Deeply Awake — Notes From A Recovering Spiritualist By Kathy Vik 3-19-18

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A fun video greeting from the land of recovery, I offer my thoughts on starting over, the new energy and how it is helping us clear the stuff that trips us up, and other subjects in a way that is soft, helpful and not too complex. I hope you enjoy!



As referenced, Kryon’s latest channel, entitled “Akashic Evolution”

Deeply Awake — From Worrier To Warrior 1-15-14 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — From Worrier To Warrior 1-15-14 By Kathy Vik

I have much to report to you today, and expect this could be a long one, but I think what I am anticipating is not length but girth, so to speak. The thoughts, the events, the understandings, they have come at me fast and full since my last essay, and it is wise to let come what will come, to share with you the point of it all, and discuss, then, how I got here, since this is my way.

Although my last essay may not have been the best, something happened to me after writing it. I felt so good, so unburdened afterward, and these sensations followed me, seemed to increase as time passed.

I had to scratch my head about it a few times. Within the essay was, I thought, nothing all that new, but, the act of writing it, and its contents, surely, led me to peace, to a clearing in a very congested wood. Usually this sensation comes after having written something of brilliance. My last essay was not all that brilliant. And yet, there I was, feeling like a newly minted coin.

I had been anticipating seeing Lee Carroll, being in Kryon’s presence, for many months. The date was set, Saturday, January 11. The whole thing had the absolute pristine quality of high, high ceremony, of sacredness. I think back on that day, and the night before, and my preparations that morning, and it still floods me, a stillness, that place I have reached at other important moments in my life when I know, I just know, I am doing God’s work, and God indwells me.

Because I have let much time pass, unpacking the events which followed may indeed be a longer project than not, but still, there are things to tell you here, now, today.

I think, now, that the biggest gifts I got were not even in the channel. Dr. Todd and another guy got up and did a tone jam, after Dr. Todd’s talk.

I preface this with telling you I don’t know much about what folks call toning, but that, when I was in tremendous pain in my hip, probably six months ago, while in a state of meditation, I was led to place my hands thus and so, and to utter the most powerful and weird sounds I have ever uttered.

I know now I as toning, I know now I was remembering, and I know now that this is something deep and true, just for me, maybe, but so precious I want to share it with you. I never questioned the importance, or the reality, of my Lemurian roots, but again and again I was shown, I could do nothing but conclude, that this really is my heritage. How nice.

The jam was so freeing. Any sound, any sound, it came, and there was beauty and humor and delicious freedom in each sound. They toned, and then many of us chimed right in, and I found I knew this way, I had memories, I had a knowing. Again and again, I knew I was remembering a home, a time of great happiness and integrity, home here on Earth.

The morning of the event started powerfully. I got there early and, after finding my seat, chosen months ago by me in meditation, anchoring a corner, I got up and looked at the vendors’ wares. I went to the Lemurian Sisterhood Crystal Pendant table.

There were crystal pendants, that my physical mind told me looked awkward and odd. Then one called to me. I picked it up. Good God Almighty. I held it, and from somewhere I am no longer unacquainted welled a tremendous wave, of longing, of home, and of homecoming, celebration, relief, such relief. I didn’t have the choice. I stood there holding that pendant, crying. Weeping, actually.

I did it discreetly, but weep I did. I smiled at the vendor lady, and the lady said, don’t worry about it, I have seen this reaction before. She was kind. I said I was light in the wallet, and she smiled and said, “Then you come and hold her during the breaks.” I did just that. It never got sold, that one. It’s mine, you see.

That was before the first welcome had been said to the group, before the doings. It started with a bang, with a gong of recognition and homecoming.

It was harder than I had imagined it would be, being in that space for nearly twelve hours. I felt, again and again, the desire to get up and co-present, or to at least add my two cents and augment the discussion.

I felt this dissonance acutely. Me, a simple nurse with a sad backstory and no letters behind my name, no long history of being a “healer,” no having given myself over to this counter-culture, I felt that I had no right to feel adept, and yet I knew of my right and ability to lead such a day, helping others. I felt awful, at certain points, sick with wanting to lead, and knowing it was inappropriate. It felt like nausea, but it was deep and it led to many changes, I will tell you.

I think that the worst is over. It took a few days to heal, to really really heal, and the holy people who helped us all that Saturday are my friends, my loved ones, each adding to a cacophony of dissonance and recognition within me that has since turned into a symphony.

By the end of it, and the day after, I felt as if what I have devoted my life to these last two years was as thin as paper, as precious as an innocent, as in process as a fetus. I felt unjustified, and I felt unlettered, untested, but fully certain I deserved more than I have allowed in my life thus far.

I will now tell you of a dream I had during these days of healing I have had. I dreamt I was in an old car, like a Rambler or a Studebaker, with three people I knew to be my angels, part of me, but bigger, and yet, they were just as physical as I. I wasn’t driving. We were driving up a hill, and I looked outside and saw a big river. And then, I saw an unthinkable thing.

A flood. A great swell of brown water was surging down the hill, and the water coming was, I knew, completely transfiguring the land and river. It could be no other way. Nothing could ever be the same. It was the big one.

I flashed to the enormity of the deluge, the great flood, the one that wiped everything away for one last chance, the chance we are now in. I turned from the sight in peace, excited in that weird way I have always had, when I see such events, sort of relieved, I guess, and excited.

Next, we were in a pastoral scene, and we passed over a bride. Under the bridge was a river, and the water was clear. I saw scores of lambs who were also dogs. They were lined up, three across, and this went on the for the length of the little river, hundreds of animals placidly underwater, very neatly. The animals were stock still, as was the water, really, but I understood that these creatures were fine, they were still somehow alive, but their state was one of being underwater now, that this is what they are now.

Then I was in a school, and I was changing into different items of clothing. I had my friends with me. I was a teacher, and I was a motor mouth, and so happy to be changing out of my wet clothes. I’d never been touched by the flood. I had gotten wet while teaching, others had gotten my clothes wet.

There was so much more to this dream, but that’s what I caught. I layed real still, wishing to capture all of it, and I thought on this fresh dream as I always do my dreams, wanting to capture the essence of it, knowing the visuals were much like mnemonics, so I laid there asking to instill within the images the understandings I had reached. I was told, I understood the following:

There has been a flood, and many people are now under water, the ones who have always done what the other guys has done, those who have felt it impossible or uninteresting to question, all of them are now still alive, but immobilized by this clear, clarifying water. It is not mine to grieve for those who now are underwater, and I was told, and understood innately, to not grieve for them. They are fine. They are fine.

And then I am told, notice where you were in relation to the flood. Notice you were never alone. Notice you had a light heart and you were safe throughout. Notice that you were a teacher, between scenes, between classes, so to speak. Notice you were always traveling, and that you consistently were safe above the destruction. Notice how lighthearted everyone was, how much joking and good humor and reassurance there was all around you.

This dream helped me a lot, as did another one I had just before seeing Kryon, in which a very very young man, still a virgin, but virile, he professed his love for me. He just loved me so much. He knew me, and loved me, unable to reach my maturity, incapable of it, but with such a pure, bright love. He brought me Korean, in little boxes and told me he was going to bring my favorite food to me every single night. He loved me, loved me, loved me.

And I felt sort of detached by it, but not creeped out by it, which is a real biggie. I chose, in the dream, even though there were others, mature, whip-smart, creatives who knew me and wanted me, I decided this pure love was more important to pursue and dwell within than any that could be given me by the others, with their deep thoughts and sparkling conversation. I understood this raw, unfiltered, eager and true love was my path, and after he complied with my insistence he tell his family of his great love and his decision to ally with me, we sat together at the play we’d gone to see, and I was home, loved and oddly more complete, sitting in that auditorium.

I tell you these intimate things because I think it matters to do so. And this, I think, is what has changed for me, most of all.

During the Kryon event, and especially when he was channeling, I saw my body all lit up, and I could sense there was a dark plug or cork in my pelvis, a plug which needed to get popped out, and hard as I tried, it wouldn’t dislodge. I asked for help, for continued support, in uncorking this blockage. I understood this was causing the hip and back problems, and it was purely energetic, and would, indeed, get dislodged, but it would take time.

I found the channel, frankly, quite distressing, and I rebelled against it. It caused me to feel great impatience, feeling like someone out of time and at odds with the times I now find myself in. Grand impatience. Impatience that felt like I was drowning, despairing, enraged, even.

The time of incremental change and coaxing the lost, who are leading us, to sanity, I feel, is long past, and yet, there sat Kryon, somehow finding a willingness to feed breadcrumbs to tyrants and oppressors. I hated that part, have no patience for it. It made me angry, to be honest.

But what sandwiched this ugly was what I needed to hear.

This is now a time of support for us, for me. The stairs have been climbed, the summit has been reached, and the struggle, the incredible hard work, is over. Yes, there are stairs to descend, and new muscle groups will be screaming just like other groups screamed on the way up, but it’s all downhill from here. There is support. Watch where you put your feet, but take a moment to see that the hardest work is done, the effort has resulted in a tangible change of condition, and allow a warrior’s peace to replace the dogged determination I once ate and drank and slept.

I took from this channel that the work was about to begin again, but it would be easier now. And I guess that is what I was rebelling against, that there has to be any work at all anymore.

And so, now, let’s move to the increments which allowed a great healing, ok?

The day before the Kryon event, my dad invited me out to the house for breakfast on Sunday, and my teacher Norma called to tell me the hen circle was on for Sunday afternoon. I remember thinking, well, isn’t that a nice turn of events, my day-after-Kryon all lined up so nice and pretty.

I see now that these great teachers of mine, disguised as they are, were in cahoots, were always part of the healing.

I will not discuss the particulars, but let it be known that the breakfast was a difficult one, altering, and powerful in its rawness, its ugliness, in its dissonance. My responses to it, not the event, let’s say.

I made it to the hen circle ragged and spent, disappointed and in such distress that I was crying in the car, crying as I sat down, overwhelmed was I, overwhelmed with a sense of despair and fatigue and disappointment that felt freaking cellular. It was, of course, to get me to the place where I could release that plug, unpop it.

I know I am being obtuse, and that’s just going to have to be ok this time. I will tell you of my meditation, and then continue.

Our last session of inner work had Norma, under ArchAngel Micheal’s direction, to place ourselves in front of us, and to talk with our selves like our Higher Selves.

I have learned, in meditation, the value of the twist, of feeling as if I am twirling, twisting, from my body, from my countenance, at the level of my thorax. The first time I did it was visceral, unforgettable. This time, the twist felt organic and easy. And I understood that I was talking as a golden being, my golden self.

I saw the sights I always see when channeling, and I understood I was able to then talk with, see, and love the me I have fashioned through the last 52 years. I was overcome with compassion for myself, as her, I loved my hair, my teeth, my stories and longings and disappointments, and more, my triumphs, my kindness, my intelligence, and just what I have done, and become. I felt love for my foibles and quirks, the things I often fall back into self-reproach for. I loved it all.

And so, we were told to build a fire, there in meditation, and to place in the fire anything we would like to get rid of.

I tried writing stuff on paper and burning that, but it felt unsubstantial, inappropriate for the fire, and too ephemeral. Suddenly, I realized I had brought a suitcase, a big black one on rollers. I pulled it up to the fire, and tilted the open case into the fire, and out fell an impossible amount of moist, unburnable junk, just tons of it. Once the case was empty, I thought, oh what the hell, and tossed the case into the fire too.

Even though it shouldn’t have, everything in that case, burned up, was just gone, and the ash lifted to the skies. There was time, in meditation, so then, I decided I could just get rid of all of it. I summoned a garbage truck, the kind that mechanically poops out streams of garbage. I backed that thing up to the fire, and it was the funniest thing… only one little thing got pushed out, and plop it landed in the fire, fizzled, burned up. It was a little toy, I remember.

I felt new afterwards, and when I told the group about what I did, they laughed and laughed, because I had burned up all my baggage. I laugh now, too. That’s exactly right.

But the thing that healed me the most of all was what a woman in that circle told me. I was in distress, and had completely and with disciplined abandon unfurled my pain for them.

She said, “You emit such love, you just give it off,” (and the others all said, oh that’s so true!), “and you’re trying to figure out how it is someone could act so bad, and, Kathy, the problem is you CAN’T understand it. It’s not in your nature to understand this awful stuff. You don’t have to make sense of it. Just see that it is not something you can even relate to.”

And then, as I was processing, I said, “I don’t want to do this wrong!”, and there was this great soul, again saying, “You aren’t doing any of it wrong. You can’t. You’re doing everything right.” Hugs, tears, relief.

There came upon me a peace, a gratitude, that I find so beautiful, so strong and pure, sitting there knowing I was being healed, not by a great channeler or a world-renown philosopher, but my friend, who said just the right thing, at just the right time, who let me have my tears and my fears and my doubts, and who, big as day, bright as the sun, told me I was ok, I was doing fine, I was love itself, and to just relax…

I have no way to ever paying her back, and I guess that I say that because I understand that I have been given something by her, by all my friends in that circle, that I needed, and that only they could give to me.

I think that the biggest gift I got at the Kryon thing was my impetuous decision to attend the three hour Lemurian Sisterhood ceremony. It was the highlight for me, and because I really do not know how much of it is ok to share, I will tell you of a few things, and the impact it had on me.

Thanks for reading along. I feel so good talking to you. I love you, you know.

I want it said that I am in deep awe and reverence for how Lee Carroll conducts himself and his enterprise. I felt none of the pushiness that I feel in the general marketplace, with the products sold or the messages given.

I felt so honored, and so loved and respected, in that group. There were some massive egos in that room, but Lee was not one of them. A gentle man of peace. A good man, a kind and honest man, acting in integrity and honor. That I responded from a wounded place within me, the place of a leader without following, well, that is on me, not him.

The Sisterhood event was high ceremony, and led by a gentle one, steeped in metaphysical tradition and training. What has stuck with me are the exercises we were led in, and the meditations we had. It was so healing. I have long felt awkward as a woman, knowing I am powerful and not having any metric for it but maleness. To be around women who were also powerful, fully embracing their divine feminine bodies and beings, oh, this was the most healing of all.

Acknowledging we have awarenesses that men do not have, that we have a sacred power specific to our gender, oh my, this was central to it. To feel no shame as a powerful being, and to do it in the context of feminine power, this was key. Permission to be a powerful, knowing woman.

Again and again, it seemed that the theme was that we all take turns, healing and needing healing, in the group of women. Each able to help the other, each in need of help at times, we take turns on the table, at the center, we each can submit to help, and give what is needed.

We take turns, we women of power. Sometimes weakened, strengthened through the act of allowing others to minister to us. And this theme played itself out in my little hen circle. Being unable to do anything but crawl to the center of a circle of great lights, and lay there immobilized by the crushing weight of It All, and allowing another to love me, and by doing so, heal me, each of us had that experience that Sunday, its genesis in the rituals of the night before.

And so, it is time to discuss how it is that I have moved from the state of worrier to that of warrior.

Yesterday was one for the books. There was a ramp up of this energy Monday, several things coming to my awareness, in my activities, which were hard edged, an edge to everything, feeling out of place, but centered. And then yesterday. The troubles at school, with the teachers, it continues, but now I have such a strong advocate working for me that I can, and will, I have told her, let her take me inside the folds of her cloak, and she will be my protector, my champion, and my guide, through the next bit. It is ugly, what has been happening there, and without this help, it would be unbearable. I was confronted, again and again and again, through the day and into the night, with such rank stupidity, such bizarre stuff coming right from the center of fear itself, again and again, yesterday.

This morning, I understand some things.

I understand that this next part might get tilty from time to time. People are off their nut, a lot of them, acting in bizarre ways that I cannot fathom, and often cannot seem to predict or know to expect.

I used to get so upset when people acted badly. I felt implosion within me when confronted with unthinking, unkind, punitive behavior. I felt it might be mine. And, you know, sometimes it was, it really really was, but, I have moved from this now.

I understand that there are people, now, just like those lamb-dogs, who have gotten caught in the flood, and the water is a clarifying kind, one which makes these beautiful creatures act in odd and bizarre ways.

In meditation, after burning up my junk and my suitcase, this is what I was told: This is what you have trained for. All bets are off ( a favorite phrase of The Teachers). You are ready. Expect the unexpected (three times repeated). This is what the training was for.

And I see now that this might indeed be true. It’s not appropriate, now, to wring my hands in the face of grave imbalance and wonder how I brought it on, if I am the cause of it. No. And recognizing it does not make me bad or wrong, as loudly and hatefully as others may level such a lie. And shining very brightly while the trouble is going down, I am keeping my head, now, and staying within my power. This is the key.

Kryon said something in channel I wish to repeat. He said, turning the other cheek and staying in the power of the Love Of God, this is the path now. I think I was rebelling, that I would have to do this, that I would have to turn the other cheek, I did not like the thought of it.

