely vacation, very relaxed, and then we wound up, as instructed, at Chaco Canyon, at the observatory, at dusk.

It happened that there was an astronomy demonstration tonight, at dusk.

On an elevated seat, a few feet above his visitors, sat a handsome, strapping man, nearly bursting out of his uniform with charisma and sex appeal. It was not the dumb, preening kind, no, this was the “Baby, I am a star, and so are you, and I have something for you,” and you find yourself really wanting it.

Like that.

We were not surprised that the handsome park ranger/astronomer was host to a well-acquainted party of four. Waiting at an observatory window stood Eddie and Sabrina. They greeted us warmly, we did the same, and the evening got underway.


The park ranger was so spectacularly warm and gentle, that each of us fell in secret, forbidden love with him. In the palm of his hand, every word felt like a gift of exquisite tenderness. What star quality! Each of us listened to him as he explained about the upcoming celestial events.

Then he did something all of us found quite odd.

He began to introduce many of the Mayan teachings, as they relate to astrology, astronomy, but more, to physics, astrophysics, metaphysics.

And then, as we would peer up at him, sitting in his little astronomer’s seat, we, each of us, it turns out, could see him sort of glimmer and shine, and then he began to look like an old Indian, and old Mayan, with a headdress and everything.

Toward the end of his expository, we were all riveted by him, watching him as he shimmered and shone, transforming from handsome park ranger to old Mayan chief.

He then finally began to speak to us while looking at us, as riveted as he had been by the stars, he had us right where a master orator, a master teacher, would want his audience. His form had consolidated in the form of the old Mayan chief, and he climbed out of this astronomer’s chair to gather us together.

“You are all part of the rainbow children. Those who come in the time after, those who cannot understand any other way that unity consciousness. This is your way now, as it was ours.” He reached out and held hands with Sabrina and Eddie, who in turn held our hands.

The circle complete, another coming home, another moment of recognition.

It seemed less and less necessary to worry about “the outside world” would think of my reality.

I was beginning to think that the only reality which mattered at all was the one I was knee deep in. Anyone’s attempt to judge me, well, it can only be seen for what it is, someone who just doesn’t get it. So what? Their misunderstanding diminishes my understanding not one whit.

In the midst of sexy ranger/ancient being, holding hands, slowly we began to sway, then to rock, then to move, in a circle, slowly, reverently. We moved thirty three times in one direction. We slowed, stopped, then did thirty three spins in the opposite direction, and then, after pausing, brought it back home, with thirty three more spins.

I knew what was happening, what this was, but just went along with it, knowing it to be a far more powerful ceremony that probably anyone appreciated at the time.

All I knew was that the shit was now going to be hitting the fan. Big time.


I’d had a guru who used this technique, the thirty three spins technique. I’d been told it would “really shake things up,” and that it had. I vowed I’d never do it again. It messed things up, sped things up just too fast.

And here I was, having just completed 99 spins with a dude whose physical form kept changing.

The only other place I’d encountered this technique was in a book by Barbara Marcianak. It’s a Pleadian trick. And some of those Pleiadians, oh, don’t get me started. If you thought Eddie was bad, a trickster, mischievous, he’s got nothing on the true Pleiadians.

I took Sam aside and asked him what he thought.

True to Sam’s unusual perspective, he said, “Chief Running Man and I go back a long time. It was good to see him.”

As I found Eddie, to ask him what we might expect next, I noticed that Sam and the Park Ranger were now huddled over the astronomy equipment. Sam was asking questions, keeping things light, I could see, and things were going swimmingly.

I decided there would never be a better time for some fresh air. I excused myself from the cramped observatory and followed the footpath which travels through the visitor’s center to the first ancient structure.

The moon was bright and low that night. I felt altered, quiet, and somewhat expectant. I suppose I could have felt let down that we were yet to hit an airplane terminal, all this vacation talk leading me to a night in the New Mexico plain.

“It’s been a long time,” came a voice in the wind. I spun around, but, as clear as that voice had been, there was no one to claim it.

I said, “Whoever said that, please come forward.”

“I am here,” replied the voice, and I felt an urge to keep walking down the little rocky hill, but to do it faster. I rushed to the bottom of the hill, and there was a dainty, beautiful woman who looked a lot like Glinda. She didn’t have the weird accent, but the hand gestures and squeaky voice were in full force.

“I’ve been waiting for you,: the apparition said. “My brother is very taken with your son, by the way. Both Two Moons, a very special couple of guys. You did well.”

Sam, now 23, had been out since he could talk, telling me from the bathtub, from the back seat of our car, from the dinner table, that he was gay. So, now that the world was beginning to catch up with his radical self-acceptance, I had begun to ease as a mom. Being gay myself, I had not one iota of an issue with Sam finding love with a man.

That he may turn out to be a Pleadian man, well, that’s a horse of a different color. At least, if it came to pass that Sam found his way into a galactic situation, Lily and I could visit cool places when we go to visit them at their home.

But these musings were taking my awareness away from this entity very clearly shimmering in front of me, glowing a soft blue light, dressed in a shimmery sari, floating just a couple of inches off the ground.


“My name is Samisari, and I am indeed from The Pleiades,” my visitor instructed. “I would like to give you more information as to where, specifically, we are from, but that is a story firmly interwoven into galactic history, hidden Earth history, and many other issues which cannot be discussed freely at the moment. Suffice it to say I am from one of the Seven Sisters. You’ll know more after a time.”

“And you are sister to the park ranger, the Mayan Chief?” I asked.

“Dear one, you know how we can morph our appearance. We have been many things to you over the years.” And with that my heart melted, as I became aware of how this person felt, how I felt around her. Then I began thinking about my experience with the park ranger. Other-worldly for sure, but very comfortable, sort of comforting.

“We understand that you are on vacation,” Samisari said.

“I guess that’s what this is, yes,” I said. “May I call you Sami?”

“Sari, yes. Sari is wonderful,” she smiled. “And I find myself as the activities director of your cruise, friend.”

She handed me a folder, glossy and white, and embossed with s very fancy gold crest. I decided a glance wouldn’t hurt, so I opened the notebook.