But, the truth is, there are folks out there, in the world I know, who are unable to curb their reflex of attack, who act obscenely, minds and hearts overcome with the darkness each of us have battled and conquered, through these last years. There are those who are not in balance, not in alignment, and this will, I am thinking, only become more obvious. If I approach such things upset and saddened and a wreck, self-referencing and in despair it is happening, I can not be of help.

And this brings me to divinity.

Ever since the Kryon event, and during it, I kept feeling, seeing, me as golden. I could feel, even when I was working on Monday night, my body turn golden, and I felt like a golden one. I felt like a living angel. When it comes upon me now, I can feel my chest heat up and start tingling, and then the body flush. I feel my chest turn bright silver, with a huge geometric spinning within it. It has the quality of being like a new gift that I keep getting to unwrap, and I keep being floored with how good it feels.

At work, during one of those moments, I looked up at the monitors, which show every hallway from two angles, and I want to tell you what I saw. I saw a man’s face, looking at me. It was long enough and real enough that I unplugged my earphone and hid my phone, because I thought it was a stranger coming, who might think bad thoughts about my watching youtube at work.

I felt like it was a friend, and I got a flash, once I realized there was no man, no physical man, I heard, he’s on his way. This is the face. You wanted to know who is coming, and that’s him.

Your friend is real, can show up on the monitor, even, and he on his way.

He is real.

I saw him on the monitors. I considered asking the staff about whether the data is on some sort of recording, because I would have loved to search the tape for this face. But I smiled, knowing it maybe would and maybe would not show up. It was a gift. And the golden angel thing just burned and burned through me then.

Divinity. The whole Kryon thing was steeped in this message to me, to all of us. Kryon said, look a your Akash, understand that your DNA has within it the encodings of the grandparents of this whole project, millions of years of divinity, and you think you can just turn your current divinity on and off anymore. No. Walk in it, know it, own it, and act from it. You are divine. You are divine. You are divine.

And the Lemurian Sisterhood, the biggest gifts I was given were the prayers of acknowledging self, other, and all as sacred. Owning and walking within sacredness, within and from a knowledge of, not a hope for, divinity. Owning that I am a divine expression of the love which has always walked with me and guided my life.

It is hard to manage feeling this when being attacked, when being disrespected so thoroughly as I have been lately. It is hard, but it is no longer impossible.

And this takes me from the worries I have had, the anger I have felt about how my little life just will never work out the way I want it to (cue the mewling and tears…) to knowing, understanding, owning the truth of it, that as a divine being of light, as a profound truth-teller, and a powerful angel of limitless love, imagining that my little life will never work out is just an exercise in self-pity, fatigue and disbelief.

As a worrier, I thought on how I have failed. As a warrior, I understand there is nothing here but divinity to express, to experience and to integrate.

So, now, I want to have a little walk through the punch line, and then I will end for the day and do other things.

The punch line is that I have always wanted to know I can handle myself, to know I am intact, to know my power and use it well. I have longed for this work to be read and used and seen as something other than the mad scribblings of a narcissist. I have wanted to be heard, understood and appreciated for my wisdom and wealth of knowledge and my great thoughtfulness.

I have wanted to be valued for what I bring to the table, talents and abilities which are, frankly, immense. I know I will never, am incapable of the abuse of my power. And yet, I have spent a lot of time fretting that this writing of mine is not an act of power, but one of vanity. I know it isn’t true, but I have had a deep worry about it. I have thought it is not valuable because so few see it as valuable.

And the punch line is that what I have feared the most is just my getting into the jumpsuit. A friend in my hen circle teared up when she expressed her inner desire to be more fearless and spontaneous, when she is the hands down the most fearless, spontaneous one of the group. And here I have sat, fretting that my great ability and love, this writing of my soul, is unimportant.

The worry is not fitting of the work. Of course it is valuable. If only for me. It has saved my life. My power of melded emotional intelligence shines through every line. What is on the page is what I have been and what I am becoming, and to think it is not valuable is the real ugliness. A trick of the dark, and that is all.

Seeing The Other as someone who may not actually be a direct reflection of my inner state is a breakthrough of unprecedented proportion.

In a sword fight, with an aggressor coming at me with a sword that can surely slit my throat, wielded by a madman unaware of his or her innate power, that is not the time to dissolve into a puddle of tears, or doubt, or fear. That is the time to understand that all those years of training with the sword has made me a consummate warrior, one who has already won the skirmish, and one who does not want to draw blood, who wants to use her sword to quell the aggressor, and demonstrate that the aggressor is outclassed, from before the battle began. I can use my sword to deflect murderous blows. I can use the blade to catch the sun and blind my opponents, bringing them to a still place, one which cannot and will not support further aggression.

I am a warrior of the light, and I am no longer afraid to speak my truth. I trust my words are gentle and kind, true and just, and that this heart is one which is unwilling to harm. I am unable to harm, and maybe that is the biggest punch line of them all. A warrior disinterested in fighting. Someone quite capable of simply decapitating the enemy, wanting instead to lead the enemy to a clear brook, where we can lay down arms and have a nice chat.

There is no fight left in me, I have said again and again in this writing, and it continues to be true, but the last few days have shown me that this next part may be punctuated, with moments of standing tall, bringing myself to full height, and using all of what I have become to help another.

This can be done in clever ways which will not draw blood, and after the battles which I expect may be part of the weave, I will rest, lay down the sword this silly aggression mandates I continue to wield from time to time, and I will sit with you, dear friend, and we will talk all about it, how hot we get in our armor when in battle, how relieved we are when everybody can just put down their weapons and laugh out loud, and we can, too, take time to think lovingly on those who are still so convinced that the way of it must include mortal combat. We know, by now, that we cannot die, that we are protected, and it is we who have made ourselves undetectable.

I end with a thought I have been having lately.

The Teachers trained me for this time. They told me there would come a time with the light would become very intense, and the dark would fight tooth and nail. I asked them, well, it’s happening already, so why is it that sometimes I lose?

They said, you know, sometimes the dark appears to win, in a battle. Sometimes things look a little grim. But it is not true. The light always wins, and this is what will improve. You feel beat up now, they would say, but you just wait. There will come a time when you will not be beatable, and you’ll know then that time is.

That time is now, my great, mirth-filled, profane, sainted friend. That time is NOW.


Deeply Awake — My Better Self 12-11-13 By Kathy Vik


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Deeply Awake — My Better Self 12-11-13 By Kathy Vik

This is a letter of goody-bye and of hello. It is the letter I have been thinking of, feeling it coming together, pre-verbal, I guess, pieces and parts coming to me, niggling me, reminding me of its imminent arrival. Like so much in my reality, its presence has always been known.

Rarely do I keep with a title if I am urged to title a piece prior to writing it. But today, I think it is a pretty fair bet that the title that came to me, “My Better Self,” is indeed the one I will stick with.

I will say that I am in stone cold love with the entity known as Kryon. We had a bumpy start, and he made cry right off the bat.

I remember reading an essay, really not all that long ago, to be honest, that Kryon channeled, about the next bit of activity. In it, he laid it out, that ascension, this ascension, is a gradual and slow thing, and that there will be another 18 years of work.

In my fatigue and despair, I became completely overwhelmed, thinking about another 18 years of work.

Later, when more was revealed to me, I had a meditation in which Kryon came to me, this big billowing cloud of love, and he winked at me, cheeky little devil, when I realized that the next 18 years, although perhaps complicated, will not be like anything I have ever experienced. Sort of a pat and a tickle, he gave me that day. He has been my loved one ever since.

But I wept deeply, in a way I had not yet experienced sadness. I felt disappointment, and that stony resolve of mine. Knowing that I was on the hook for it all, and just being overwhelmed with the enormity of what was in front of me, and what had come before, leading me to this day, laying there on my bed, fully consumed with the exquisite pain I had known the first 50 some years of my life, unconvinced, and I remained unconvinced until last night, that it would ever end.

Now, I say this as a way to say bye bye, actually, for, although I can obviously fully access the depths, I think that their presence has been instructive, helpful, sainted, actually, and their time is now complete, you see.

I wept because I was sealed, still, within doubt and fear. I questioned if I had permission, really. I do not, cannot hold doubt, honestly I can’t, for the thing that I feel in some people’s presence. It is a true north of sorts. I think this is the guru syndrome down at the bones.

When one falls in love with an entity, like I have so many many times, with mere humans in my midst, you see, I am not talking about sexual love. Here. I am boggled at the thoughts and sensations I feel when I consider ever being able to blend these two realities, this great love of spirit, and a sexual union. What a blessing that will be! But, no, for me, always, sexual attraction is a weak echo of this greater love I know.

It is the love I have always felt when I have contemplated Jesus, even as a girl. It is the love I feel for Shiva, this love moving me to tears of joy and bliss within moments of just thinking on him. It is the love I have from trees, for trees, with trees, some of my best friends.

It is this love that I had for my mentor, my former boss, Marge. I feel it for my friends Diane and Linda. I felt it for The Teachers. I dwelt in that love for two years with The Teachers. I am blessed among men for that privilege, that esteem, that trust, that honor, that love.

And it is this purity that I can now see shining through my father, my mother, my sister, my grandparents, and I can see now, that with the teachings of Seth, the help of Grandma Cannon, and the daily blessings I now enjoy from the internet, I can see how I have been slowly working on finding a way to feel this love for everyone, for every situation, for every fear and every doubt.

This love, this respect and awe and joy and obvious family quality, this is God, my God. It might not be anyone else’s interpretation, but it’s mine.

You see, this love, this I need to say about it. It feels so good, because it is a recognition my body has. A gong within me, the physical body part of me. It senses, around these people, and within events of profound purity, me. It feels that which is in me, I recognize that which is like that in me. I am resonating with myself.

It has broken all statistical expectations, and has become nothing short of miraculously routine, that when I am working on a koan, Kryon is the one who does not deliver, but who confirms my new breaking apart of the old understandings, and Kryon often serves as my midwife, birthing the new realizations.

He, like The Teachers before him, is able to language that which I had forgotten, but which had been bubbling in my fields, coming together, and then, bam, it arrives. And the blending is bizarre.

I have, at certain points, been in heavy training, very serious training from him, and I am happily in sponge mode, because it feels so good. But there have been healings, and these healings are then amplified or somehow augmented with Kryon’s presence, concepts, love and encouragement.

I cannot see this as a guru thing, although I have long admitted that I follow a guru bhakti path, always have. The mystical bond that is beyond completion, the union of souls who are blended, merged, and yet still teaching each other, this is heaven to me. Always has been.

This is why my few true friendships have always been so profound, and it is why I retreated to poetry, as a young woman. Into a land where men had complex, exquisitely beautiful feelings, women understood destruction, and where the placement of a comma, just one little comma, could make sturdy or make fall a continent of meaning, a land mass of its creator’s embrace of its greatest challenge.

This land of symmetry and expression made sense, but I wasn’t dumb. I knew I couldn’t get a job as a poet out of college, and I knew that any real depth would have to come from experience itself. From experience, from pain and darkness and despair and joy and union and celebration, as actively or passively as I could walk through my days, open to what was next on the horizon, this was what I would have to do.

I did it, and I almost died so many times, and wanted to die more often than I like to admit. Even when, actually, especially when everything on the outside looked really good, and anyone with a head on their shoulders would say I was making my adult life a fine, upstanding one, that is when I was my most despondent, you see. That was when the juice was turned down real low.

My release came when the energy finally started to feel better. By June of 2011, I had my first vision, that of being a humungous angel, all lit up white, and one by one I was flicking my temporal problems off this massive highway of living light. Up the worry would come, and this massive lit up arm came up and flicked it away. I finally saw the foolishness, after seeing that every single one, every single one of my seemingly unsolvable problems were flicked away.

I found that it made sense, really, because the problems were so big to me, but up against that white current that angel was riding, the problems each looked like a tiny shard of pottery, sharp and awkward and already broken.

From there, things got pretty psychedelic, and anyone who wishes to read about it can, in Deeply Awake, because I thought it would be just like me to have a groovy vision, a life-altering event with light, a profound meditation, and then just sort of space it, forget about it, not dwell on it. I was afraid I would forget, if I did not dwell on it all.

You see, in my old life, this was the biggest thing of all. Stop ruminating, stop thinking, and just do the thing, dammit. A person of unlimited potential, someone who could have done just about anything, hobbled I was, with depression, with horrible homesickness, and with questions that laid upon me with such weight at times, that I really had a hard time catching my breath, sometimes for months, sometimes for years at a time. I mean this quite literally.

I had so many unanswered questions, things that made no sense, and they were simple, and they were big. I wanted to understand, with the biggest mind I could find, with my mind, hyper-charged everything, absolutely everything.

I wanted to be able to meld my love and innate understanding of numbers, the human body, sacred studies, and writing. I wanted to know profound esoterica, I wanted our real history, I wanted my lineage. How does one do that?!

Well, my answer was to get to the place where the only thing I could do, to keep a sense of sanity, was to write. I mean, I blew all of it apart, in retrospect, huge ass belief structures, and they are broken and obsolete now, all of them, lying today on my floor like crushed Popsicle-stick houses.

They’d been built for destruction. They never really stood a chance.

And that is why I want this to be a letter of goodbye. I have been in absolute love with the big concepts, exploring birth, death, illness, calamity, extremity, addiction, recovery, trauma, forgiveness, and man’s inhumanity to man. I did this in my personal life, and I did it by proxy, holding active witness for those dealing with their own demons, on the floors of psych hospitals and med-surg units, nursing homes and private beds, witness to the biggest moments of people’s lives, and their most altering.

I have yet to do the math, but one day I will draw up an estimate of how many patients I have had. Really, it would be a shadow of a number, because for every patient, there are loved ones and friends, parents, children, and those yet to be born.

Nursing provided me fit cover for this exploration. A good nurse is a deep one, a technically expert one, a relaxed and funny one. Someone who really has seen most of it, and can easily guess the rest, who can read a situation or person in no time, sometimes long distance, and finds that it is the difference between being assaulted, or murdered, or not, in a psych ward. Get sensitive or get hit, basically.

I really could not have set it up any better.

I did this, and continue to do it, now, since I was 24 years old, as some of you know, but, if we are being honest, I have been caretaking, taking care of patients, since I was 13. Many of my childhood friends had disabilities, so it did start younger, but I think a good cut off is age 13, when I started at St. Anthony’s, volunteering to be a volunteer candy striper.

My mom protected me by urging me to do something I did not want to do, not at all, not at all. I never really wanted to do any of it. But being in this healing arena seemed like it was beyond my control, actually. Again and again, I was led back into nursing, but I had better ideas, bigger plans. I wanted to remain in the land of poetry, symmetry, sensitivity and truth.

I couldn’t, and I shrug my shoulder now, and smile, and am glad for this seeming detour, something I have long thought of as a cruel cosmic joke. But you see, there is that love again, shining through the cracks of a middle-aged nurse’s skin, her eyes shining from remembering fondly all of the intimacy and love and compassion known throughout her career, a career which will span 40 years in February.

The love I always thought I’d only known from just a few, this love I can now see in my gas station clerk, the oil change guy, my handler at work, my little boy. I cannot see a situation in my life, really, that is not beaming with this love.

And this, to me, has always been more satisfying than human love, because there is no opposite, there is no argument, there is only admiration, adoration, humility, exchange, pride, celebration.

Even when being mentored, ridden hard to perform, I took every single thing that came out of Marge’s mouth as holy, because I could see it dripping off of her. I knew her to be an angel, and you do not disrespect angels. Ever. It is just so gauche, so sad, and so incomprehensible, when an angel is treated poorly. It reflects so badly on those doing the misbehaving, but, you know, up until 2012, it was a pretty level playing field.

A lot of us got real dinged up, hurt, it felt, disrespected and unseen and unloved, many of us. This is not a “poor me” lament, but an admission that this sort of love was held in disdain and distrust ma lot of the time, and I know I am not the only one here who felt this. Let’s all just be honest about it, come out of the shadows and greet each other. I have been waiting a really long time for this.

This is my better self you are meeting.

The thing is, there is a mystery to it, a bit of a koan, I am finding.

This better self, the one who resonates with the highest natures around, who learned from and was in devoted recognition of these people of impeccable integrity and honesty, and who could not really ever feel good about those who were not like that, well, I have come to see that this integrity is the ancient way, the new way, because this better nature we all have, it is the plan for us to come to see that if we can see it in others, the reason that we can do that is because it is within us.

I have within me that which vibrates, in perfect resonance, when I encounter the divine.

And there can then be no other conclusion than the most unbelievable, the most “blasphemous,” the most revolutionary understanding of our time: the Divine in me knows the Divine in you.

And some carry quite a lot of it, full time. Some carry it into tightly circumscribed areas of their endeavors.

But, this is the miracle, and the cause for the letter, I can now see that there is this nature in everyone. I understand, am in relationship with those who deny it, and punish those who understand it, or simply emanate it.

We are, basically, a compliant but completely uncontrollable lot, you know? People pick up on this. They mess with it, or try to. But sovereignty is sovereignty. It can be denied, hidden, even hated, but it is unchanged by such behavior and thinking. A fact, it is, and a metaphor, rich for exploration and donning.

Yesterday I wrestled all morning with worry, and found that it was changing. I channeled, and then things began to soften, and ease. Some very core thoughts kept being broadcast to me. I saw things very clearly. By the end of the night, I understood things I had not had access to in the morning. I was able to really own the thought of being protected. And then, as I snuggled into my bed, I understood something whole.

When I had been out at my dad’s house, taking care of his wife while he had cardiac surgery, we had eight days of intense light work and healing. It was a heady time, a time when I had a sustained absence of worry, and until last night I could not language this state that I yearn to settle within me.

And then it came to me.


I had felt safe.

For eight days I had felt so utterly supported, really in every way, that I can only smile and relax when thinking on it now. Sure, my dad was in physical trouble, but all of us had gone in understanding and accepting that either he will live or he will die. Dad told his surgeon before the open heart, “Well, I guess when I wake up I’m either gonna see you or see my dad.” We had gone through such heartbreak with mom. We had toughened up during her slow death of five years.

But still, the pragmatism and humor has always been there, in my family. When mom was given her prognosis of 5 years, when she was 56, after having a massive heart attack, do you know the first thing she uttered, into the shocked air we were all trying not to breathe? She said, “Well, it looks like I’m gonna be the first one in the family to know who killed Kennedy.”

In my reality, there were few safe places, but we had a certain humor which reminded us, as we were silently ignoring ot killing each other, that, actually, none of this is real, so lighten up. It helped, and it still does.

And last night, I reviewed the things I had been told through the day. I remembered being repeatedly bombarded with the thought construct that said, “What makes you think that you can be guided professionally or with picking out your cats or your friends, but it isn’t there in your other, more troubled, less settled areas of your life? What makes you think that you can have that much planning of some things, but that others are completely random and abandoned by all of us?!”

And the one that bleated, again and again, “Look around you. Do you have enough today? Well, Do YOU?!?!?!? Just keep the focus there, sister. You have enough. You always have enough. You will not go without. This life was never one of survival. You are protected. You are protected. You are protected.”

And so, I went to sleep feeling something I had not known since May (and before that, had never had). I felt safe. I knew in my bones I am safe, last night. I said it out loud. I giggled. I said it again. I just said it three times again, just now, and could remember, while repeating it, that I had been saying it in the car on the way to Sam’s school, and while scrolling fb and checking emails and making coffee.

I am safe. I am safe. I am safe.

And then, here comes Kryon. My greatest teachers, my forever friend, my mentor and guide and angel.

The most recent channelings are from the Compassion Choir. I was not drawn to the Lemurian Choir until this fall, but I was right there for this one. The tones are not transmitted, which is fine, but the channelings around them are, as are the teachings readying us, leading up to the choir channeling, and they are all just so perfect. Just what I needed. As always. I laugh. There is no argument, and no shame in admitting this love affair. It is always just what I need, what I get from Kryon.

This reflectivity stuff that gummed up the works for me, I see it better now. I can feel it when the Great Central Sun’s love is beaming out of a person or a situation. I can feel it, and I bask in it.

But I always thought, and so it was true, that this love I felt was contained in the other, and that I needed the other so that I could feel it. Is that not why we get married? Is that not why we do the activities which feed our soul? To have access to the good stuff, to feel the love, you see.

But now, today, I see things much differently, and that is why I write.

I understand that I can feel this in others because it is in me, and I am recognizing it. Hence my conundrums around recognition.

The Teachers would, at times, remind me, and sometimes admonish me, as had my therapist before them, to not take another’s bad behavior to be an indicator that I had done something wrong, or was in error. I always felt somewhat responsible for a bad interaction, or relationship, or situation, or person.

Like, if I could just shine better, the thing would be ok, everything would be fine. There is something wrong with me, because this person is suffering. That sort of thinking. The ones who suffer, I suffered with them, and sometimes even for them. The Teachers would tell me, don’t imagine when you see someone being horrible to you, that you deserve it, basically, but I just couldn’t get there until today.

I read some of Alice A. Bailey’s work while hanging out at a metaphysical bookstore the other day. It set something right in me, reading about the seven rays, and the coming humanity who is embodying this seventh ray. Such pure prophecy, so long ago, and not mentioned, not revered, as it should be, in my opinion. Her work in Esoteric Psychology, it is wonderful. It will be like flogging a dead horse someday, but I think her work can nicely patch the bridge that is developing between those who are more attuned, and those who are not, but wish to be.

Anyhow, I read about how a First Ray individual thinks, what their traits are, and where their focus lies.

I saw then, still wearing my coat and sweating up a storm, in that bookshop, that I was reading a description of the ones who are in power currently. And it is not a bad ray, it is a necessary one, but it is quite brutal, the energy, and blunt and unthinking. Unaware of its awareness.

And then I read the sixth ray, and read of some who are thought to be in the sixth ray, and I was home, being talked about yet again, just like when I read my astrological chart or use Tarot or work the numbers. I felt pride and recognition, I felt peace and belonging, and I felt really really good, on that frigid and sunny afternoon in my most loved Denver bookstore.

Much of my work has been laced with survivor’s guilt. A stance of ,”Is it gonna be ok if I just step over here and rock and talk to myself? Is it meaningful, what is going on in my head? Do I have value, when what I value is not what is valued by you?”

And then, in 2011 and into 2012, after seeing this white angel of light during a song at church, I had all those experiences, all those conversions, meditations and visitations. I worked, looking back on it, like a coolie.

No breaks, really, all of it fun, but deadly serious, all of it sacred beyond language, and all of it talked about honestly, here, and dispersed into the ethers for others who might know of which I speak.

I am a doubter, and had a lot to overcome. I have not and will not publicly discuss all that I have experienced this lifetime, and this letter serves as my assurance to you that there are horrors which can be so forgiven, so integrated, so thanked, that they transform into something beyond beauty, an integration and forgiveness which then transmutes into a crystalline understanding of the great sacrifices that were made on my behalf, and no one is then guilty of anything but loving me, and carrying out my wishes, for my highest good.

All of it becomes sanctified, and then, strangely, sort of forgotten. The weapons dull, the blunt objects lighten, and the pain is gone, and the fear is gone, and the anticipation of more pain and fear are also gone.

Kryon said that the new traits of the awakened human being are those of Compassion, Tolerance, Temperance and Generosity.

And this awareness helped me to have a dream, which I will tell you about in closing, but I wish to dwell just a little bit within those words.

I see, as I roll them around in my mouth, that there have been times, and areas, where I have felt and had no compassion, no tolerance, no temperance and no generosity. Whole blocks of time, and whole relationships based on the frank imbalance of these attributes, me often screaming at the brick wall which is so easily erected when these qualities go out of a relationship, and so aware of the times when I felt none of these things toward those people and situations which deserved nothing less.

And I saw, felt, those storylines turn into paper, and then taken by a wind I couldn’t feel. I can now see how those qualities could have changed everything, so often, had they been demonstrated, had I demonstrated them.

I remember when I was given a magenta ray, in meditation, and told the gift was compassion, and its attribute was gratitude. I was aware, suddenly, of how good it felt to feel compassion, and how little I had allowed myself to feel in the past. How I was drawn to those who could not embody it, always fighting and arguing and voting against it.

Tolerance. I thought of the people I have hated, the situations I deemed unbearable, intolerable, like when I was first confronted with the notion of being here for at least another 18 years. I was confronted with the person I had become, an intolerant, belligerent and angry one, continually bellowing and crying for revolution inside, while shuffling along in the line, not saying a peep, quiet, lidded eyes never revealing the battle raging within me.

Temperance. Oh! I love the thought of temperance. Permission, it seems clear, to stop posturing, and to stop wondering if it is real. Temperance, for me, is the ability to shut up and let someone else talk, to stop peacocking and start listening.

I’m sure it will have different meanings to others, but to me, it is a sublime permission slip to just sit down and shut up, and listen. Be amazed by others’ stories and trials, open to their hearts, no longer needing their approval or understanding, and, thankfully, no longer wanting to talk, but instead, to simply be in another’s presence.

And then there is generosity. I love this generosity of spirit I see my friends and mentors carry. I have always wanted to be that generous, and really, thinking as the tape played, this is one I sort of have down cold. This is something I actually excel at, and no one had to teach me it. I have always been generous.

But a spirit of poverty settled on me, one that was inherited and then horribly misunderstood, for very grand lessons, of course, and now, the idea of generosity returns to me and really hits home, and I am filled with gladness.

I can afford it, the voices have been telling me for well over a year, of anyone at work there tonight, of anyone in this lobby, of anyone in this class, I can afford to be the happy one. The untroubled one. The giver. I can afford it. Generosity.

But this has yet to manifest as cash. Just enough for one day, it continues to go, just like the ones wandering out in the sand for forty years, every day taken care of, protected, and every day worrying and bellyaching and giving ourselves ulcers, worrying about tomorrow.

So, then, after this tape, there was another, and it was good too, but I forget its content now. The last was the choirs, and I will just say this about it. He described the years to come. 2015, its meaning, and its choir. And then 2016, and the amazing things that will be done.

I have been with them as they opened the portal at Lake Titicaca. It was a visceral, physical experience I had in that listening, as they all are, but none more than that one. These quantum events need not occur in temporal time with any synch at all. It exists for all time, and is new each time. I was moved to laughter and to tears during many channels, and then, came the discussion of doing the Forgiveness Choir in Israel in 2016.

I realized then, yes, this is just going to keep getting better now. I am to travel to Israel, or to Shasta. I am slated. I can participate in it all, and there is no expiration date. There is no stopping this now, and it cannot do anything but get better.

It crushed the long-ago me when The Teachers left, and I wandered around heartbroken and weirded out after those years concluded. I had been stretched and changed, but was completely out of context, and yet in perfect timing. I felt awkward for so very long.

And now, I see this is because of some fundamental misunderstandings, of course, but also, it just was not time yet! I thought that I did not have, within me, what The Teachers gave to me, reminded me of, week after week. I considered it some sort of weird anomaly that I had had access to them at all. Maybe it had been a mistake, and maybe it had been a cruel joke, and maybe it was just a scheduled relief in the pain my life had seemingly always been, but I just did not get it until now.

That was then, and this is now. I see now that it is not at all unusual to have been affected by these great teachers, as I am also affected by nature, and poetry, and friendship, and sexual union. Not unusual at all, because I am, when in that presence, my better self, and, through these last years, I am now in touch with my Higher Self, the one which is entangled with the Great Central Sun, who sits at the feet adoring All That Is, the one who has been shining through my actions and words all this time, completely unrecognized, completely unrecognized, completely unrecognized.

In karma, and in lesson, we encounter things we say we’d rather not, and we hold fear for the things we can see coming, and those that blindly sideswipe us. In karma and in lesson, all is not as it seems, and great tragedies contain the highest form of love, of course. In karma and in lesson, light and dark are weighed and measured, and, not that long ago, they were almost equal. But the dark held sway where it should not have, back then, and compassion and generosity, tolerance and temperance had been unable to shine through sometimes. The bodhisattvas got tired, the spiritual weightlifting became so hard.

In the old days, and maybe even now from time to time, we got beat up, but this is what has changed, and will only get better.

I know how to work with this energy here. I know this energy, the energy which is bursting with golden liquid love, the one which is singing with love and honor, this energy I know very well. It has always been my creator, but until last night and today, I did not really get that I was aware of it because I am of it.

And somehow, miraculously, with great brotherhood and collaboration, I am this energy now. I feel no fear, and I do mean this. I have said it so many times in my writing, and each time I have meant it and celebrated it, and each time I learned there was more to it than what I’d previously known. Increasing trebles of love, forgiveness, benevolence. That is what I have known since all that time ago, when the lights finally came on for the last time.

Sure, the lights came on slow, as they should have. I had a lot to inventory, you know? I had a lot to parse and disseminate. I wanted, needed to know what was mine, and what was everyone else’s. And I did it.

So I am saying goodbye to someone who doubted herself and her experiences most of all, who took over when the mean ones exited stage left and stage right, and who became a master of self-loathing and self-doubt. I know of the scenes, know all of the lines, and am just relieved, really, that I don’t have to say them anymore. I wouldn’t be convincing anymore, because I don’t believe them anymore.

To end, I will tell you of my dream. I got done with the Kryon channelings, and was urged to sleep. I snuggled in and lay on my right hip, the hip that has been hurting since 2007, which, today feels brand new.

I lay down and my dream was this: I was outside a Goodwill with my sister. She and I like to go junking. The Goodwill was set in a house, and we did not make it in. Mary had wandered down the driveway and was looking through a bunch of stuff. I came up and found that she was foraging through donations that had not made it to the donation area. She indicated it was fair game, and to dive in.

I found really amazing camping equipment, and was thrilled, because now I would be completely kitted out. I said that in my dream. Completely kitted out. I could go anywhere now. Expensive flints, awesome cooking gear, even a blow-up mattress. Then I moved to the desk, and found many things that were personal to someone, and this is when the dream began to break apart.

It was the thought of unfinished work, unrealized hope that woke me up. I had been thumbing through a stamp collecting book set, and the pages were empty. I realized I was going through someone’s things, someone who had been abandoned, whose personality, whose beingness, had either died or been thrown away by someone who no longer cared. I was looking through props which once held magnificent meaning to an individual.

In the dream, my sister and I had worked in tandem, she concentrating on her interests, me on mine. I never asked her if I could have the camping equipment, or if she would prefer it. It had been mine, clear as day, left there for me, a gift, it seemed, from someone I did not know and could never thank.

I then knew that the shift she and I have been preparing for is nearly here, and I was grateful for the warning. I am ready.

I am now happily ending this long letter. I am in forever awe of my fortitude, my abilities, and how much I have been trusted and loved by All That Is. I am humbled by this process just as surely and truly as I have been uplifted.

It is a solid love, a sure and steady one, that radiates from me now, one without preening, without needing to ask you for your approval, without the need to discuss any of it, oddly.

And this is the dissonance which still makes me shake my head a little. And the one which I will need to see is little more than a smoky phantom, blown away with one good belly laugh. I wonder, at times, how this will go, how it will be, now. What my life holds and where I will be working, living, focusing on, in the days, weeks, and even in the years to come.

I know now that all doors open with some simple attributes, ones which I want only to embody and get to know, in every single situation I encounter, from here on out. Compassion, Tolerance, Temperance and Generosity. These are octaves, expressions of wise benevolence. These are things I can do, that I do, indeed, do and that I am. And I have permission now to be and know more of them.

Those who say no to this, oh, they are the ones who will not be fitting in now, you see. They’re out there still, but they can be seen for what they are now, using such grand metrics in the measuring of a man or of a woman.

And I know this now, that I am these things, always was. I am a solar angel, and I am divine. I love the divine because I am made of this divinity, as you are, and all you love, and all you hate, and all you barely tolerate.

Above all, I am a messy human, and do not follow rules real well. I get to try on new behaviors now, and have given myself permission to act in brand new ways, with no defense, for none is needed, not anymore.

I say goodbye now to you, my loving reader, who has walked with me through dark forests of towering doubt, who has climbed high mountains with me and explored caves I did not know I contained, and who summits with me today celebrating that we are indeed our better selves, that we always have been, and it is just the burning off of the old ways, the layers, the misconceptions that is bringing these tears to our eyes now.

I remember there was a time in the last couple of weeks when Kryon said something about an onion. That the onion wishes to know itself, and to do so, it must peel back layer upon layer of itself, to get to its core. And he said this just after I had had an odd experience at my mirror, seeing my squat body and spindly legs covered in rags, and then the rags burned off, and then I realized that which had burned off the clothing was me, that I was on fire,

I was light. I stood there feeling and looking completely different, but the same.

I am on fire, I am light, it is all burning off me now, that is what this is, that is ascension, the burning off of the old attire, in light. Ascension is becoming this light, I thought. The onion, that helped too. Just different ways of saying the same thing.

Our better selves, our core, that is the thing, and the thing which makes guru practice a thing of the past, a nice metaphor for a bygone era. I was always that which I loved, and I loved it because there is nothing in here, within me, here, that is not love.

I am my better self today, and I will now navigate this new life gladly, with great trust and overwhelming gratitude for having been so trusted, so guided and nurtured, so wonderfully coached, and so completely and utterly loved.


Deeply Awake — To Be Comforted 11-29-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — To Be Comforted 11-29-13 By Kathy Vik

I’d considered this should be called “Comfort and Joy,” but, at the end of it, I knew it had to be titled “To be Comforted.” To be comforted is different than being comfortable, and/or joyful.

I want to take you on my journey, how I got here, feeling a comfort that is like a grandmother’s love, draped over me, around my shoulders, it is, now.

I hope you, too are feeling comfort, feeling loved and feeling safe, just for this moment, just for now. Suspended above but curiously connected to the events, the obligations, the plans and mechanics and linearity. Now, right here, there is peace in abundance, a solid, in-our-bones recognition of self, of selves, and of our totality.