Twenty minutes, I looked back up to see Sari floating a few inches from a big yellow rock sticking out of the side of a dry creek bed. She was sitting there, in full-on yogi position, smiling and floating.

I was smiling. I looked down. Still not floating.

I knew, where we were going next, I’d likely be able to get in some practice.

— V —


It didn’t surprise me to hear, “Mom?” out there in the moonlight. I had felt Sam’s approach ever since coming up from the notebook Sari had handed me.

“What’s going on, my man?” I asked, stock response to my little boy, all grown up.

“Well, Running Man and I have remembered a whole lot, and they are planning on taking off here in a little bit,” he paused and drew a line in the ancient red dirt with his sneaker.

“Well, I sure hope they don’t charge a lot for a ticket. Did you bring any cash?” I asked

Sam looked up from his idle drawing to look at my face. I was smiling, as I handed him the notebook. He took it into his hands, chuckling, reset just as quickly as always. He opened the notebook.

Twenty minutes later, Sam joined Sari and I on our rock. Sari was still serenely floating. My ass was cold and sore, bony as it was. “Mom,” Sam said, “I just can’t believe it. It’s a dream come true, Mom.”

I got up and gave him a hug. He’d grown into the gentle giant I always had known he would to be. Well over 6’6” and 350#, he is the most gentle person I have ever encountered. He’d incorporated his lesson mighty well.

I looked up into his sweet, bearded face, and saw his rosy cheeks, peeking out from his tangled red beard, were wet with tears.


I called out to Sari in as unobtrusive a way as I could, to make sure she knew we were ready to head back. Before I could get the “ee” sound pushed out of my mouth, the path ahead suddenly lit up real bright, and as we turned the corner of the rock formation, there floated Sari, glowing more strongly than when she’d been doing her yogi thing.

“You’ll get used to it,” she said, grinning, as she moved ahead of us, lighting our path back to the astronomy hut.

Lily had done what I knew she’d planned on all along. There she was, sitting on the bench outside of the hut with Running Man, filling her old pipe from the leather pouch she’d asked me to pack. Good Virginia tobacco was her favorite, and we’d just gotten a big bag of it last week from Delores’ daughter.

Lily packed the pipe, and handed it reverentially to Running Man. He said some words, and then it lit up. That was pretty cool. There wasn’t a spark or flint or anything. One minute the bowl was dark, the next minute, it was smoking, as was Running Man. He let out a little grunt of pleasure, then exhaled a big ball of smoke. I reached for my Viceroys and lit up.

I approached them, sat next to Lily, slipped my free hand into her free hand, and then just leaned back, enjoying the blanket of night we found ourselves settling under. It felt good, sitting here in the dark, surrounded by these amazing people. How could things get better?

Then I remembered.

I turned to Lily, knowing that this was, for us, once again, a very before-and-after moment.

At this, we were veterans of the highest order.

Still, I think, she’s probably gonna lose her shit.


“Yes, dear,” Lily said quietly, looking up at the stars, knowing full well I was now staring at her with full focus, focused intent.

“Well, I got some news about our vacation, and I wanted to know if I can clue you in,” I said, as matter of factly as I could.

“God I hope it’s the water. I really do think a cruise would be best,” Lily mused. “I need to do some talking with the whales, I think. Don’t you feel that would be good?” Idly, she added, “It just seems like a logical progression,” and trailed off. I sat beside her, grinning from ear to ear, fit to burst.

“Well, I think that is a lovely thought,” I agreed. “You know how I feel about our whale brothers family. Heck, where is that whale song CD anymore? Do you remember?”

She’d gotten so tired of starting every morning listening to whale song, my routine as a single hippie, that she’d flung it out the window one morning. I’d fished it out of the bushes and stuck it in my sock drawer. The next morning, no CD. I have to listen to whale song on my phone now, with my headphones firmly plugged in, please.

Lily’s face crunched up in an uncomfortable way, that told me all I needed to know about the fate of my CD.

“But, dear, I think they have plans for us that will make you very happy,” I began. “There is a woman here, Samisari, she goes by Sari, and she’s Running Man’s sister, right, Running Man?”

“How right you are,” he said. He then morphed, and it made a really weird noise, I’ll have you know, back into the park ranger.

I couldn’t control my tongue, “What is it with this persona. What is your name anyway? You are like sex on a stick in this meat suit. What’s your name, anyway? Can I call you Sexy Man?”

“I like Al. Shall I tone it down a little bit, sister?” he asked me, very earnestly.

Lily interjected, “God, no!”

Everybody blushed, even Al.

Lily looked at Al, then at me, then just gave up and looked up at the stars again. I looked at Al, nodded to him, and was quite relieved with how seamlessly he took the reins.


Al apparently did dial it back a bit, because when he took off talking to Lily about their plans for us, we were actually able to pay attention to the content instead of his delivery. He adopted the persona of a benevolent big brother, muscle bound and sweet, all wrapped up in a park ranger outfit.

Sam, Eddie and Sabrina had found us, and as Eddie smoked a clove cigarette, Al began.

“There has been a bit of a conspiracy with the three of you, getting all of this arranged,” Al adjusted himself on the bench. Nearby, we heard scurrying and a yelp, then silence, then the crickets again. God only knows what goes on at this time of night in the desert. We turned our attention back to Al.

“The only one here who has not seen the notebook is Lily,” Al pointed out. Sari floated over, and with a bit of a flourish, handed Lily the glossy, gold-crested notebook.

Twenty minutes later, she looked up at us in full-on enchanted mode.

Within the pages of the notebook is a holographic experience. Do you remember the scene in Harry Potter, when he gets yanked into one of Voldemort’s past self manifestations through the pages of a book? Well, it was sort of like that.

You open the notebook, and the awareness you once had, of your itchy scalp, the night air, that someone’s watching you read a fancy, glossy white notebook with a gold crest stamped on it, all of that goes away.

It’s as if a stage of activity opens on a stage right in the center of your awareness. And, clearly, this particular holographic loop lasts precisely twenty minutes. Twenty eight with commercials, I’d imagine.