I got here by having a healing this morning. I woke up feeling really good, as I do anymore just brimming with very very obvious and profound truths, knowledge, ancient and true. They’re so obvious and feel so right that it seems like folly, an absolute waste of time, to write them down. How could I possibly forget THIS? I ask myself.

But now, as I sit here writing, I have no recollection of what was given me when I came to this morning. None at all. I am somehow hard-wired to feel an aversion to writing, when feeling that way. It’s the obviously wrong thing to do, in those waking moments. So I have long since given myself a break about that, rather than forcing myself to transcribe that which would prefer to be revealed, in other ways, using other methods, maybe, is what’s going on.

I guess I could “make myself.” I think a lot of people, and more than a few who I’ve met who are deeply into metaphysics, “make” themselves do stuff they don’t want to do. Everyone has heard of a “Honey-do” list, and there’s a whole psychology around motivation of others. And, of course, there’s advertising.

So, lots of us wind up doing stuff we would rather not do, we tell ourselves.

Yes, there are tasks which are less aesthetically pleasing than others, but where does the aversion come from, for certain activities, and the pull toward others? What makes one person adventurer, and another content to work in a cubicle, or doing the same routine daily, ad infinitum? I think that’s a big reason for my divorce. I found it something like a prison, being in a reality with no escape hatch, no hope, really, in doing anything but what was expected, and sharp, awful, shitty repercussions if I even thought about it.

I felt like I was going to die, back then, realizing I’d have to find a way to live very small, content with a family, a home, a husband, and keeping this as the prime objective.

It would require trying to keep things good, without actually doing so, patching a leaky boat while bickering, or, more often than not, in stone cold silence.

It was an interesting dynamic, and one that befuddled me. I had been as genuine and true as I could have been, about my weird beliefs, and all that stuff, because it mattered so intently to me. And it was accepted, at first. Btu soon, just like my family had done before, I was found to be too “in the clouds,” not down-to-earth enough, impractical, and listening to a different set on instructions than my peers. This is an interesting pattern, and no one in my boat is going to do anything but smile, nod their heads and say, oh my god, that’s how it was for me too.

Trying to conform, to really get the lessons, down deep, past the marrow, unlocking, in the process, the keys to life and death, crucifixion and resurrection. I’m not the only one who swims these waters. I’m not the only one anymore.

Today is 11-29, an 11:11 day.

I was told, heard it somewhere, that there was a second, and even more auspicious 11:11 in November this year.

It is a good day to write to you, because there is much here to be comforted by, and much joy in the very selection of words, that I feel like I’m breathing it, and am hoping you will be able to, too.

Yesterday was blessed, from beginning to end. My sister and I both got emails about an unexpected bounty, a gift of epic proportions. These multiples played off our tongues as we talked with each other, overjoyed, on the phone. That’s how the day started.

It was not lost on me that the very first person to ever donate to me because of my writing, wired me $11. I see multiples routinely anymore. It’s odd to look at a clock and not see a multiple. Or license plates.

Psychologists call this attending, being aware of certain stimuli to the exclusion of competing stimuli. I call that a good attempt at languaging the exquisite nature of synchronicity.

It’s a poor man’s description of the daily life of the filthy rich.

And, while taking a break,, talking to Sam just now, I glanced twice at my watch. Only twice. At 2:44:55, and then at 2:55. And so it goes.

Numbers, as I have said, inform much of my thinking, and I do the math with dates, times, and events, and it’s very fun. It speaks to the weave, the threads that innervate our truer reality. I am comforted, more than I can express, by having stumbled upon the Chaos Astrology website yesterday. I googled “free astrology chart,” and Chaos came up, but I went with Astrolabe, which also offers a very solid chart, free of charge. I did mine, then my son’s, read them said by side.

It was fascinating.

But, I kept getting the message that I needed more depth, the houses and all that stuff, an interpretation. And then I found Chaos. Holy God. I told Sam, it was as if someone had been trailing me my whole life, taking notes, and then put them in a twenty page essay about me. But, that’s not quite accurate, really. I understand that our astrological chart is us winking at us.

The big self who dreamed the whole thing up, who had certain propensities, proclivities, preferences and agreements, we select which snapshot will best represent our core to ourselves, if we ever get to looking around. That’s how I felt, reading my chart’s interpretation.

I felt immensely comforted. I felt, if it’s ok to say, vindicated. Recognized. Seen. Understood.

Not by the astrology site, no, no, of course not no, but by my own self. Littlemind and big mind being seen as one in the same, finally, once and for all. Congruence. Explanation. Confirmation. Comfort.

We had a brilliant Thanksgiving, Sam and I, and it was at this point of the action that we took a break and headed out for a movie at the place where they feed us, and then on to my dad’s for pie, and his gift, of course. These activities were memorable, and gentle, and easy. But then the action picked up again, once home, again. Sam requires much time alone, and took it, while I got back on the internet, because I had only read half of the interpretation of my chart. I wanted to keep going. I did, and laughed out loud so often, was so touched, and this feeling of coming into myself more and more sort of, then, settled within me. I sat with it, and then decided to read Sam’s long chart.

It was amazing, reading them side by side. I gained a clearer appreciation for him, and saw the things about me that are troubling to him, per this interpretation, an adept and skilled and accurate one. I realized that there are things about me that are just naturally uninteresting, or even repulsive, if I can be forgiven in using that term, a term I use to indicate there are primal urges at foot here, things that are magnetic, attractive, repulsive, quantum.

Our little family’s individual pursuits continued, until evening. The night ended as peacefully as it had begun. We’d been held in the arms of love that whole day, and sleep came easy, and was deep and soothing, perhaps because each of us knew we had a treasure to explore the next day.

And then, this morning, coming to, and realizing that I am suddenly wealthy again, and wondering how this is going to play out, if I will be able to act differently this time. My son handed me the envelope, and within it is a check of $1,000, and five 20’s.

I looked at the date. Not payable until 12-1-13. A 1. New beginnings. You should see the numerology around yesterday. Stunning. Meaningful. Beautiful. I considered, mid-day, how much of a blessing it was that this check was post-dated. It’s a game changer.

“It gives me time to be ready,” I said, out loud, while walking to the garage to retrieve Sam from school today. The healing I know, now, happened after I came back upstairs, after having deep thoughts hours earlier, during the mid-day lull I enjoy when Sam is at school.

I settled in, and was just amazed at the Kryon recordings I was told to pick out.

The themes were so obvious, the language, the concepts, coming together in different recordings, taken from different years, even.

Yesterday I had a melding which I knew to be profound, but felt was best left un-described, for some reason. In such a state, I find, just as my morning thoughts fray and then dissolve into the atmosphere, so too might this meditation.

And yet, I knew, was told, no, dear one, this is something you are going to notice. Part of that event was in telling “them” that I want, in my head, to have “their”voice(s) be distinctly not mine. I want to KNOW with a simple device, a profound request, that they identify themselves now. And they have.

I am not alone.

Add this healing to what occurred to day, oh my, the places I have gone. I put on Kryon’s “Physics to the Max.” You can enjoy it here:  .  As I have told Sam, and my readers, my desire is to be a quantum biologist and physicist, clunk terms for what is to come. Interdimensioanl biologist. That’s better. High consciousness, high science.

But, I don’t really want to do it until base 12 math is the norm, or at least taught in school.

Seems like a profound waste of time, living in lesson, waiting around for the structure to support the concepts.

So, I figure, that’ll be next time. But anytime I can get my high science on, I do it. It soothes me, and I have had profound visions while contemplating physics. So I went there. But first, and I’d forgotten, a lady preps the crowd with words, and a song. She healed something in me, right the, listening to her. A song about how things were, inside, as a child, and then, one day, you wake up into a land where no one smiles.

And I’d spent many years, I realized, lamenting this deeply, and all the changes being there wrought within me, but this grief is now, I realized, finally over.

She ends her song with the reality of dwelling within that sacred land again. I heard the song, and thought, I was given two doses of this magic, this reality, really. Once, in childhood, and again, with The Teachers, when everything thing had turned, once again, magical, understandable and bearable.

So, I sat on my bed and cried. Wept. And within this crying was its source, a love and forgiveness and tenderness I have come to rely on, and which increases its magnitude in my life as I increase my willingness to believe it exists. I saw, then, my current money issue is a fractal. There are fractals everywhere, always, but this one was up for review, release, and my love and gratitude for it.

I realized, in a flash, that I purposefully slowed the tap to a trickle to learn appreciation. Appreciation. In poverty, appreciation. In extremity, appreciation. In violent stories which played out in, really, each of our lives, violence of all kinds, all stripes. In hopelessness, appreciation. In depression, appreciation. In madness, appreciation. In widely held disregard, appreciation.

And I finally understood that this was the overall message in the trip I’d been compelled to take, without enough money to travel comfortably, I did it, and I appreciated each and every moment of that arduous trip.


It washed over me, and I understood that now, now I can really have everything, because I can trust myself with it.

I thought about my dad. His great wealth, and the pain poverty and wealth have caused him, the peace it has brought him. But his lessons, I finally understood, were not mine, around the true gods of the fading yuga.

My lesson was to learn appreciation. I don’t know what my anyone else’s is, for  and I don’t need to know.

Each are just as profound as mine, just as meaningful, and, I know, just as obvious, if I were to read their astrology chart interpretation, or their energy, I suppose.

As the energy changed, on the recording, I changed my awareness, and then I listened to Kryon, and off I went, yet again, understanding things whole, seeing things that I know to be true, and are beautiful, and are the way this whole thing is set up. Benevolent. Benevolent is the only word I know.

Benevolent, so breathtakingly magnificently deeply magically beautiful. See how words lose all purpose, in even trying to embody this moment, this awareness, this knowing. Eventually, I came back. But things are different now.

The feeling of appreciation and of being comforted, they have not left me. Toned down, perhaps, but not that much. Still palpable. Still here.

As I poured my coffee and did the tasks at hand, I have thought about things as they are to then be. How will this go now? Without worry, able to see trauma for exactly what it is, and to love it anyway, what next, for me? And then the thought falls to the ground, shatter, and I walk on the shards, knowing them as the rose petals they are.

Everything is synchronicity now, and questioning a thing is just adding a vibration to it I’d rather not, anymore.

I understood that Kryon’s discussion about DNA and magnetism and astrology were to assist me in cementing what I had learned the last 24 hours, to integrate it and elevate it and raise my perspective above the mundane, the personality, the mechanics, and see it for what it is, part of the Mandala of The All.

So now, the activity will pick up pretty much where it left off. After he and I have had another block of solitude, Sam and I will get in the car and feed ourselves, buy a movie or two, a snack or two, and head home, to shelter, under the dark night sky, we will be, at home, tonight, the stars no longer a puzzle, but friend, the stars no longer untouchable, but merely the ink from the pen which writes this story of my soul.

I understand without having to re-read this that this is probably the finest writing I have ever produced, and for that I am grateful, and stunned, as always. I know this has to be written, and it may not be to the liking of some.

No one in my circle reads me, and, today, I thought about that in a completely different way, this morning. I had all sorts of fits of pride, disappointment, loneliness, and a whole truckload of other lessons to learn from having the people who I placed in key supporting roles to be anything but supportive. They have at times been derisive, dismissive, worried, disinterested and deprecating.

It has not been easy to be like this, around people who think being like this is an irresponsible luxury, and something that just makes life too hard for someone they love.

And so, I worked those puzzles, and, believe me, they were intense. Just read through Deeply Awake, and you’ll see all kinds of themes being played out, worked on, tinkered with. But the thing is, that it is only with relief I think on my loved ones now. I am glad for the freedom they gave me.

This morning, one of the only thoughts I can remember from my morning of big, huge thoughts was this: Imagine how fucked I would have been had they cared. I would have felt the need to edit. I would have stayed small for the remainder of my days. I am so keen to criticism of the things I value most highly, and have lived a life of silence, being told to just be quiet.

To break out of it was astounding, and I am nothing but grateful for my loved one’s cooperation. It would have been so awful, so hard, and probably impossible, had I not felt the anonymity of disregard I have known from these guys.

And so, I released them, told them thank you, and am doing it now, again, so that it is indelibly stated, I love everyone who has come out and played with me, even if they took on the role of villain, and even if they still, at times, throw the cape around their shoulders when they talk to me. It’s fine.

It’s not an indictment of my character, not an indictment of theirs, just how it is, how we do it.

It’s said that life boils down to choice. And I have always found this a harsh and sterile philosophy, and judging one, because, my response, looking at my predicaments and sufferings, my response to this would always be feeling like I’d been bitch slapped. All I wanted to say was, “Oh, really. Oh, really. You have no idea. You just don’t get it. I’d change if I could. I really, really would.”

“It’s all a choice,” implies that those who are smart make the good choices and those who are not smart make the bad ones. It implies that those in the know are the chosen ones, the lucky ones, the ones who have got willpower and who are masters of their own wills. And although all of that is true, it is superficial, and, when the shit hits the fan, it just doesn’t stand up.

It is a flimsy and brittle construct, and it is angular, sharp, and cuts people.

It led me, this dissonance, to ask, “Why do I choose what I do? What compels me to make the choices, have the preferences and the desires I do? They are so different than those around me. How do I reconcile this?”

That’s a bigger question than it appears, of course.

It led, in the end, to giving myself permission to choose that which I had been told I could not have or know or be.

It led me to choose something many still don’t understand or appreciate as they should.

It led me to a two day healing, and to this profound appreciation I feel for my very own self, in all its complexity and its singular purpose. I have been healed of an ancient pain which I had, I know now, since the very beginning, since the first time our consciousness tumbled, right up until this ascent we’ve made, back into the light, into the awareness of duality as a tool, not our definition, and of darkness as the beautiful creative force it has always wanted to be known to be.

I asked them to personify themselves, and talk to me. And they do.

But now it’s my son speaking, saying, “Mom? I’m waiting for you.”

It is time to share what I have learned, by being able to be kinder, more tolerant, more encouraging, more whole, and seeing this great love in everyone’s beings, no matter what their choices are, no matter what the stars wrote upon them at their birth, no matter what words are spoken or left unsaid.

And I can do this, now, finally, because I have been so loved, so recognized, so comforted.

Deeply Awake — Permission To Speak 11-25-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — Permission To Speak 11-25-13 By Kathy Vik

As some of you know, but many might not, unless you’re a hardcore fan, I have a thing for the number 25, and 223. Big events have seemed to happen, for me, on the 25th. I can’t remember much, my memory never too obedient to linear organization, so when dates stick out, they really stick out.

I have always been enchanted by numbers. I learned the alphabet system as a girl, and played with how things added up, and what it might mean, for a very long time. My long time friend helped me along, and I had many teachers along the way, but never a hardcore numerologist. That seemed too fussy, and something I could easily go insane with if I took it too far. Numbers have that sort of effect on me. Intoxicating.

My graduation from nursing school, our wedding, Sam’s birth, the date of my presumed death, all of it on the 25th. The month and year numbers, they’re fascinating, as are the relation between the dates. Fascinating. But, the 25th, it’s a theme.

The night of the 24th, yesternight, I was writing, going at it hard, determined to make my NaNo novel my bitch, 50K in 21 days.

The thing is, as I pushed to just over 45K, I sat at my computer and just got sick as a dog. That lightheadedness, the feeling that I’m going away, fading out, but, on top of that was this jangly feeling, a physical sort of jolty, sharp feeling.

I could sort of feel it coming from my open netbook. I considered that this was entirely possible, energetically, but seemed like a bit of a dramatic overreaction to a stupid computer. So I sat in front of it, head on the table, actually, feeling like I was going to die, yet again, and finally decided that maybe I should just move from the computer, see how that feels.

I moved to the granny chair, and noticed, while walking there, an immediate cessation of the symptoms. Still thinking I was overreacting, I went back over, sat down in front of Patrick, and got sick again.

I didn’t feel like doing or seeing anything, just decided to bag it.

As I drifted off, I realized that tomorrow is the 25th. It’s fitting, I said to myself, to publish on the 25th. That’s why I got sick.

I slept in small chunks of time, through the night, and thankfully drifted off into silence until 8:30.

It was my day to do as I saw fit. I had told my ex I would be using the day to get a job. I didn’t want to come home without a new job. But this morning, I knew that the job at hand was to complete this task I’d set in front of me. Today was the day.

I interject that there is a great truth hidden, not yet languaged here, and it needs to be placed here, at the outset.

Through the night, when I would get woken up, and all through the morning, I had a brand new sensation, a brand new awareness. This awareness was crystal clear, sustained, and brilliant.

I realized that I have, for years now, lived in a state of expecting doom, financially. I chant, in my head, “I won’t have enough for that bill,” over and over and over, until, guess what? I can’t afford to pay that bill. Circumstances come up, or, have you have this happen? When you just get caught up, just have a little bit of ease, and then bam, it’s another big expense. The car or a license renewal or dental work.

But, I realized today, this has been putting things in the wrong light. The panic I was always gripped with, it had to do with trying to believe a lie. The truth of the matter is, I always have enough. I never go without. I am financially embarrassed, certainly, and my financial situation could be seen as precarious to some, but I’ve lived like this all my life.

I have held it as a known fact that I would be wealthy. I had nothing to worry about. I would be taken care of. Under my own steam, I might add, not due to inheritance, although that has always been in the mix, too.

I knew this to my core, a knowing that no one else could ever get on board with, until recently. No one else in my reality saw this as anything short of irresponsible madness. And who could blame them? Not everyone can do this.

I am a magical sort, and I know that my life is blessed somehow. I’ve always known that too. Special, in a Jesus way, in a sacred way, but very mysterious and obscure and hidden. Elusive. And for far too many years, wholly a memory, theoretical, a distant longing for something that no longer seemed to fit with what I’d created to experience.

So, I’ve never believed in coincidence, always that “it” meant something more. This led to doomed relationships, trusting gut instinct without training, without maturity, without knowing what was mine and what wasn’t when mixing with another’s energy fields.

This need to remember the web that connects all of us, this led to my love of numbers, that and a constant need for symmetry, brain symmetry, when everything rings true and level, for just that one shining moment. I used to find that in poetry a lot. That’s where I’d go if I needed to feel whole, balanced, symmetry.

But then I discovered crop circles, and the more I studied them and really, really fell in love with some of them, it’s as if that burning need for symmetry just sort of left me. I don’t hunger for it as I once did. When Sam complains about his OCD kicking up, I ask him to google crop circles, and gave him a big stack of ones I’d printed out one night at work.

I realized as the morning went on, and the words kept coming, that it’s not going to be that I finished this novel that is making me feel so good about myself. I realized that it needed to be stated somewhere, so I’d remember that point. It is so important. It is this sense of completion within me that I woke up with that sort of allowed me to finish the book.

I woke up and realized I had fashioned it wrong, the conclusion. I had been going too far down the wrong direction. It came to me how things needed to go instead, and I deleted several pages this morning, before getting to the picking-out-words-imaging-the-scene work. First time I’d deleted anything of any length.

I had been grateful, upon awakening, that I’d slept on it. I knew I had a better idea. It came in waves, and when fully formed, I got up and got on the computer, ripping things away, and then beginning again.

When it was complete, and the word count was over 50K, I did the necessary word check, and then cut and paste a few things. I posted on the blogs, and then, I got to the nano site.

I put in my word count. Then I did the word validator thing, and then, in front of my eyes, quite slowly, came a banner, black and red, with the word “Winner” spelled out in what looked like blood. Maybe that’s not what it looks like at all. It’s how I remember it though.

I downloaded a PDF certificate, NaNoWriMo Winner, and I did all of it giggling.

You know, the incremental way life works has always just driven me mental. To the point of just giving up, totally not interested in doing the steps, and royally pissed off that I have to. It seems somehow degrading, to have to do things incrementally. Even housework I usually avoid, simply because it’s a first-you-do-this-and-then-you-do-this sort of activity that it just makes me so angry. I hate housework, resent having to be a student, and hate things that happening time. I hated the idea of having to start small. It infuriates me. I can see the end product, why all the steps?

I don’t know if this is an atypical form of madness, or just a lovable personality foible. I don’t act out around it all that much, but I am very well aware that the sense of futility I infused everything with sort of tainted things, making incremental things seem not only demeaning, but utterly pointless.

Such a barrel of laughs, I used to be!

But this morning, as I was getting dressed, ready to begin, I realized that I had things wrong, purposefully wrong, and that part of it is over.

I told myself on the can, out loud, “I know now that I am that I am. I know this. I own this. I know it. And I might have another day of dissonance, where I can’t believe any of it, like the day before yesterday, but I just can’t see it being able to be prolonged anymore. I think I’ll see it for what it is and let it pass. I know this is real. It’s real.”

This is before starting to write, you see. Completely sober. Just really clear.

So, I began the work, and was done by the noon hour.

I called the book up on the deeply awake site, got some coffee, and settled in to read the thing, beginning to end.

I cried, I laughed, I was surprised, I re-read certain passages, I aid, “Oh that’s just so beautiful.” I fell in love with it, at my kitchen table, loving each of the characters, noting where my brain got caught, in grammar or semantics or spelling, but I tried my best to silence that inner editor, and just read through it sort of gliding, allowing it to shake and wobble at certain spots.

So what.

It’s a first draft.

I fell in love with it, and this is all wrapped up with having fallen in deeper and deeper, well, love I guess is the word we’re using for this, with myself, through the morning. This is what pushed the project home.

Tonight I have more money than I had at the start of the day. A generous benefactor wired me a gift, and my ex slipped me a little cash. I have enough, I am rich now, compared to twelve hours ago, and I know what I have done is good.

I spent my Deeply Awake time arguing with myself, with my disbelief. I hit summits of consciousness, and wrote from there, chronicled dreams and meditations, fears and disappointments, losses and change Its part of the tapestry of life. I can tell you, the weave has changed in mine, but this does not negate the transformative power of the suffering each of us has known, if we have been paying attention, if we have been willing to see.

It had been hard here, and each of us should be in deep honor for having survived as lightworkers even when the place had gone pitch black.

Kryon said something in one of his lectures that spooked me. I knew it was true. I had been having odd revelations about merkahbahs and angels and meteors. And then, in a tape from I think February of 2012, he talked about “a visitor”, a piece of space debris, a comet, or something, that had “visited” our planet, found a “sweet spot” which didn’t interfere with any satellite equipment. Kryon said that he wanted to have us think about something for a minute.

He said, there had been prophecies, the energy we had all been born under, long-held writings by sages who had predicted the end of the world. And there was an ancient one which said that by the time the visitor entered our skies in 2012, there would be no human life of the planet.

He said, this is what you have changed.

You can call it messianic, or nihilistic, but, how do you argue with something you know is true, because you can feel, from within to without, that it is true? I have long obeyed this language, known there was something else being said all the time, a web connecting it all together, a web of magic and connection and synchronicity, and symmetry.

And I knew it, could see it, when he talked about that close pass, could feel the stillness of the planet saw how its colors had changed, felt the end of a grand opportunity.

I think there are some of us coded to this, who went through other bottlenecks, other times when we knew we had to throw in the towel, had gone too far afield, had misunderstood, or needed to mix it up.

And here we are. We said yes, we are ready, and it began. And now, nearly at the end of this first year of new energy, here we are.

And now ISON, our prophesied blue star, and the weirdly shaped presumed asteroid hanging out in the heavens, and something about the 28th. I keep getting that the 28th will be a day for the books. I never know how that sort of message is going to play out, but I can already feel myself just internally aware of it, anticipating it, holding a sense of excitement and giddy happiness. I do remember the sensations I got, when I saw the photos of how ISON had turned blue.

These visitors, now, they are special. They are expected. When I saw that image for the first time, I remembered what The Teachers had taught me. That there would be a sign. A star. Around Christmas time. And it would be understood, just known, that something extraordinary was occurring. We would all know it. I felt those words, that personal prophecy, gazing at that photo. Our friend. My friend. Finally here. We did it.

Rather than any of the bleak things that could have happened, this is what we have done. It is real. We are awakened, and more so every day. It is an internally validating thing. It builds on itself, and the end product is rock solid, unshakable knowing of one’s worth. An amazing process, really. And we did it! We all did it!

I look back at the tremendous shifts and the healing I have known this year. It is phenomenal. Completion of karma. Laying down of old energy. Hard resets. Unplugging from old patterns, seeing old habits fall away, habits of thought, and feeling, and expectation.

But to come here, to this date, and find that now, I have no more questions, no more fight left, and feel no need to argue against this light anymore.

Today, late, as the sun was setting, it dawned on me I was having a very roomy moment. Gone were the worries I carried so fervently just yesterday, chanting again and again, “I won’t have enough,” tussling with the panic.

I knew, heard, yesterday, that I was exiting a portal, and this was a final test, of sorts. It would be the last time ti would be so severe, I understood. And the panic did recede, once I imagined the things I have had success imagining, but mainly, it was just knowing that this was at its end, that helped.

Writing about this passage has helped, because I can see there were disparate elements at work. This includes a call, today, from the Hay House Self Publishing rep I have been talking to. It told her I hoped she was ok with my seeing such significance to her calls, the timing of them, the connection we seemed to share.

She told me I had sort of inspired her, after our last talk, and she’d gotten her guitar back out, and had written ten songs. She said me telling her about my devotion to this act of creativity had her reach, and she was putting together a band now.

I told her that I think everything would be happening by the 12th, once she oriented me to the fact it was November. I sat there, at the kitchen table, and I felt stunned. December is just days away? You mean, the solstice is almost here???

Amazing. Snapping back to linear time. I thought about how far we have all come, how different things are now than just a year ago, and asked my friend to call in a couple weeks. I told her that I felt things were about to bust open, but, you know, things change, so, two weeks.

I can feel it. I can feel things lining up. It is incremental. It is. I saw my word count go up, day after day, because I did it in increments.

That old anger has gone from me, and I feel no futility. I feel capable, and this is because I examined everything, remained dissuaded, unwilling to own it, live it, claim it and be it. Why? I have theories, but these are things which only the most tenderhearted will ever know. There are some things I share with only a few.

What’s done is done, and all of it seems just a bit flat, at this point. I think now about the thing that used to just psyche me out, a job interview, and now I hold no fear. The things that happen in the workplace, all the indignities and invasions and presumptions that employers make about employees, the scare tactics and power plays and exercises in terrible judgment, I’ll let it ride, and take it all with a grain of salt. I’ll find a job, a good one, solid and stable, now, and do so without fear in my heart, no worries about getting found out, and believing whatever anyone thinks is the truth about me.

It’s a coalescence of many things, many aspects of a life that was lived earnestly, seeking god, always seeking answers, never really convinced it was anything but a chemical imbalance, something that would keep me alone and poor and friendless. But somehow, I hung on, and today, I’ll end with this. Today, my friend Diane, who has been weirdly resistant to all of this, she sent me an email, a link to a youtube video, from the Pleiadian High Council, about what is happening energetically, soulically.

And then, I watched an 11-minute video of my hero, Russell Brand. It was beautifully edited. Russell talked about a shining moment in meditation he had, and it sounded like what I experienced on Christmas Eve. An experience that is beyond dispute, that it is all divine, benevolent and loving, what holds it all together, the glue between the molecules, It’s love. And we are made of it, you and me. Loved by it. Approved by it.

It makes squawking about writing a book seem like a frill, a detail, and a nice, if overdramatic pursuit. It takes the drama out of everything, set everything right, and allows a lighter heart, as I go through the steps which will make, in the end, more beauty.

Just as each meditation and essay last year helped to build Deeply Awake, fifty thousand words had to be written, character by character, to make Patrick come alive.

Although I remember the frustration with this process, and I honor the wisdom informing it, it is a warped interpretation of the data, running the truth through slippery belief structures that no longer hold up.

I did mirror work today, something I enjoy now, but used to feel uncomfortable doing. I’ve always seen blazing intelligence, impatience, wickedly sharp humor, and a kind countenance in the mirror, today I aw someone who is unconcerned if these qualities are ever seen in me by another.

And as I owned this, that I am enough for me, and I am whole, divine and beautiful, right now, right here, looking like this, as imperfect as I may appear, I felt a shimmery solidification. I saw my body as glowing, involuntarily so, and I understood that it is true, it is true, we are made of light.

I’ve gone very far today, without leaving my apartment. I did pick up my son tonight, and he agreed to my reading him Patrick as he lay in bed. We got to Chapter Ten, and he said he was ready to sleep. I asked him what the thought, and he said,
“Mom, you’re going to be a millionaire.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said.
“I think you already are a millionaire, but the money hasn’t come to you yet.”

Then he said, “James Patterson is a 99, and you’re about a 96. You should use more metaphors and similes.”

He fell asleep soon after these words, and I use them to close. A little boy of 13, son to a woman who is not like other moms, and he has such high praise. I felt like a little kid getting hugged and congratulated by a parent, and I felt like a mom being unconditionally loved by her son, and I felt like a writer who’d just discovered a fan.

I didn’t think I could write a novel, because being so close to characters would drive me into madness, I’d never return, like a non-drug induced trip from which you never return.

Writing instead became a process of integration, of seeing actual slivers of myself come alive, make decisions, act congruently, for them. I saw how big I’d been thinking, how small my life had been, and held such deep compassion for the boredom and humility I’d known as a nurse, wondering as I thought about the subplots and character voice, how it was that I’d managed to sane not writing fiction.

It hadn’t been time, now it is.

I am so grateful I finally have permission to speak.

Deeply Awake — In A State Such As This 11-22-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — In A State Such As This 11-22-13 By Kathy Vik

When writing Deeply Awake, oftentimes I thought of myself as a bit of a spiritual reporter, someone who liked going down rabbit holes, and sending notes, in pails, up the the surface now and then.

I feel that way again, now, but this is something new, something different, I feel freer, now. I am now, thankfully, without my faithful companion, doubt.

I puzzled over all of this so much, because it mattered to me. I did not speak of it freely, not at all, during most of my time here, just because, I needed to make sure I had it right. I would balk at seers and bloggers who speak with crashing authority, but still in highly linear terms, still bending low to gods, still looking at self and coming up short, and being mad about it.

I would read some folks, and just be floored at their arrogance. It used to crush me, that I didn’t have their marketing skills, but, there it is, the idea of selling this stuff, holing it hostage for a few rectangular, quite ugly, pieces of paper, or zeroes in a bank account. So, I did the poor me thing, but, riding along with it, always, was this sense that they didn’t have things quite as sussed as they should, before opening for business.

That is a gloomy way to live, and I stopped thinking that way. Although I think the way UFO stuff has been interpreted is pretty dark, how full it remains of creepy duality, intrigue, mystery. Men have warped truth into monsters that eat human flesh and do science experiments on us like lab rats. It’s pretty dark, a lot of it.

But to me, that’s just an interpretation, an understandable one, but laughable. Are there lesser, darker beings here along with us? Maybe. But I have seen people who have given themselves over to darkness, and they can get pretty nightmarish, without scales or putrid smells. I am done with thinking anything but that I will probably be surprised at how huge, and clever, and amazing it is, once the galactic piece is clearer. But it’s just the god-the-father overlay to think that galactics are among us, unless you want to consider those of us who know we aren’t from around here.

You see, I just had an amazing experience, and it is this that I need to cement, make real, and hold a light on, for all time.

I drove home this morning after dropping Sam off at school, and as I drove home, I could not access one bad thought. Not one worry, no anxiety. It was all real solid, a good, grounded happiness, not thin and cute, but strong and sturdy, this happiness. A great fondness for myself, I think, is what was its strongest generator. I thought good thoughts, not trying to, they just came.

I remember driving by a house, and there was a “For Sale” sign on the front lawn. I imagined moving in there, and realized it would feel too fussy for me. I need funky. And with that, I was off, imagining where we are going to live, and, you know, now, it feels very immediate. I have felt that the last two days. Immediate change. I can’t imagine how that could happen, so it seems odd and sort of erroneous, but it also feels really, really good.

So, I hung with those thoughts, and it was all sweetness and light, all the way home. I came home and continued some correspondence, checked out the web. I found a Kryon post on the feed, and that is highly irregular, so I read it.

Here is the link to this info on Kryon’s own website:

It was The Recalibration of Self Part I, and it spoke to me about light and dark, and about ascension, I think, but there were two or three themes that I had needed to hear, but hearing them (reading them, I mean), I started to get a brain itch, a need, a restlessness.

I needed to go to the Kryon site. I needed to check this year. I scrolled, but knew that’s not where I needed to go. I scrolled back up, and felt I needed to listen to The Ascended Doors of the DNA. I listened to the pre-party, liked it, started to feel good, kept playing my restaurant game on my phone.

Then the big event came, and, within a few minutes, the phone was down, the glasses were off, and I was with him, them, away, getting helped.

Four doors, they explained, four doors which we can’t open yet, because it’s not time, spoken in February of 2013.

I understood, from the first few sentences, I was needed in front of my computer this morning. It was necessary for me to have heard that today. I needed, wanted confirmation, and now, thanks to Lee Carroll, Kryon, and me, I have it.

The information is still too abstracted within me to stretch out and discuss, point by point. As I listened, I thought, I don’t need to, don’t want to, no need to share what I think I have done. Those who read me know, I kept realizing. Those who read me will know, some of them. They will understand. And they will know, only because they are also aware of what I am aware of.

What I know comes through this writing, has informed it and enlivened it. What I know now was just a doubt, for many, many years. The pain this doubt created was excruciating. The waiting was really hard. Let’s just be honest about this.