It turns out the notebook is like a fancy, joyous invitation. The Pleiadian Council had decided that it was high time to get our civilizations communicating consciously, and they’d become aware of our eagerness and aptitude from Bashar’s people.

We were to come to learn it was quite the interconnected network. We were all pretty well known to one another in these circles.

So at first, when all this started to come into our lives, we had to get over the high weirdness of it all, that “we’re the chosen people” crap that comes up for anybody who finally crawls off the wheel and starts getting aware of the true nature of things.

When we would discover a new level of awareness or ability, we have just come to expect a period of plasticity, when our identities would sort of slide around the new consciousness, the new possibilities. We called it the ego-eggo dance, because, even with all our practice, our egos get just as fragile as egg shells when in the middle of these energetic shifts.

So here we were, thinking that this could never happen, not really, because there is no way we can become more expanded than this, this is it, and then BAM, a new level of experience. It can make a person feel special. But that fades. Then the miracles begin to start looking like the norm, and then, it’s just all a matter of staying in the flow of it all.

So, here were Lily, me and Sam, trying real hard not to get big heads about what we knew was to be our next adventure.

Impeccably timed, Sari said, “You understand, everything has to start somewhere, so to speak. We are, after all, still playing with linear time, here. And as such, somebody’s got to go first. There are small collectives, such as your family, many individuals, and many large groups, they are all coming to us now. You three are part of the first wave, you see.”

Ego satisfied, feeling balanced again, we proceeded.

Sam cleared his throat, still holding onto the stick with which he’d been drawing in the sand. “Well, it seems to me,” he said, “that we’ve actually been making this trip all the time, in our sleep. I mean, that’s where we go, after all, or that, among other places, actually,” he just had to add. “It’s just that we’re going to do it fully aware this time. Do I have that right?” he asked Al, in a clearly private way.

Al laughed, patted Sam’s back and said, “Brother, you understand.”


We sat with that then. There was an uncanny stillness in the air, and a pregnancy. Do you know the feeling in the air right before a really, really severe storm hits? Yes, that sort of stillness.

And then, it happened again.

Only once before in my life has it happened, but it’s so very improbable to be impossible, doubly impossible for it to happen twice.

Suddenly, it seemed that all over the globe, as one, all the creatures on earth went silent.


When I was still in high school, I had had a UFO experience that began with all the crickets in the whole world going silent all at once. Then came a ship, and then lost time.

It’s an unforgettable event, when you no longer hear something that should be there. It’s like when you stick your head into the water of your bath, and you can no longer hear. It happens every time, but it’s still so surprising, because the deafness is always so complete.

Well, there we were, in complete darkness, only the moon lighting up our frames, silence. As still as a warm, starry bathtub.

Al stood up then. He walked away from us, and as he did, his form morphed into Chief Running Man, but much larger than he appeared to us initially. Everything was still in perfect proportion, but now he must have been fifteen, sixteen feet tall.

He lumbered over to a cliff face, and he place his arms, all the way up to his shoulders, into a hole in that rock face. As he did so, he howled, and we all jumped. Each of us held a fear for him, mine having been that he’d had his hands lopped off by a booby trap, like in that one National treasure movie with Nic Cage.

But, no, that had been part of the ritual. He did that so that our fear would jump out of our energetic bodies, for our inspection, so that then we could get to the honoring, and release, using that one fear as the symbol, a totem, of our fear selves. The fear self dissipates in full light.

The ceremony continued, with we understanding its significance and meaning while requiring no additional gestures, no song, no words.

Once he turned from the cliff face, the dress of a great warrior-dance unfurled from him like colorful angel’s wings. He started a dance that was as holy as it was profane, so rich with self-knowledge and deep acceptance of The Other as Self, Self as Other.

Soon, I could see all of us, big as he was, dancing around him, with him, all of us balls of light, dancing, morphing, chanting, laughing.

This went on for who knows how long. There was a natural ebb and flow of the dance. It was a good thing. A ritual we all seemed very well versed at. It was fun to watch all of us, these little slivers of personality, dancing in our clothes, shaking our delicate hands, stomping our calloused feet, while still, bigger, higher, but within the circle, there danced our lighted up souls.

— VI —


Running Man, just like a master conductor, allowed the music, the light, within us, to come out, weave together, creating something sturdy but etheric. He, with song and dance and intention, danced us to a rock face.

We found ourselves, Lily, Sam and I, perched impossibly, in the blink of an eye, on top of that rock face. We had to have been up six or seven stories. I’d like to tell you we levitated, but in this ceremony, it was a more now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t feel. One moment we were on the ground, and quite literally, the next moment found us standing on that cliff.

It would have been weird to the point of distraction had Sari not been just floating around, up there in the moonlight, waiting for this moment in the ritual.

Sari gathered us together, and we took positions in the shape of a square. We held hands. We swayed.

And then Running Man was in front of us. Sabrina was a far northern position, Eddie, far south, but all of us were now high above the ancient site we’d come to explore that afternoon.

Running Man now had in his hand a long, gnarly staff, and at the tip, little shiny bells glinted off the moonlight. He shook his staff, and clunked it on the ground three times.

We all came to a natural attention, all eyes focused on our master of this ceremony.


Chief Running Man began to talk in a language that was so enchanting and so very familiar, that a part of me felt like approaching him and babbling on and on making delicious sounds, reminding me of faraway lands.

As he talked, it seemed as if he was invoking celestial help. Each time he did this, there was a shock of whiteness that would pop and sparkle, out there in the darkness.

By the time Running Man had done the whole invocation, the mesa on which we were celebrating was alight, awash in light.

Rings and rings and rings, ever-expanding rings of white light came to be with us.

Running Man stood in front of us, in his exalted super-size, glimmering and with a face savagely on fire with God’s love. He was a transformed and exalted being, having gathered in and partaken in a very pure energy invocation.

Sweat tumbling from his chin and elbows, he quietly gathered the intentions of we three, the only humans standing on that plateau, readying himself for the next step.


Sabrina approached Lily, in the stillness Running Man created. Eddie came over and held Sam’s hand, then mine.

We stood in our little teams, looking deeply into each others’ eyes, contemplating the stillness of the night air. And then there was a sound I’ll never forget.