I understand that what I know is new to the age, but it is so old, so revered, and so comprehensive. I feel a bone connection to places I no longer long for, know are within my breath, inside my heart, waiting on my tongue, for the words, said in peace and reverence, for a remembering of what is real.

How magnificent, that the wonderful feeling I felt while looking out of my window at the mountains, while Kryon was talking, it is still here. Still feeling like it’s now something I am wearing, but inside my skin, something I can feel from the inside, coming from everything.

We know that had we talked like this only five years ago, well, it just wasn’t time for it, was it? It has only been the last several weeks that I have been feeling very different, very expanded, easily remembering things, bigger things, upon awakening, not having to dig myself out of a huge pile of pain to get to the truth of it, to start feeling good again.

It’s as if the things that used to just break my heart, just fill me with a poignant feeling of imperfection, that is gone. It’s just gone. The sad feeling I used to carry with me, that there is no point, that’s gone too. There is no futility. There is no futility. There is no futility.

Do you have any idea how revolutionary this is, coming for me? Do you have any idea how depressed and full of despair I was, most of my life? Filtering through to me, on the happiest of occasions, was a weird sort of doom feeling, that things aren’t right, and may never be right. That’s sort of how I felt, most of the time.

How odd to find out that this is actually not so far from how things could have gone. My teachers, when they explained about ascension, it was rarely about the mechanics of personality structure. They talked about how things really are. That ascension is how planets evolve. That it is normal and beautiful, it is sacred and it is complex, and it is possible to understand. It is real, and it’s ok to feel these things so deeply. It’s ok to remember.

Although I am happy to think of my larger self as Pleadian, I will tell you, I think that is pretty limiting. I was told I came from Antares, one night, in the parking lot of a hospital, on my smoke break. A red flash. I kept hearing “Quasar,” and I googled it and learned about space stuff right after that, but I have no idea if Antares turned into a quasar, or I am from somewhere else.

Does it matter? They’re details. They are riding along with me, and I don’t access that stuff by pondering what color my skin is on other worlds, I get there by knowing that I have lives going on, right now, on faraway galaxies, and we are connected with my consciousness and heart. I can join in as much as I want. They’d like that. But it’s all up to me, and this DNA of mine.

What we are capable of imagining is a result of how our DNA is functioning. This is a time of massive DNA acceleration, for those who have spoken their intent for it. Mine was spoken long ago. This is why I am here. Everything else is details. My sister knows of this madness, and we rarely speak of it, but one day, on the way home from Central City, she asked me what I thought my purpose was. Without hesitation, with a clarity that frankly surprised me, I said, “Ascension.”

it’s all that has mattered, and although I got as hung up as the next person on who likes me and who doesn’t, all that old stuff just feels like fussy filigree. It’s just fading into a blur, and it really just doesn’t matter.

I have always felt that if I am not putting people at their ease, I am bad. And I think that is only a dysfunctional stance when I surrounded myself with people who could not, would not, simply refused to do anything but criticism, hate, fear, name call, minimize, resent me, their circumstances, their government, themselves.

It’s only really stupid to love when those around you prefer punishing such behavior.

I learned early to hide my light, and to expect brutality from people who said they loved me. That goes for employers, lovers, friends, family. The whole lot of it.

But those were different times, you see? There have been upgrades, changes, beautifications, all along the way, but just like the 100th strawberry, sometimes it just takes a perfect moment for things to turn. In this case, they have turned sweeter, more gentle, more recognizable.

I know that these ascended doors open slowly. I saw, while listening, how my summer and fall were the opening of the never alone door. I am not alone. I am comfortable with my multiplicity. I am beginning to sense my imprint.

I want to dwell within the light that was given to me on Christmas Eve, all golden and liquid intelligence, true recognition of how much everyone loves each other, understanding how I am physically constructed out of love, benevolence, creativity, source. It was something I want to know all the time, and like that, a moving golden take-your-breath-away reality. Where I could see into other galaxies, or at my son’s hair, flittering in the air the heater spat out.

I’d like to be able to materialize things in my hands, heal infirmities, channel 24/7. I’d like all of that. I was told at a young age that this sort of love, loving everything, seeing everything as creator, this would be what I would have. I thought it seemed like a good goal.

Growing up was hard, being an adult, in this timeline, not easy either, but here’s the thing. I look back on the challenges, and I can’t feel the pain anymore. It’s not there. I see the sense, the timing, the way x moved me to z, but I grieve nothing. And neither, in this state, do I fear anything in the future. It is an impossibility, here. Not a faux pas, an impossibility.

As I have said from the beginning, I do not know how long I will be able to sustain this, and so, I am writing about it, to capture what this is like, so I can remember. I try to be clear, use anchors I can remember, and I worry this has been yet another cryptic essay, rather than being a song of celebration.

However it comes off, it’s ok by me. I know I will be helped if I read it again, and, like all of these essays, I don’t doubt there are other messages, coded within, ready to bump into me and wake me up, if I do re-read.

I know this isn’t for everyone, and that’s more than fine. Not everybody wants to think or live the way I do. No biggie.

But with the change comes the hope for the future. Those who cannot act and think and be in their love, those who must fear, and must drink its koolaid to feel “normal,” those days are done. It’s over. It’s just so over.

And when the young ones come in, they’re the ones who passed away clinging to old ways, the old energy still their only yardstick. But everything changes, in this new energy, within the DNA there are changes, now, and these changes will ease the burdens of the ones so set to carry them for eternity. T

he burdens of fear and anxiety and worry, of separation and suspicion and derision, they are ended. These are weak constructs, and they will fall, and from here on out, those who come back in have a new set of rules to start off with.

And you know how this came about? People like you and me. People who found no satisfaction with dogma, but were drawn to spiritual things. And many who pursued none of them this lifetime, just holding that high energy, on vacation. But, I think I want to pat you on the back today, actually.

High consciousness, to me, is loving consciousness. Inclusive, merciful, imaginative, funny, often times, but at its base, it is generous kindness. Benevolence. This is the mark of a master, for me, and also, mental health.

I grew up around mental illness, and have practiced as a psych nurse. I only have one definition of mental illness. Those who are intentionally mean, they are the craziest. Who dip into the crazy well over and over, and deliver insult after insult to one’s being, those are the crazy ones.

Mental health is seeing things whole, seeing people as more than they present, being willing to guide and teach, and even to admonish, as necessary, but only with great great love, and this sort of person is patient. More patient than they should be. I’ve had many people in my life like that, and I am blessed for having known each of them.

What has steadied me, from time to time, when things have been bad, is knowing that there is always going to be a way to change whatever is in front of me. Nothing stays the same. What was science fiction is not fact, what was once uncomfortable can be mended, and no one turns down love unless they are having problems understanding their own magnificence.

I am no one’s critic, no one’s enemy, and everyone’s friend. I mean no harm, and know that I am unable to do harm. It’s not in me anymore. If I feel I am off the mark with someone, I make it right immediately.

Folks didn’t know what to do with me, because I would call or revisit them and tell them I was sorry, for something they failed to notice. Some snag in the conversation, where I thought I’d missed an opportunity to be clear, or kind, or more gentle or thoughtful.

I felt, after Deeply Awake was finally done, that I would need expository writing less, or that it would morph. It has changed, in cadence and complexity, and, I hope, in tone. I revisited sad things, yes, that’s true, but it was a final foray into that land. I think it Is well past time to stop resurrecting the things that were hard, and to cherish that I understand, now, why they were hard, and I love it all now, so it’s really ok, whatever transpired.

I heard the admonition, to be quiet about this, from Kryon, and maybe that’s a poor translation of what was being communicated, run through a filter of mine I had lying about, or maybe he did say to be in silence. To show your mastery by giving silence. If you know all things, he said, then it becomes unnecessary to tell anyone anything.

And that’s where I want to be. I really do, but, you see, I have this need to speak. I know I must, and that this feels best, not channeling, and not fiction, but exposition, yet again, today.

Because where I have been, what I have seen, today, it is a joyful and completely unspeakable place. The word god is a misnomer, a shiny marble, a pretty bauble. Source, Creator, That which I know but cannot name, that golden light and benevolent person, this is my god, unnameable, unending, and I am part of it. Imagine such a thing. It is here, tapping on this keyboard, eating a twinkie, smoking. Imagine such a thing!

It is fitting to write to you about such awarenesses. In such a state. In a state such as this.

Thank you for reading along, my dear friend.

Deeply Awake — Seeing Through My Soul’s Eyes, Now And Forever By Kathy Vik 1-30-18

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Deeply Awake — Seeing Through My Soul’s Eyes, Now And Forever By Kathy Vik 1-30-18

In celebration of an anniversary of an unbelievable, bizarre and final event that occurred a year ago. This is a soft, intense and highly esoteric tape, well sculpted and highly visual in its language.

I hope you enjoy this offering, about galactic awareness, contained within a physical consciousness, expressed and understood in daily life.






Magenta Pixie’s Offering about The Bird Tribe:

Background Music provided by:



Today, I am also including a nearly 2 year old video’d channeling and my website’s description of this transmission. I am including this because it feels appropriate to the recent work I have been doing, and because I found it very soothing and informative.


Deeply Awake — Finished With Karma 10-17-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — Finished With Karma 10-17-13 By Kathy Vik

This morning I saw a facebook post of a picture of a middle aged woman in a shorts uniform, smiling. The caption explained that this woman had always wanted to work at a well-known outdoor theme park, and here she was, being photographed in her new uniform. Her son was old enough now, and she finally got what she had always wanted, and they were celebrating her.

I thought about how this woman is looking at the camera, having realized one of her dreams. I commented with congratulations, and I smiled at her face, thinking happy, or, actually, joyous thoughts to her and her family. Right on.

And then I thought, see, this is the mystery and fun of it all. Us hearing the siren song of our hearts, recognizing that which lights us up from the inside, and then pursuing it, and then snapping a picture, to capture that moment, a moment of relaxing in things coming together.

She probably had a lot of those moments, the birth of her child, maybe her wedding day, maybe a new house. Lots of milestones, lots of dreams come true, lots of things that the younger version of her wanted, sought out, prayed for, and then delighted in.

That her dream involved sweating in the sun in an amusement park, is that any less creative than me, banging away on a computer in my jammies? We all have things we are proud of accomplishing, as odd or funny as they may appear to others. The only kind thing to do is to encourage each other’s dreams and needs, just as odd as they may appear to us.

I was in deep samadhi when I arrived at kirtan last night. Very expanded. Very expanded. I was ready.

I sat in that first silence and told my loved ones I would like a miracle. Something I will always remember, something surprising and something that would delight me. I intend to experience a full-on miracle.

I went many places and learned many things last night. There is not enough paper, coffee or smokes today to go through each of them, and I held a happy feeling about that in kirtan. I realized I couldn’t encapsulate what was happening, and it strangely did not matter to me anymore.

I have been describing, blow by blow, what this has been like, to turn on, to stay lit, to find and maintain a center which cannot be disturbed, and a peace which cannot be broken.

Now, it has become the fabric of my life, much like depression, futility, doubt, used to be my raiment.

The highlight came, for me, when I realized that I was running bent, my energy bent, still. I thought on the meditation I had had, showing me the energetic circuit of how we have interpreted energy, as a species, for a long, long time. Bending to the heart of another, running our light through another, tricking ourselves into thinking that the other is the source of our good, our light, our happiness, safety, meaning, identity.

And in ecstatic meditation, I came to see that, although I do run very strong, so strong the light is that it crackles, honestly, I can hear and feel it pop when it really hits a certain pitch, but, there it was, I was looking more like a flower than a column. I saw areas where I was bending low, and areas where I was spiky, sort of projecting my energy out in a harsh, almost knife-like way.

I did not want to do that anymore. I wanted consolidation of this light, and I decided I did not want to peel any light off, into others, into beliefs which are not sturdy.

So I looked at the areas in which I do that, there in meditation.

Compartmentalized, just as pretty as you please, was me, as girl-wanting-a-date, bending low to male energy, doing the dance I was taught at my mother’s hemline, please the other, please the other, please the other.

It was less a habit and more a survival technique in my house, and I carried that pattern with me until last night.

I don’t fault anyone for having taught me this, and I don’t think bad thoughts about me having adopted this stance as a valid and necessary one. But looking at it last night, I brought it in, pulled up that leaf, that energy, and kept seeing me running my light up and down. When I got into the groove, I could feel a difference in how I was running. I felt better. Calmer. More confident.

Then, one by one, I brought each person to me who is significant to me this lifetime, now. I spoke with each of them intimately, and I asked for their forgiveness. I could see where I had been very judgmental, and as I cried and smiled and chanted, I released each and every one of them, once again, but now, strangely, for all time, to go be happy. With or without me, please, you are released, seek your light, I love you.

And then, I realized I had been making a bit of an energetic mistake with this writing career.

I have aggrandized it, symbolized and obsessed over it for so long. Decades. Decades.

And so, I brought it up. Me, the visions I have had, all of it. The feeling states, the smell of paper and the crack of new hardback books being opened for the first time. Travel, adventure, all of it. I brought it up, and I had one last talk.

I realized that I have made the mistake of walking with my desire, rather than having released it to the ethers. The Teachers taught us that to manifest, you bring up what it is you want, especially the feeling state, don’t focus on visuals, and then you inhabit it, and THEN YOU LET IT GO. I had forgotten that part. You have to let it go.

It then travels to where potential lie, and everybody gets to work. You let it go, knowing it will return to you, perhaps not in the same form, but always, always with a prayer. So I held up my love, the one which has been playing hide and seek with me all this time, and I felt it.

I could see it, feel it, taste it, there, in the living room.

And I told it, I release you. I ask that the outcome be of the highest love, light and sound for all involved, in gentleness to all parts of self, in every dimension, level and frequency.

And I then felt like that swirling tornado energy, but clear. I asked the manifestation to return to me, to my physical fields, in divine timing. It had dispersed, with the prayer of release, and as I said the final words, I could see bits of it, like shiny, colorful pieces of something, coming back into my energetic fields, swirling, not physical, just bits, glinting there.

I think it felt as much relief as I did, to be released.

And then, the light came. I could feel a bright shiny silver light come to me, one that was brand new. I then felt all of those lotuses, right there, and then, I got all of them spinning, and there, in my body, from collarbone to pelvis, spun a translucent, blinding tetrahedron.

I was told, and it was a cooperative telling, that my karma was gone. I had been working on this for a really long time, and got rid of many many of the overlays, but, this last bit, I felt, now, fundamentally different.

I realized in the car, that this involves changing behavior.

I remembered then a time, when I was in my early teens, that I had a high fever for a number of days, and mentioned to my mom that I was not in my body, but was watching, completely detached, from a spot on the ceiling.

This was a real honest to god thing.

After many days, mom took me to the doctor. Non-plussed, the doctor suggested psychiatric hospitalization. Mom thought he was crazy, but she still had a daughter on her hands who was completely absent. I mean, I could wipe myself and feed myself and talk and stuff, but I wasn’t in my body. It was weird.

I realized that this was the first of probably many upgrades that I have had in my life. Times when more of me could, need to, come in and take over, so to speak. I have long considered my life a relay race of sorts, parts of me surfacing to do what must and can be done. This level of consciousness could not have been maintained in that body at thirteen, at 30, at 50.

More and more has come through, more and more, as I have been ready. That I had a fugue experience to get there, one time, well, it’s not all that uncommon. Dolores Cannon has many books out there with such descriptions, of the bigger soul not being able to inhabit all at once. The energy would have been too much for the biology.

I like the idea of gaining more and more ability to just hold my own light, and I like the idea that karma, as I was told in kirtan, my karma is clear. It is over. I thought I had done it, previously, and much had been discharged, but there were still overlays, still issues. Last night was another milestone.

What I have realized is that after a fugue state, or after a few years in the desert when everything is flat and gray, there is a change in behavior. That which used to appear daunting becomes that which is necessary and doable. That which used to hold no fascination, or tons of fear, is suddenly accessible.

So, this morning, I realized that part of this process is to effect change, here in the physical.

I do not consider the time I have spent on this project a waste, or an act of vanity. It was an act of survival, or self-worth and of skill. I am proud of what I have done. And now, it feels as if things must change for me in my life.

One night, two weeks ago, after being canceled for work and having nothing to do, I found my way to the neighborhood Starbucks. I had an idea for a movie, or a book, or something, and I needed to write it out, get an overview down on paper, of the characters and what they were going to do, discover and turn into.

I sat there in the parking lot, and I can remember just like it is happening all over, I remember that I could SEE INTO the story. I saw it all come together, and I delighted in it. I was shaking, you know? I could see all the way through the idea, and it felt solid, good, fun. I understood the cadence of the work the voice, the objective, and the journey. I did not get out of the car, get a chai and start writing. I turned the car over, drove home and did whatever. But I did not pursue my vision. I let it be.

I now realize that this is the idea I want to develop during NaNoWriMo. It is something that happens once a year. Writers all over the world set November aside to write a novel in one month. It’s a lot of fun, lots of writing groups all over Denver, lots of fun, lots of fun.

I secretly rankled at the thing though, before, because I had no interest in fiction. None. Why make up people who are confused and lost, who find realization in the last twenty pages? I have that going on in my life. I don’t want to read about it, and I certainly do not want to write about it.

So, there in my car, I saw that this is a newer structure of novel writing. I saw characters who, out of the gate, were clear, joyous, benign, funny, and how this could be a hell of a ride.

So, at the end of this month, I will do NaNoWriMo once again, and this time, I feel confident that I can break through, make a work of fiction even I would enjoy.

I crank out more wordage than will be necessary, so I have no doubt I will be able to accomplish this, but it is a new thing.

I will post the entries here, and we will watch the thing expand together. It may suck, and you may never want to read another word I write, but, that is ok too. It sounds like fun.

The last few days, I have been hearing this voice, very non-judgmental, very kind, telling me, you know, your life is not very balanced right now.

And that is true. What was once perfection is now a bit wobbly, and this is, I think, because I have outgrown the last bit. Like those other times, when I was one thing, and then I morphed into something else, again, I am morphing.

Karma, to me, is my set up. It is my set of agreements. It is who and what I decided to bend to, see as my good, see as more powerful or more good or more competent than me. Karma, for me, is what the set up is, the internal rules of the road. It is what makes someone believe getting a job in a zoo is the height of attainment, and another setting off for a foreign country to study or live.

I like what Kryon says about karma, that it is that which is closest to us, the invisible stuff, the stuff that we take for granted, which pulls us this way or that, which makes it somehow impossible for us to do certain things, or to resist certain things.

But karma is a rather low-level agreement field, simply because it is without thinking, it is entwined in unexamined thoughts and unexplored reactions.

If I am free, completely free, in this moment, to do and say and act in any way I wish, consciously and purposefully, how much karma can I be playing out? If I can examine compassionately, any passion play going on around me, and see things whole, see the sense of abuse, the beauty of rejection, the perfection in union and the quiet rightness of self, how many patterns of behavior or relationship will I really need to engage in?

Cannon, Kryon, many sources tell us that karma is something which can be laid down. It is not necessary, and it is, at a certain point, an encumbrance, something that can really gum up the works.

Without it, though, one is free to do and say and act in any way at all. No compulsions. No unconscious patterns repeated again and again in our lives until we get the point.

I don’t know, I think maybe the definition of karma needs to be reworked.

Kryon goes on to say that the next level up from karma is contracts, and he urges us to drop them. Let your contract be written a day at a time, he says. Let your contract be your awareness, and let that which you do be that which you are.

Contracts, he intimates, are what we do to feel as if we are accomplishing something here. It’s quite unnecessary, but it’s fine to engage in. his point, I think, is to help us get beyond this notion that we HAVE TO do anything. We don’t. We are to BE, not DO, and to feel as if what we do is somehow ordained or agreed upon, ok, but don’t let it define you, I think is what I hear him say.

There is not lifetime contract to be sick, to suffer, to be poor, to be alone. It’s just not true. We did not come here to suffer. We came here to shine. And thinking that suffering is your contract, Kryon says, it is best to reexamine this belief, and challenge it.

So what lies beyond this? If I have no instinctual engine telling me to avoid this and go there instead? If I have given up this notion that I am here to do anything, anything at all, what is left?

The Teachers told me that yesterday they called it luck, today it is called synchronicity, and tomorrow it will be known as skill. I think my own wish is to consciously co-create, and to accept what is in my reality now as my deepest thoughts and beliefs made manifest, for my review, my delight, or my alternation. I think that would be, is, a fine life.

This implies getting one’s will under conscious control, in the end. It requires knowing why, and being able to tolerate an honest answer. And I know I am there. I know it.

Last night, I felt the mantle again. A shining, glowing garment, no sleeves, shiny, pretty, placed on me, with smiles it was given, and I could feel its power.

It comes to knowing that every moment, each and every moment, I am stepping off into an unknown, of sorts, and can handle it. It means that I am no longer hostile to my own beliefs, and have the courage and willingness to instead examine them, and then discard or keep them, as I see fit. It means that I am ok with knowing that what I create is good, and affects those around me with good.

It means, too, that I am living in a land of miracles. Open to being surprised, and knowing, now, that I am strong, and compassionate enough to love myself through it all, all of it loved, all of it recognized as emanations, divine emanations from a source which can see longer, and does not have the overlay of linearity to slow it down.

It occurred to me last night, while locking the front door, that defensiveness is the state of resisting that which one knows is true, and it is the state of dissonance created when one is holding a thought which one knows is untrue.

Today I understand that defiance and depression, these are symptoms of resisting that which one believes to be unchangeable and unacceptable about self, or of circumstance. Believing something is unchangeable and also intolerable. That is not a fun place to be. It is where a lot of folks dwell. It used to be my address.

If I have gotten rid of karma, then is anything unchangeable? If I have voided my contracts, what exactly could possibly be intolerable and also compulsory?


I’ll finish this with my miracle. I asked for one at the start of kirtan. I thought that the raiment thing, the star of David thing, and some other stuff that happened, I thought those were my miracles. I thought seeing stuff so clearly, dancing with Ganesha, and then physically turning into him, I thought that was my miracle.

And then, near the end of our time, the leader took a moment to talk about his experience. He talked about Ram Das, and he talked about his own walk. He had an experience like I have, and it happened in his late teens. He described it a little. And he said that it has just been lately that he has come back to his illuminating moment, and has begun to interpret it and live it in brand new ways now.

He sat there smiling, speaking with his eyes shut, telling of his experience, in a silent and expectant group of friends, but folks who usually don’t even stick around afterward. We get so intimate in kirtan, and then, when it is over, each of us walk to our cars, and drive into the night, into homes where our loved ones ask how it went.

I understood this was my miracle.

I went up to him at the end of it, and I told him that I found it a beautiful and encouraging thing, for him to talk about his experience so honestly. I told him I don’t know what circles you hang with, and maybe in your circle it’s cool to talk so openly, but it is not my experience, and so for someone to speak so honestly about something I have never heard another living soul discuss, this was big for me. I told him that I knew I was not the only one, but in my reality, I was the only one, so thank you, thank you for helping me see I am truly among friends.

It was just moving one step closer. I smiled on the way home, thinking that it was just on Sunday that I’d had my first realization, physically so, that I am going to now meet family, that my family is here now, awake, and I am now going to physically be meeting them. No longer an ache, no longer a longing, no, here they are, and they are in the flesh, and they are just like me.

Funny, that is what one of them told me as I’d been chanting, before the leader revealed his truth. I looked at the glittering altar, the friendly, rapt faces, and I understood in my body that here is a profound culture which takes as written that god is within, that there are as many ways to god as there are faces of god, and that living in integrity, and in joy, and in contemplation and duty and serve and love, these are ways to god. No bending required, in this set up.

I have come to peace with the truth of it. I resonate with Hinduism because I have spent most of my awake time in India. Part of me is there now, alive, ascended. I resonate with it because I remember and cherish it. I know the chants, and I am always deep in soul recognition when I go to kirtan. I am home there, and it’s nice to be home. It is temporal, it is imperfect, but it is home. And I am not the only one.

I looked at the pictures on the altar of loved masters. I settled on a framed photo of Hunaman’s face, and realized, heck, in that culture, being someone like me is just another day at the beach. Being self-realized is a goal, something to work toward, and stewarding one’s awareness, it is sort of an expectation, instead of something to feel ashamed of.

I smiled, laughed, realizing I am so not special. I am just one of so many who understand some things, that’s all. But, bottom line, I am not alone, not all that special, and I am not as far as some, on this path. It felt good, really good, not denigrating, these thoughts. Always has eased me, thinking on India, realizing that there is a culture her on earth which accepts the spiritual seeker, venerates the seeker, and loves the one who has found what they were searching for.

The leader said that here in America, wherever Ram Das showed up, so did others. They would just show up.

That stuck with me.

And after I told the leader of my gratitude and joy in his sharing, do you know what he did?

He said thank you, and moved on to other things.


Here I am, understanding that I am just now exiting my immersion tank, and the first one to greet me as I am toweling off, has nothing but a thank you for me.

How is this possible, I wondered, on the drive home?

Why does Ram Das have folks showing up out of the woodwork (nothing I would sign up for, btw), and me, I can’t even get a conversation going with a family member?

It spread, this question, to every area in my life where I feel there is no permission from folks to just be, no spark of brotherly recognition.

I think, too often in this culture, these sorts of feelings are sexualized and then struggled against. I am not asking the leader on a date, or for his hand in marriage. I am saying hi, and still, the door is closed.


But this is a pattern in my life, maybe a karmic one, maybe a simple energetic one, but evident throughout, all the same. It is evidenced in this writing not getting the play it deserves. It is evident in my family unit, my work life, everywhere, and I drove home then, so grateful, so very very grateful for those in my life who welcome me and love me just as I am.

I drove home asking, why the rejection, and can I please just be done with this?

What I heard was, you just have to keep pushing on doors, that’s all.

When I present myself to someone and then feel absolutely no permission to come inside, see no evidence of meanness but no evidence of homecoming, then that is a door that I need to just take my hand from, and I need to move on.

Pushing on doors. Letting synchronicity come.

But there is a new thought, now that Kryon is exploring for us, and I will end with it.

In his last tape he is explaining that planned synchronicity is where we are headed. This is a marriage of intuition with the innate, it is seeing things using spiritual logic, and it is more than trust, more than faith, more than planning and dreaming.

It is seeing things so clearly that you understand where things must head, what must, inevitably occur. You may not know how, and that is the journey. But you do know that which you know, and that is all you really need to know.

It is a curious thing, that I have always had the capacity to feel potentials, and people, as I greet them. I can feel their level of permission, and sometimes the biggest things they are struggling with. I can feel mismatches of energy, and I can feel people’s hearts. As such, I am an expert nurse, a wonderful negotiator, and a trusted friend. I don’t judge what I see, but I do see it, and it feels certain ways. Feeling it is not the same thing as judging it as good or bad, right or wrong.

And I could feel potentials with this leader, as I have been able to feel potentials around others who have surprisingly become significant to me as I mature. So, this is what confounds me, and disheartens me. I can feel things whole. At least my version of them. I can see great friendships, happy moments, and I can feel a whole lifetime stretch out when I consider some folks. It’s how I decide where to work, where to live, what car to buy, all of it.

And that is what is so confusing to me. I can see these things, and yet, there is no permission to begin. I would like nothing more than to spend about two hours letting this guy talk about his views on the nature of reality. Not to get into his pants. Just because I know I have found a friend. And here is my potential friend saying thanks and turning away.

I used to ask The Teachers about this phenomenon. How I could see a situation, all at once, all of it, somehow, could feel it, when I met someone new. Why doesn’t the other one feel it too? They told me that sometimes I was connecting to different reality track, a different lifetime with this person, and no matter what I feel or know, I have to let the person guide things, lead things, to some extent, if I come having knowledge.

Understanding, when all is said and done, it is this moment here, this one, that is happening, not any other, so let it unfold, do not cling, and allow it to be exactly what it is, no more, no less.

How is that?

And again and again I heard, keep pushing on doors. Walk and push, walk and push.

So I don’t take rejection as personally as I once did. I cannot change anyone’s mind, and I cannot alter anyone’s desires. I can present myself, in person, in writing, in meditation. I can give. Jesus, actually, told us about this.

He said to his disciples, as they were striking out on heir own, he said, go to towns, and ask for the most righteous person in that town. Let you peace settle on the house. And if the peace is accepted, stay there. And if the peace is not accepted, leave, and know that this is a town that you would be unhappy in remaining. You’re both better off to just walk away.

Press on doors. Those that open, walk through. Those that do not, disengage from them, and walk on.

As gentle as doves, as wise as serpents, make your way, present your peace, evaluate its reception, and then decide where to hang your hat. This is the essence of free choice. Let everyone choose. Allow, expect, encourage discernment. Be not discouraged.

Good advice.

Deeply Awake — Travelogue, Itinerary, And Jesus 5-13-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — Travelogue, Itinerary, And Jesus 5-13-13 By Kathy Vik

Introduction – I sat down to write, and had a nice time, and then I got done and figured, ok, it was a long one, 7? 6? 8 pages? No, it’s 23. I have only done first edit spell check because when I do the second edit, I usually add to the work, and this is enough. So, I am putting it out there, as always, as it came to me whole, written in an afternoon, spell checked, that’s it. I have no idea, really, how it will feel to read… but it was AWESOME to have been given the gift of being able to write it.  Enjoy………

I did not know until this moment that I would be writing about my good friend Jesus, but there it is.

I have spent, well, anymore, I really can’t put a temporal marker to what is happening to me. It’s all metaphor.

Let me give you an example.

I had been listening to some Kryon, and then decided that I just couldn’t take it anymore, I needed a smoke. I looked all around for my extra pack. Nowhere.

As I was pulling on my shorts, I heard some shrieking in the hallway. It came to mind this was a new voice, and was probably the new neighbor Sam and I met moving in yesterday. Oh my, I hope she isn’t a crazy one, a mean one. Oh no.

And then I find my wallet and leave my apartment, and who do I encounter but our new neighbor. She is aquiver – someone, in thirty seconds, came behind her and stole her great grandmother’s skillets, in the hallway, she’d left for less than a minute… she was beside herself with the white hot rage one feels when they’ve been wantonly and deeply violated.

I told her a couple things about how good the people on this floor are, and the only trouble spot, well, surely if the kids in the noisy apartment see that it is skillets and not hardware in that HP laptop box, they’d feel bad, they’ve done wrong, they don’t want the stuff they took…

And then I went downstairs in the elevator with her. She was still stewing, so upset, so outraged and disappointed and disgusted…

I went to my car and found my extra pack… nearly full. Suddenly, going to the store is no longer interesting. It’s not lit up anymore, so I go back upstairs. And now I am drinking coffee, listening to Craig Pruess and Ananda, letting them fill up my home, my being, with the 108 sacred names of the divine mother. It is a fitting way to bridge study time with work time.

It has become clearer and clearer what my path is, what your path is, whether you have figured it out all the way or not. If my writing proves anything, anything at all, it is that we truly are witty, tricky, clever, benevolent beings.

All through my writings, all through my life, my beautiful and full life, there have been the answers, and the fabric it all the time was that of linen and silk, shiny and soft, that I weaved myself.

I set this up, and the only thought I am having at the moment is how obvious it is all seeming right now, but of course, at the time, it was necessary to have heavy cross referencing and overlays. It was imperative this awakening was foolproof, not on a universal scale, just for me.

This always bothered me, niggled at me, all through my life. It is something that can only be openly discussed here. So here goes.

Do you have a death wish? Is death something, for you, that you see as your ace in the hole? Your built-in escape hatch, your way out? I have. Death is always there if I can’t take it. And most of my life I was just a real good plan shy of doing it.

Oh, I know it sounds dramatic, and there are those who just naturally must turn away from expressions of strong emotion, strong reality, but let them turn away. It’s ok. I don’t need anyone peering in who does not have eyes of love.

For the ones who know what I mean, this friend was ever present for me. And I seemed to collect others with a similar outlook. I even had one friend who squirreled away the gear and enough IV Potassium to kill herself dead, instantly. She carried it with her, finally got a second hit to have at her home.

I know this sounds weird, but for the tow of us, and many of my other friends and acquaintances, death is not some big mystery. It’s the entrance fee to the next amusement park.

So, it bothered me, as the years passed and I was still alive. First, I was surprised I lived past 18. It was a shocker. And then, on my 21st birthday, again, there had to be readjustments. I am still here. I still have a pulse. IT still sucks, by the way.

And thirty. Oh, thirty, that night was spent in orgiastic dancing with my girlfriend and our gang. Celebrating in our favorite club, thumbing my nose at something that had ridden with me, free of charge, every day of my life, this voice, this knowing, this understanding, that today is the day I die.

And as I woke up, finally, this last time, I began to ponder this singular relationship I have with dying. I died up in Central City, converted as I was. I am certain my heart was stopped and started, in an after-thought, shadow sort of way. When your heart gets hit with light, everything must readjust. So I died, I know it, and have had some pretty sparkly NDE things in the last year, and yet, I have a pulse, I am alive.

I got sort of mad about it a month ago. How is it that if I am in charge, I am this God, how is it that I could want something so much, with such focus, such intensity, and IT DODN’T HAPPEN?

How does THAT work?

I thought I was in charge around here.


But, here I sit.

A much different creature than I was two years ago, one year ago, a half year ago, yesterday.

How is it that I can have this running theme of longing for death, and yet I live?

Of course, it makes sense to me now, and I mean right now, and could not have made sense this way had I not had the discipline to present myself to this keyboard like the devoted lover I am.

Death was a symbol. It was a metaphor. When was the last time I had the common sense to ask myself just what it is that death means to me, why do I want it so bad?