It sounded like a fog horn, but it had such a deep, deep bellow that it felt like the sound was originating from my molars, from my lungs, from my bones. An odd sound, one that one must see as foreign, but something which feels, once again, so very familiar.

I’d like to say that a regular woman did this next bit, but I’d be lying.

Next, into our gathering, walked a very tall, beautiful woman angel, wearing a chiffon number with lots of purple and rose in it. She had wings, and the wings were not what we’ve been told angel’s wings are, so I want to tell you about that, but mainly, I want you to know that once we were in this angel’s midst, all bets were off.

I don’t know if you are aware of how weird an angel’s energy is compared to we humans. I like to think of myself as a fairly advanced humanoid creature, enlightened and open-minded, even. Able to assimilate any experience at all.

Well, I thought that was the case, but angel energy is so weird.

Angels have no hooks, no areas of turbulence, so angels just shine out love in such a pure way, that all the excuses we give ourselves, and each other, for the “way things are”, just do not apply. All equivocation ceases around an angel. All prevarication, and I mean all of it, ceases, around an angel.

Within this very pure space, our miracle took place.


The angel lifted a horn to her lips, and that nether-worldly horn crashed into each of our awarenesses in the way it did when she first blew her instrument. Long and deep, pure and strong, it was as simple and clean a call to the universe as I’d ever heard.

The swirl of white which had gathered around us slowed, solidified, and we were there, it became clear, standing in the midst of the company of heaven.

Of course, the Judeo-Christian imagery popped and rolled in my head, but there was an ancient aspect to these guests, to the ceremony, which defied simple translation.

Our angel spoke, “I am Amit-el. I am the one who has been working with your group, assisting you to this moment of creation.

“Tonight, on this mesa, your family and friends await you,” and with that she bowed, and Eddie and Sabrina came to stand in front of us.

Eddie said: You have waited your lifetimes for this event. Each of you has had an arduous journey, to find yourself of this night, under these stars, with this company, coming home.”

Sabrina said, “In just a moment, we and the elders will gather in prayer. We ask that you set your intention.”

“Um,” Sam said, his voice stating his utter frustration, “Intention? For what? You haven’t told us what’s even going on.”

Sam began to pace. “It’s clear something is happening, something big, I mean. Mom, I’m sorry if I’m ruining your moment or whatever, but, this is just making no sense to me!”

Running Man then approached Sam, took him under his arm, and laughed.

“My brother is right!” Running Man declared. “This group requires more transparency, less ceremony. Shall we all adjust accordingly, brothers?”

An interesting thing happened then.


We knew, the three of us, that we were standing on a cliff in the middle of a New Mexico plain in the middle of the night. We really did know that. However, as soon as Running Man said his words, the scene around us changed dramatically.

We were instantly in our living room.

Sabrina, Running Man, Sari, Lily, Eddie, Sam and me were suddenly at home, in the same positions and configuration we’d been in while bathed in moonlight.

Just to make it really weird, our cats came up to the group and started loving on us. We were home, and yet, and yet.

Running Man continued, “Sam, once again, you are correct in your assessment. We failed to take into account your age and abilities. You among the group understand best that what this is is an energetic shift, that’s all, not something to be cloaked in mystery.”

Sari floated to the center of the group and told everyone to take a seat. We did. She is quite a commanding presence once she gets going.

Seated in our comfortable, familiar chairs, smelling the aromas only one’s own home can provide, we settle in and listened to Sari explain.


“This ceremony is an old, an ancient, one,” Sari explained. “We invoke our own soul family, then the ancients. And then we use techniques with which you, dear Samuel,” Sari touched Sam’s arm, “are well acquainted. We move the energy that comes through with our minds but more, with our hearts, and we, in essence, create a structure into which you all transform.”

“Transform?” asked Lily. She looked, just then, for all the world, like a seven year old whose training wheels have just been taken off, due to the child’s demands. “Do you mean, we finally get what I’ve heard about?”

Lily had gone through an interesting phase after the solstice. She’d expected to just light up that day, and when the light just never went on, as hard as she tried, she got a little downhearted.

After the solstice, on the blogs, many people who’d disappeared did post testimonials. Unbelieved and put down as fantasy by the mainstream media, all the testimonials had common themes.

Each person had been initially overcome with heat. They all described a furnace or a deep, dry, overwhelming heat that rose from their belly. Each of them related being overcome with a white light. Many explained that the light was in fact consciousness.

And then came the shift. Each person seemed to translate the light differently, uniquely, but no one who encountered this light remained unchanged.

Lily would read the accounts and get real sad. I’d find her in our greenhouse, tending to her violets, after her foray into first-hand accounts of solstice miracles.

Lily, of all the people I have encountered in this life, is the most committed warrior I have ever met. She’s dainty enough to only reluctantly admit to donning this warrior energy, and that’s what I love about her the very best. Watching her come into her own steely determination, and really own it, wow, that has been a trip.

Lily is a magnificent healer, a glorious light, a hub around which our stars turn, but she didn’t deliver something to herself, and that drove her a little made, these last seven years.

And here in our living room, or was it a cliff?, it felt like, looked like, seemed like, Lily was finally gonna get what she wanted.


Amit-el, in our home, was not in her angel regalia, but instead, dressed in jeans and a knobby, white sweater.

Her wings, like I was going to tell you, were still there, impossibly sticking out of her sweater.

The thing is, angel’s wings are not physical, of course, and they are more like energetic appendages than things to make a person fly.

An angel’s wings are there to move energy, intention, emotions, around somehow, those wings. They fluff energy, light. So, there were her wings, clearly a part of her, just emanating from her back.

Amit-el settled on the floor in front of the fireplace. I thought it would be great to have a raspberry iced tea. One appeared on the table beside me. I then thought an orange shirt would be pretty, and my shirt changed color.

Holy crap.

“It’s time,” Amit-el announced.

And without another world, we were forever changed.


What the blogospheres reported was accurate.

When Amit-el said, “It’s time,” a whole lot of things happened all at once. Of course, each of us had our own experience with it. I’ll tell you what it was like for me, and then I can give you the variations. What matters most, though, is the individual’s translation of this information. Keep that in mind.

She said her two words, and then I felt like I was being cut in half by heat. It felt really good, the same feeling you get when you’re in the sun, really super happy, and you’re just baking.

Then, it was as if all that light that had been called in earlier, all those ancients, well, around me burst a shining, brilliant tableau, everything clear and clean and shiny, and the ancient energy began to come into resolution.

I saw faces!

It felt like everyone I’d ever had any contact with at all, clerks, best friends, people I drove down the road with, old elementary school teachers, anyone I’d ever had contact with, they were all in the room with me.

And then everything resolved in a most unusual way.

For one brilliant, shining moment, every single contact I had ever had with anyone, over thousands and thousands of lifetimes, came back to me. Like waves returning to a long dry beach, I allowed all that energy to return home to me.

I realized, in one shining moment, that everything returning to me was given from me, by me, for me. I was not separate from any experience I’d ever had. The experience was not separate from me. Together, even the times when I had car accidents, I had been in the flow. I had been participating. I’d never done anything wrong, even when I was making huge mistakes. The love, the freedom, the blamelessness, I rode those realities like a surfer.

Obviously, it is an impossibility to language this level of experience very well.

But once I got that there is nothing outside of me, and that there is, in the end, not even a me, in the end, then I came to some sort of emotional, energetic, spiritual plateau.

In my mind’s eye, I was standing on the cliff, alone, with Eddie, in the moonlight.

Somewhere close, a coyote howled.

And Eddie said, “This next bit is all on you.”

With that, I closed my eyes, and I went to sleep.


I could smell pancakes and coffee, and I could see from my crumpled bed that it had to be pretty late in the morning.

Then it hit me.

What the hell was that all about?

And why am I in bed? How did I get undressed? Who is making pancakes? Are we in New Mexico? Do we get to stay home?

I eagerly put on my jeans and my favorite t-shirt, and headed down to the kitchen.

Lily was humming an old Grateful Dead tune, and had just closed the oven, having put more pancakes in there to keep warm.

“How are you and what the hell was that?” I greeted Lily.

“Oh, my God!” Lily squealed and ran to me, her arms wrapped around me. She hoisted me up into the air and twirled me around, “It happened, old girl! It finally happened!”

“What happened?” I asked. I had hoped Lily would know some sort of closure, and by the looks of it, she had.

“Well, all I know is that I remember everything,” Lily said. “Absolutely everything, Jane. And, I am enchanted by it all!” She said that last bit very loudly, and with her enthusiasm, she swept me up and began dancing me around the kitchen.

I sat at the table with my coffee. “Grab me a couple of those griddle cakes and tell me all about it, my love.”


It seems that each of us had singular experiences, events which can no more be duplicated than easily explained.

Lily found herself on a tropical island with Sabrina, alone, in the moonlight. There was a whole Mayan ritual, a ceremony, and then Lily had her experience. Much like me, just prior to the shift, she noticed a plasticity and weirdness to her reality, then, boom, everything was holographs and fantasy. She came to find herself in the Hall of Records, and she said she spent all night there. She said she felt like Harry Potter in the forbidden section of the library, except she didn’t have to be invisible, and that section is no longer off limits.

We laughed about her experiences, and considered getting out the Harry Potter glasses Sam got for a Halloween costume long ago.

Sam came into the kitchen as Lily was finishing up her story. He looked sleepy, and we both knew enough to leave him alone until he’d been lumbering around for at least a half hour.

“Hi, you two,” Sam said cheerfully, through his fatigue. “I’m so glad to see you both. My sweet moms.” he shook his head, a sentimental grin on his face, as he opened the oven and retrieved pancakes.

We looked at each other, then at Sam, then back at each other.

“What happened to you?” I asked him. “Looks like we each went very different places.”

“Yeah. Was that even last night, Mom?” Sam asked.

“We are in no-time now, you guys,” Lily piped in. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense to use time as an anchor anymore. Maybe as a bookmark of sorts, maybe as a point of reference, but, it’s not the same anymore. It has a different significance as a tool. I’m still puzzling on this.”

“That’s exactly what Running Man told me,” Sam volunteered. “I understand so much now.” he sat at the table and reached over to hold my hand. “We went to my ancestral home. He took me home, Mom.”

Sam’s voice cracked, and I saw that, once again, my big man was crying like a little boy. Overcome with relief, with love, with hope, I went over to him, hugged him, and then, there was Lily.

We stood in our kitchen, the three of us, crying and holding on to each other, a group filled with the awareness that their race is run, the crowd is overjoyed, their bodies are spent, and their hearts are already onto the next adventure.

Deeply Awake Chats 2017: On Having Deeper Vision By Kathy Vik 5-13-17

Image result for screenshot jackpot wins




The question is, what do you do when things are going well? It is a great discussion about incorporating more light in one’s daily walk. It is a magical and entertaining talk, one that I am proud of due to its coherence and the sense of completion it provides.


Fiction: “Risk” by Kathy Vik 6-15-16


The very functional draft of this is on the happymisery site, and it stands as is, it’s good, but this is the amplification it needed for it to sing. Enjoy this, all, and please consider joining the fun at Weekly salon-type action, and all the changes in life that such a pursuit may indeed take you, if you are but a willing participant….


RISK By Kathy Vik

Dedicated to Sunny Day, and written for every one of my SiStars.

Finally Sunday again. Finally on Judy’s back porch, and finally a perfect summer evening. We were having virgin cocktails, taking a break after dinner, getting limbered up for our salon.

We call it that, our weekly gathering, an idea we all came up with after Judy started following She told friends about the site, and it didn’t take us long to get into it, to own it,  making it a local, and a weekly, thing, throwing ourselves a party every Sunday. Many of us still contributed to the website too. Not me. One group was enough.

I was her sparkly friend, I suppose you could say, the one with one foot forward, and the other perpetually in her mouth, not for stupidity, but because of my sheer enthusiasm for life. That’s how Judy described me to myself one time, and I liked it.

I never believed it, not fully, but, I liked it, so I had her repeat it, and themes therefrom, from time to time, through the years. She was skilled at complimenting others, and, frankly, I needed the reminders, at times, of good things that I’d forgotten, or misplaced, or was overlooking. She made me feel better, and it helped me cope, when I needed to hear the good stuff.

She always obliged when I’d ask.

This month, she’d been assigning the weekly word, and I was exhausted. These words had been demanding, and they liked to bang around in my brain like toddlers in front of overturned pots, grinning, slobbering and swinging away, night and day.

The others were astounded, sometimes, with what I came up with, but people always have been, really. I mean, come on, be honest, once I finally open my mouth and say what I think, they always are. I chuckled.

Truth be told, there were certain things that took me absolutely years to say, and then with pain, even when thinking on it so long past, even after all this time.

I shook my head and grinned. Not anymore, I thought, suddenly. An electric shock ran through me, thinking about what I’d come to understand, this morning. I had to tell her. It felt like an imperative. I didn’t know exactly why.

Now that we were contemplating, really thinking on a word, once a week, I found I was getting deeper, somehow, week to week. The others told me I was a natural born writer. It’s funny. I’d been told my whole life-long I was a bit of an unnatural, ineffective dreamer. I liked these women’s perspectives far better.

With this writing thing, I felt like I was coming into my own, and I saw it in the rest of them, too, as we proceeded. We were each coming closer to ourselves and liking what we found, I think, as we looked forward to our time thinking on the week’s word, and then we all create our individual responses, and then, of course, our quiet, boho Sunday evenings, eating, the conversations gentle and super-deep, all of us dialed in already to be so shockingly honest and dirty audacious and irreverent as all hell.

Kind of have to be, these days. Fuck.

So, she’d picked this word, and it was time to let her know that her relationship with the English language was not the same as mine, and a lesson in picking words was in order.

It had led me far, but, really, it was wrong to bitch about this. It was kind of gross to.

Sure, I was tired, but I was satisfied with what had gotten me here, what I’d learned and how I felt now, because I took the word choice so seriously.

Now I can just enjoy this state of sweet satisfaction, and rest, this place of relief, and quiet, and I can trust it now, because it is alive and pulsing inside me with this steady, solid, undeniable, full on goodness.

Smoking used to soothe and relax me after a feast. Now just talking big did that for me. I’ve learned to seek out those who encourage it, this need of mine to let my wilder horses run free. And there, across from me, sits Judy. For all her restrictions, she always let me speak my mind.

We were settled into our usual chairs, out here. I liked my view the best. I was glad she liked her spot like I liked mine.

She gave me the floor.

Ok, then, I know you’ve heard some weird shit come out of me,” I said, my mouth sparkling with mint I’d just chewed up. “Good God that Mojito” I thought to say, but didn’t because something else was coming. It had to be given some space.

But this is different. I think it’s going to help you. It already cured me. But, the way it is now, what it wants to say, it’s like just walking down a hall, in my head, and it feels like I have to squeeze myself to the wall, like, you know? It’s a big motherfucker.” I shrugged, found my smokes.

She’d been telling me once again this week about that decision she’d made, about ten and a half years ago, that she could then never bring herself to say, and still, even after finally declaring it, even after once and for all balling up her fists and saying it, it ate at her, it rang in her, and I could tell that even now, she wondered if it was really safe here, in this wonderfully lush and weird landscape she’d made magically spring up, once she finally embodied her long swallowed truth,  a few months back.

I knew it to be the waves on a beach, in that phase when the moon is pulling the water back up to the stars, is how I see it.

All I know is the water, and motion, and peace, on a beach, though some know of ebbs and flows and symboled charts and terms. They seem to know a lot about the ocean.

But I like to be able to look at this one thing, the ocean, just really the one thing on earth, in my reality, yes, after all, it seems it’s just the one, that I have never had to explain to myself.

It is a singular relief, when I don’t have a single question, and it’s so easily achieved sitting on a beach, really close to the action, but far enough away to not get wet.

The waves come. And then they come, and then they come. The kinds of waves she’s having get littler, which is nice; at least, they seem to be, and that’s how they do with me, too. But for now, they are big waves, and when they are cresting so high, she looks at me and knows what I am now unafraid of as risky.

Of course it appears risky.

And I was once petrified.

But this, this needs to be said.

Here’s the thing,” I said, stubbing out my smoke, having gotten lost in my thoughts, looking at the lawn, while seated on the porch, taking it all in, knowing, now, what it means to be at peace.

Wait a minute,” she says, and gets up, telling me she has to do a thing or two, and get a refill. Virgin Mojitos are still Mojitos, I smile, as I sip mine, and wait, and just unhook from it all, knowing the thoughts will come when they are supposed to. And then she gets to settle in and I get to tell her what I have allowed to squeeze past me in that queer hallway, in my head.

It’s sitting out there in the backyard. It’s like this huge, gentle giant that attracts woodland animals and every single true happiness in the world. Just pure love, but of the earth, like a huge earth child, almost, the lightness of it, the innocence of it too. I can’t feel anything but well-being, imagining this scene.

The screen door cracks shut, and she sits. She fishes a Kool from her pack. She looks at her phone, puts it down. Looks at me. Turns it over.

Well, ok, here’s the thing,” I start. “I just have to say I think this was a crap ass word to use this week. There had to have been a better one, one that’s more subtle and sort of fetching and alluring. This one speaks of full on argument, and sudden death, really.


So I had to really freaking think about it, and I don’t like doing that all that much, because I am lazy. You know that I prefer to just play.” I smiled, rambling, feeling happy, allowed to be free, now. Allowed, invited,  to speak.

But, it sure as shit led me places, and finally, it landed me on the edge of my bed, this morning, pulling it all together.” I shake my head and grin. “Talk about a salon word, Judy.”

She was looking at me patiently, intently, like she does when I am spouting.

So, what if you finally get it, just way down deep, just full on, that you are the rocket you are, you know?” I asked.

The rocket you are. Oh, how I wished I could explain the fireworks going off in my body about this. So I continued.

Ok, so, dig it, all the things I can see about you, that I try to remind you of, but also the things neither of us can see because we are both too close to it, but also, Judy, the things that make you singular, extraordinary.

Every single one of all your experiences, like, and, just think of it, all the stuff maybe only one bestie knows, and then, all the stuff you know that no one else in the whole freaking world does? Do you know what I mean?”

I breathed. I smiled. I continued.

And then, oh my god, the stuff that I can see that just blows my socks off about you Judy, all those experiences you’ve had, and then how you used them. How they made you resilient, and wise, and funny as hell, and strong, and tough as nails, and so precious, so unique, so absolutely fucken perfect.”

She was listening.

So. Was. I.

So what happens if one day you are sitting at the side of your bed, and maybe you’re listening to a song that makes you feel like a total badass goddess, ok, and you just finally for once in your gut wrenching, amazing, sacred, seamy, laugh out loud funny, mindpoppingly loving, generous, intense, full-on, exalted life just get how glorious you are?  The writing, the sacrifice, the interests, the passions, the willingness, the heart, the sex, the loss, the love, the grief, the joy, the full on will, the invincibility, and”

I paused. I needed to breathe. Caught up again in this feeling of holy crap this is so amazing. I am so amazing. I feel so good about this!

I began again, “And there you are, on the side of your bed realizing the totality of you, and all the things you know to be shit about you are just part of this glittery, stunning worth and beauty that is you, and Jesus, the heart you see blazing in your life, and in your relationships, but, more than that, just how much you have endured, and come to know, and you get a glimpse of what you are going to be, and what that means to so many others, and how creative and enduring and beautiful and motherfucking awesome you are? All of it.

You just get it.

You’re a rocket

I looked up at her and smiled, and sighed. I shrugged.

What happens then?

Is anything a risk, then?”

We let the silence settle between us, listened to the neighbor rustle hedges with clippers, a few houses down. Quiet, today. Still.

Because, it’s happened to me. And I got it. Big time, all the way. Kaleidoscopic, telescopic, psychedelic, stone cold sober, sitting there, this morning. I guess I’ll have to write this up as my piece on risk, huh?”

I sighed, kicked the table leg. “Fuck. That sounds like work.”

She gestured, looking like she was going to respond. I wanted to say something more, I realized, so I interrupted her.

There’s just something I need to say, maybe I just need to hear. That makes it real, I find, and it’s important to me to have some of this stuff witnessed. It helps. Is that ok? Yeah, it gets a little into the weird, but I won’t get freaky, I promise. Can I tell you just a little more?”

She nodded, smiled, gestured to me I still had the floor. She didn’t mind. She knew I had a complicated love life, and she liked hearing about it, in smaller doses. And, she knew I still had to work up to copping to it with someone who hasn’t gone where I have gone.

I don’t know. It was amazing. I really felt so pleased, in a brand new way, just, so pleased, with what I have become.

But, fuck, it’s the weirdest thing. Those words, ‘pleased with it all,’ they’re like, oh, I don’t know, that uncooked spaghetti in a plastic tube stuff.

Compare that stuff to the best meal you ever had, your perfect meal, but where you can eat and eat anything at all, for all time, and all you get is healthier. Like that.

I really understood why it is that I am able to function at a whole new level now, it’s available all the time now, if I want it.

For me, in the beginning, it was something I wanted, but something I was deathly afraid of all at the same time. I ran from it. I just played at the corners of it. But I have friends who show me how they do it, so that helps.

But, really, comparing how people are doing it is not the point.

Oh my God, Judy! To come from a place of self esteem, real, true, self esteem, from the inside out, you know? And to mean those words way down deep…. Then,” I shrugged, “I don’t know. It’s sort of like, who the fuck cares what anyone else thinks, right? It begins to fundamentally not matter.

And therefore, dear word picker outer, what is a risk?

If I know I’m the coolest motherfucker in my universe, well, then, that changes things a bit.

It means I won’t agree to do stuff that I find disrespectful, that doesn’t somehow allow this happiness and my coolness of being to shine through. And I won’t, then, be troubling myself over things that trouble me. I really can pass, instead of getting twisted up about it, or arguing about it.

And I don’t have to feel diminished if someone says no. Depending on how much of an asshole they are about it, I get to tell them to ‘Fuck off,’ or ‘Suck my dick,’ like my buddy says, or ‘Too bad, it’s your loss, Charlie,’ or ‘Ok, well I’m still gonna love you anyway, but from over here, doofus,’ is all.

So, there really is no risk. And if I can do that in love, well of course I can do it with a boss. That’s easy, compared to getting things right with friends, and with lovers, sometimes.”

I looked out at the trees, swaying, now, as dark came closer. Still warm enough to continue, and to smoke again. I lit up, and thought about what this might mean for me now.

I flashed on what it’s always meant, for me, in the end.

See, there’s that sudden death I was talking about, Judy.

One way or the other, well, there it is, right?

I get to go on.

I used to think the only legit way to live was partnered, and I beat myself up for not having that, for not being able to hang with it, even when it was obviously not built to last, even when it was literally killing me dead.

Still, I know what I like, and I like being partnered. So, for me, now, at least, that’s what I want for my life. It’s time to be happy, and that’s the way I’m happiest. So, now I’m getting that. I’m ready, and it’s gonna come. Because that’s what I want, and I am really ok with it, now. I’m not fighting against it anymore. I’m seeing it makes a lot of sense, and maybe that because I’m just not embarrassed about it anymore. That’s such a relief.”

Judy shrugged, and gestured, silently, for me to continue, knowing there was more to this.

She, for one, had no argument with being partnered.

You’ve seen me in the poly community, in the lifestyle, Judy, and you’ve witnessed how I have blossomed. I have come to love people and connecting again! And with them, I can be receptive and fluid and sort of not give a fuck about relationship status, not let that hold me back or whatever, because the people I know accept pretty much all things.

They love to talk about it, too, and when it’s done well, it’s just the best thing I have ever known.

The great part about these people is that everybody shares this common knowledge that it’s possible to love a whole lot, a lot more than you imagined possible, and to do it deeply, without hurting anybody, when you’re with people of integrity, and oh my, all this loving is done in so very very very many ways.”

I trailed off, a smile lighting across my face. I shifted in my seat. This was complicated, but it needed to be said. Just for me. She was being so nice about it.

Still, that also puts me in the company of those who don’t seem to be able or willing, most of them, to get to the focusing down and doing the grad level work of full on parternedness. That to me is where the gold is, but it has to be with someone who is worthy of it, all of it,  now. Someone who gets this, this thing I know.

See? Because of that side of the bed thing, and how I feel now.

So, if I get to decide, instead of letting everybody tell me where I can touch them and how much and for how long, well, that’s fine, that’s consent, and that’s key, but, even that seems fussy and limiting and restrictive, at the moment.

I know that I want to go somewhere where all there is is yes, I guess. With one person. It’s how I’m built. I know this to be true.

Maybe that’s a pipe dream. But I really don’t know how it can be, Judy. I want it, I know it as mine, and I saw what i saw at he side of my bed this morning, after all.

After feeling all of that, I really don’t think it is, anymore.

I think there are a whole lot of special persons out there, actually, and I’m thinking that some of them may have actually come to know what I know now, they may have seen what I have seen, this morning. There just have to be.

Besides, Judy,if I am this, and I know you are this too, then, it stands to reason everyone is this freaking amazeballs. They are just maybe more aware of it, or less aware of it, maybe.

I’ve been thinking, I’ve told you about it, Judy, that maybe I have gotten too big to be happy with just one love, but really I think that’s the delusion, that’s the sickness. That funny expectation, held as the highest ideal, that I held as the highest ideal, and that I still do, weirdly, but it is also, I think, the illness.

That notion of exclusivity, it goes against the laws of physics, and denies quantum reality, but still,” I took a drag and looked at her. I still had her attention. “I know what home feels like, and I don’t want my home violated, if I am sharing it with only one other person. It’s a tent peg thing, really. It’s a consent thing, seems like.

And even though I suspect it’s the “one other person exclusively” thing that is the trouble, still, I know what it feels like to be with somebody who cannot imagine making any choice but me, just day after glorious day, well, why wouldn’t we want it to, if I can find this, and we can sustain it?

And, well, just take a look at me. Why the fuck wouldn’t they take this ride?” I smiled, pulled up my arms in a “ta-da” pose. “And that is the point. Why the fuck wouldn’t they?”

I looked at her then, struck by her willingness to let me be me, and her timid excitement at letting herself be herself once again, finally.

And, Judy, I think this is the point to me bringing this up to you. This impossible seeming thing, it’s what I want, but it’s also what I truly want for you, too, if you’ll allow me to be so bold, because it’s also what I want for my son when he grows up, too.

That full-on, appreciative, open, alive love, just there, in your face, smiling at you, with you smiling back, day to day. I mean, can you imagine what you could create from THERE?

You know?

So, Judy, just, please know, I don’t give advice, it’s just not my thing, but after what happened to me this morning, I need to tell you something.

I see your strength and resilience and intelligence and spirituality and connectedness and all these things, and how far you’ve come, and how far you can go, and how hard it was for you to come to a decision, and all of those things.

The side of the bed thing makes me want to take you by the shoulders and tell you never, never, never again share your space with someone who would speak to you like he did, who takes advantage of you, demands you feels small and worthless and unworthy of simple human decency, grinds you into the dust and then laughs at you because you let him. Just don’t do it. I’m relieved you have said no to him. I really am. Just, I have to tell you.”

I stopped. I thought about it all. I let it all crash through me. I’d never let on just how similar my experience had been to hers. I continued. I was almost done. I was glad. I was getting tired.

You may need that, again and again, and if that’s how you need to roll, if that’s how it is, well, ok then, I know that dance, and I’ll stand by, and I’ll love you through it, again and again, if need be, but forever, now, I’ll be knowing it will happen for you, someday, and I’ll be waiting for you to then, just, in a flash, when you least expect it, find yourself like I was this morning.

And in that moment, you’re going to love yourself all the way into and back from your soul. And, Judy, how can you not?! Just look at you!” I chuckled, “You can’t help but, when you look at yourself the way I can see you now, the way I saw myself, whole, like I did this morning.

And in the meantime, no problem. I did some of my shit for decades. I was still running some of my shit before it all hit me so full on. And I may still run some of my shit. That’ll be up to me, I guess, and it’ll be just fine. It’s my shit.

Whatever. See, so I’m not implying you don’t value yourself now, okay? I’m just saying, you maybe don’t yet fully get how completely juicy ripe and straight-up gorgeous and totally unfuckwithable you really are, is all.”

I fingered another smoke, played with it, pulled the lighter out of my pocket.

I don’t know. All I’m asking is, for next week’s salon piece, pick a word that I can get sexy with. These full on, in your face words are freaking me out a little. “Wrong”, um, what were some of the other ones? “Force?”

I laughed.

I guess I’m going to need about twenty minutes to write all this shit down for my piece. Or maybe, you think anybody would mind if I write about that board game? I could do something with that. It would be a relief, after all this fucking processing.”

I looked at my phone. We had a half hour. Plenty of time to whip something up. I had just one more thing to say, to bring it all home, so I could be done with it. I needed to pee.

Judy, just, please, don’t worry about whether or not you’re going to find a man. Think instead about how lucky that bastard is going to wind up discovering he is. What an amazing ride he’s signed up for, huh? 

You already know you’re the best show in town, right?, so expect him to show you he respects your inner worthiness, that you’re a gd goddess, you know?, and of course, you’re gonna see it blazing from his eyes and skin and junk, and make sure he can and does to tell you and show you all about it, in ways that delight both of you and drive the two of you wild.

And then maybe you can just let go of finding fault, and just relax with giving that sugar back, then, nice and sweet, just like you always are, sweet Judy, when you’re safe and feel all loved and fluffed and sure of yourself.

But, I don’t know, consider this a permission slip to just shut that other shit down, with the ones who really like to hurt you, and hit you below the belt, and name cal,l and fuck with your head, and scream at your soul. You know what I mean.

Who the fuck needs that?

Don’t go back. Just, be done with that, please, my friend. You’re worth more than that.

I only just figured out I am this morning, because of that word, so, maybe the risk was in thinking on it like I did. I just don’t know.

I really have to go pee. Got any cake?”