Death is going home. It is reconnecting and not going without interruptions in service. It is full knowing, not this shoddy kind of knowing I engage in here. It is free. I would be free. I would be happy.

See, that is death to me. Not being waxy gray and lowered into the earth, although, sure, that’s a cool part of it too, but, really, that was my soul cry.

Of course I longed for death, now that I put it that way.

I will tell you now of a story which occurred yesterday, entangled deeply, as we were, in the mystery. On our travels, we went to Herbs & Arts, a metaphysical store here in Denver. Just like a homing beacon, we woke up in vague probabilities, and what emerged yesterday, what we allowed emerge, was brilliant.

In the store, I found a tapestry of a woman in the Shiva pose, her with multiple arms, sitting in deep repose, all jewel tones and exquisite. And I found this CD. I visited my business cards, sitting in the business card exchange nook.

We left the store and put in the CD.

It is angelic, nothing else describes this sound. It holds close similarities to the music of the spheres, let’s put it that way.

And here we are, in my beat up ugly white 2000 Mazda car, my 12 year old and I listening to this ancient, blessed music, all the way home. Of course, we were transported.

Sam went to sleep. He is doing very hard work at school and among his peers at present, and he was exhausted.

We drove down Broadway, and I reached out my hand, entered his field, and could feel his higher self hold my hand and discuss his progress. We are well pleased, and I know he is fine.

The drive continued, and then I realized, OH MY GOD, I am going to have to get out of my car!

Oh my god, this bliss is going to end.

And then I laughed at the allegory and had my storyteller tell me a story. I will give it to you now.

When people who had never been in modern society were shown a fine New York hotel, part of Lawrence of Arabia’s entourage, their trip became all about the water taps.

They had not had running water. Their lives had been built around the necessary issues and steps which must occur when one does NOT have running water.

And here was water.

Upon leaving the hotel, it is rumored that they left with, or were discouraged to leave with, the faucets. The physical taps. They wanted this running water always, and mistook the source with its delivery.

I Remember now, the patient you had last week. She had three nurses taking care of her because of her panic and fear. She had no less than one hundred years of nursing experience pouring onto her. Away from her, at the desk, no one spoke unkind words about her. Physicians worked throughout the night for her, many late night phone calls.

In the morning, sun shining into her room, she complained so bitterly, with your narrator present, to this brand new doctor, someone fresh and uninitiated and with authority. She cried then, as she told him how no one had been her advocate, she should have just gone home because no one cared for her, she got bad care. I cried on the way home because of that. it was so mean, though to her it was not only her right, to see herself as a victim. That’s why that saying is so true: Victims are violent people.

And the voices say: You did not grieve for not having been noticed as the healer you are, as the nice person. You did not weep because her bitterness is the kind that can decisively break careers. No. You wept because she’d been surrounded by, blanketed with, fed and watered with divine love, and she had lain there completely convinced of her state of separation.

That is why you cried. And you wept as you realized in just how many ways you hold this posture now, toward your own life, toward your heart.

This was a giant soul, who did you a great favor.

She taught you, with this CD as a soundtrack, simply this:

The source is ever flowing and present in all ways, at all times, in every now moment, now and now and now and yes, even, even, this, yes, now too.

God is all.

You have been mistaking the taps for the source, love. And that is all.

But through it all, even as a child, a little child, I knew.

I knew it was pitch black around here, and against good advice and all that seems intuitive, I woke up, I loved, I gave, and I got here.

And so, now, listening to Kryon and studying Tony Stubbs as I am, completing this education as I am, using them as the guides that of course they are, I see now that the struggles I have chronicled, these struggles I have always been so embarrassed about, they are valid and they are there for every initiate to work  in their own way.

I understand that there is stuff I know that needs to be hidden, just a bit longer, because people still equate spiritual advancement for personality integrity and they are really two very different things.

And so I will tell you what I feel there is permission for, and tell you this at the same time. I understand now that these chronicles are meant, in part, to stretch things. I put something out there, and there are codes that are within the work, within me, and these essays are not only travelogues but future itineraries.

So I can go a little further now than before, and then I will wait, and when I feel more permission, more will come.

But I think that it is best to imagine that the only people reading this stuff are those who actually need it. I mean, if you are reading this, there is a reason. It is highly specific, in some respects, but deeply universal, and pregnant, just pregnant, with the third language.

I go back to my story. The voices told me, as the music played, that this is the music of God, of everything pure and not tired and fresh and true, symmetric, playful, deep, funny, pleasing, comfortable, real. And this is always around. The music gets pumped through my stereo, but it is just as easily coming through anything I can see or hear or touch. Everything is impregnated with source, with this music.

The music is playing all the time.

And this is how true this is for you now, they said.

They said, just think of it!

Now, when you physically get into your physical car, you can hear this music, physically. In between each of your errands, this music can play. It is just a choice now. It always was a choice. This CD was released in 2002.

And no disrespect for not hearing it before. It was there. It was just really hard to hear. If you’d had the CD, it would have been scratchy, or you would have lost it. You know how these things work.

Now the music is available. Enjoy it, and stop worrying. Test it. You do not believe us. Go get what you need at the 7-11. Then get back in the car and turn on the engine.

I did, in my mind, and it was real, and I spent the day doing errands and really getting it, there in my mind, how it physically felt to go a whole day of errand running and there, in the background, every time I turned it on, there was the music of the spheres.

It’s always been there, and it always will be. And it always has been playing.

You see, that is the trick of it for me.

I sit different in the knowledge now. I understand that I, as this personality, have agreed to a veil, and to be rendered ineffective by fear, these are devices.

Why did I do it? Why did I consent to profound amnesia?
Why did I turn myself away from the help offered, damning it instead, calling it a little and mean thing?

I did not recognize that which is love as that which is love, and that is all.

Kryon asked me, at the end of this last lesson, if I can honestly say three things. But he presented the three things first, and one by one, I ticked them off. Can you say: It is well with my soul. Can you say: I am that I am. Can you say: I am grateful for all.

Yes, yes and yes.

He was describing the match bearer, the advanced old soul, the ones in the room who have always been different, always off just a fraction, the one in your life that makes everything just a little tilty.

I have always served that function.

My guess is that you have too.

Here is the deal. It helps so much and I want you to hear it, feel it, right along with me, as I make it my own, OK? It think this will be great fun, if we can get it together, as a team, you and I, here on the page.

OK. We came into darkness. In this darkness, when someone bumps you, you attack. And there are attacks that come in the ink dark of this blackness, and this is not any good at all.

The darkness is a fearful place. It makes a person come to know fear, insecurity, anxiety, dread.

The darkness makes it impossible to know just who it is you or anyone else is, and there in the dark, it is easy to not see things as clearly as you’d like. Mistakes are made.

And there are folks tossed into this darkness who have a special gift.

There are souls here who can spark light in the darkness. They come in with a faint glow. They remember what everyone else seems to have forgotten, and as they age, this knowledge becomes more and more unavoidable.

You and I, we woke up in Salem, in medieval times, and we have been burned alive for remembering.

Light, in this darkness that we created, you and I, light here was not always welcome.

But light is contagious, you see.

And here we are, within the Galactic Alignment. I am 52, a good age to be alive in 2012. A perfect age, actually.

And I have been over here, in my apartment, getting really really good at sparking my flame.

I think this is why I had such bad agoraphobia at certain times in my life. My heart would break on leaving the house, and an anxiety would settle on my skin, into my lungs, as I rode the elevator to the basement, to get into my car, and go anywhere. Really, just any place made me have anxiety. Even the good stuff.

And now I know why.

I was leaving a freaking bonfire to back into velvet inky darkness.

And it hurt to have contact with people so unaware of the light, and so very condescending toward the bonfire consuming me, keeping me alive, connected to it as I am wherever I go, whatever I do.

See, that is the part that I didn’t appreciate.

I carry it with me.

You see? It is never gone. I am never apart from source. I am source. The thought is an invalid one, a weak and silly one. A device, and nothing more.

And I tell you now of my great love for Jesus.

This is a mystical union which I have never discussed, and there is much about it I never will discuss. Much must remain private, and that is not to separate or divide. This is just good mental, spiritual hygiene.

Jesus came to me when I was a little girl.

We were at the dump. This was the 60’s, when people understood that what they throw away goes and stays and sits somewhere. The dump. My dad would take us there on Sundays, and we went through thrash. It was one of my favorite things growing up. I found old, just ancient, postcards, musty, moldy books. The smell of those trips, oh, still here, I am enjoying it now.

And I can remember being in the backseat of the car, and there was Jesus.

He told me that I was to be like him, and my role would be to come to know peace and love. I would be compassionate, and very very wise, just sparkly smart, and I would be someone like him, in every way.

I can remember asking about the dying thing, just that whole mess, and he told me no, that isn’t the point. I am him, he is me, but he is separate, and I am to be like him, in my body.

So, there’s that.

We went home and probably had hot dogs and boiled carrots, watched TV and went to bed. Probably.

But it gave me an appreciation and an interest in Jesus’ life. I payed attention to the scripture, and I made sure I got bibles with Jesus’ words in red. I found certain passages in the bible that made me feel really good, really good, they still do, and I learned them.

I had permission to learn about Jesus, and to find out what he did, living in a Lutheran household. I studied, and I liked that Jesus was always there, this big weird mystery to solve.

In my teens, we saw Jesus Christ Superstar, first run, our pastor and the church youth group. My mom made sure that we went as a family to see Ted Neely do the JCS revival on stage in 1992. Fifteen years after that, I met a random person who had to give me a signed piece of art commemorating the revival’s tour.

In reference to Jesus, and this musical, I will say that I always resonated with the beginning, and with the teachings more than the death stuff, the politics and high drama.

I felt the message got weirdly hijacked, but it was still serviceable, and enough got through to help. That’s why I really appreciate the versions of JCS that end before the whole death thing. It’s just too slippery for me. And no, I know of no other word to describe that weirdness that happened in the desert all this time ago.

There is a lot that I could “speculate” on, which at this point I will not allow myself to do publicly. This stuff is real close to the surface, and deserves being sat with before it is discussed. But there are a couple other things as they pertain to Jesus.

Now I just want to free style a bit. I want to tell you of the things I am aware of , just about Jesus, but by extension, The Other Big Ones. Let me tell you from my heart, the heart of me in love with Jesus, with this entity. Let me just sing my love for him.

My understanding is a benevolent and encompassing one. I believe that Jesus is Buddha is Zoroaster is, is, is. There is one mind, after all, in the end.

I think that this one mind has had many incarnations on this planet, and some of them grabbed more headlines than others.

The Great Mother, The Universal Heart, the benevolence running the whole thing, well, here is how it works.

The faster you spin, the more love and information is available. And Buddha, Jesus, (I just use these two because I am lazy… think every saint, MLK, Gandhi, all of them!), their channels were wide open, because they agreed to come in without the veils, with the crystalline DNA able to perceive as we are now just beginning to.

They channeled the One Mind. This is why all great religions have what has been called a “golden thread of truth” running through them. Of course these greats reincarnate. Of course. It’s like grooves on a record.

But this entity, this mind, is available to all of us now.

Let me tell you what happened to me in 1993, could have been 1994, I’ll never know.

I was at church, in the choir loft of an old cathedral in downtown Denver, there for the early serve, singing in the choir, under the leadership of my old friend Jeffrey.

Jeff and I accepted our mystical love for God. We let each other be, and recognized that we were both deeply in love with God. I liked Jeff, had met him at the gay choir we were both in, about two hundred men and women who met every Thursday, just to learn songs about how great and poignant and beautiful it is to love, and then annually we would put on a huge show at the huge old theatre right downtown.

Jeff was the star of that choir. He had the voice of an angel and the personality of a devil. He was dirty and lewd and loud and funny as hell, and I watched him that night, of my first performance, beforehand as we creatives were running through the still empty auditorium, I watched him and thought, God, I want nothing more than to be in his energy, and I am just way too uncool for him. He will never be my friend.

And here I sit, in the choir loft, led by Jeff to sing like an angel for the congregants on a spring day in the early nineties.

I was reading the hymnal, looking for the mystical. I read my favorite passages, having completely tuned out the prattling below me. I was in the mystery, thinking about Jesus.

And right there in that loft, he showed up.

I cannot tell you that I saw him, because my eyes, they didn’t. But everything else within me knew that I was seeing an old friend.

He hung out with me and read with me. I do not remember it if he gave me instructions.

I think, as I recall, I knew this was a visit from an old friend. Not to check up. Not to inform. Just to love. Just to confirm. Just to put me at peace. Because that’s what family does for each other.

I remember now that I did tell The Teachers about this. How wonderful to have these memories being recovered!

They told me yes, he was there. He is alive. He is physical. He exists. He is your friend.

They also told me a lot about my time with him, in the old days.

This will remain hidden, just suffice it to say that I am not of the ilk who believes that I walked the earth as Jesus.

There are just some things, even with coming to terms with who I am, there are just some things that are not entertained, out of deep honor and respect. His work as Jesus stands alone, and it is to be honored, studied, loved, but never owned.
Never owned. Everyone owns it, it is our heart, it is our best attempt at the time.

And now comes the backflip with a lazy susan half turn.

We are becoming Christs.

You see, there are two parts to his name.

Jesus, that is his moniker, his personality name, his handle, his tag, his signature.

Christ, this refers to his home, and this home is where we all live.

I heard someone say that at the end, Jesus had no beliefs. It is not possible to get that high in consciousness and be able to hold a belief.

I think one of my favorite images will always be a painting of Jesus, kneeling before a boulder, in the garden of Gethsemane, and he is making hand farts, and the thought balloons above his hands read “Pfft!” “Pfffft!”

THAT is MY Jesus.

Fucking with his hands, making farting noises, right before he does his thing, whether that’s just translocating and letting the loco get nabbed by the po-po, or whether he really did submit to such foolishness as a crucifixion. My guess he was passing his time, quite pleasurably, in that Garden nibbling olives, looking at the stars, and occasionally making farting sounds with his hands.

It is well with my soul.
I am that I am.
I live within a grateful heart.

And truly, friend, this is all I have ever wanted.

What else matters? I have seen it, and I know, that you can have millions in the bank. You can leak cash, have it falling out of your wallet, and be so impoverished you wish you could die, or kill someone else.

I have seen people with every single advantage… beauty, familial respect and support, meaningful work, interesting hobbies, and their health, that one lynchpin, fails.

And it all comes crumbling down.

The person looks at the rubble, the lost house, the broken body, the fatigued friends and family, and there, in the destruction, like a single dandelion on a battlefield still oozing blood, and there is hope.

There is light.

There is something making all this go, making all of this work, and there has to be a reason behind it, yes? There has to be a reason.

I know the reason now.

I understand a few things I did not before.

And I know my role. I think I have a pretty good idea of yours too, and our friend Jesus would like very much to clear up a few things.

Jesus is as alive now as when it all went down. He was potential before that, and now, once again within Universal Mind, he is settling back into earth, but this time, he is doing it heart by heart, moment to moment, within our context, within our skin.

As a little girl, I could clearly see the advantage to being like Christ. I could give people peace. I would still them. I would have peace too, because people would be still and sane around me. They would remember, around me, who they are, and they would only be able to act in good and right ways.

Do you see, as I do now, why my life was a little tricky? I think I set my sights a little high.

It seemed entirely possible at the time, and just like, ok, here’s the assignment. It’ll suck and be interesting and you get this really cool thing with it. Yes, you will do miracles.

So, I think it is about time to let this lover of humanity out. I think it is time to see that he has been here the whole time, whispering in my ear, in the old language, reminding me of things I didn’t think were salient.

I think we are the new Christs, and I think we have his permission to do this thing.

Now, I think that to end this, I will use my imagination and imagine just what it is that Jesus would have us know at this moment. I know that he is with me here, and if I can get in the right space, some stratum of his energy can entangle me in a way I can hear and feel, and then he can instruct me more clearly.

I will try this now, and then I will end. I’ll do a first edit and put it out fresh.

This is good stuff. At least I got to visit Jeffrey. I love him and enjoy thinking on him, everything he gave to me, how rich and happy he made me.

Now let’s see what Jesus might think of all this stuff…..

You struggle with issues of identity within the great mind and we are here to help.

Think of your apple, and its seeds, please.

The apple hangs on the tree, celebrating its becoming, you see? The apple is in joy, and in a spirit of sacrificial goodwill. It is as it is, and it is perfect in its being. It has congruence, meaning, and purpose.

The apple will fall when it must, and not one moment before. Its purpose, to flower, its purpose, to develop into fruit, its purpose to nourish a friend, its purpose to seed the earth with its self.

These are mysteries, these timings, unknown to our friend the apple. The apple does not weigh itself down with these questions. Indeed, if it did, it would have remained a thought.

There is movement and there is sanctification in taking action, all those who slumber and those now awake, seeking validation.

You see, the time of seeding has begun. Your position has changed. Perhaps it was during the eclipse, maybe it was some other event, but you now notice you are on the ground.

You must understand it is no longer your time to soak up nutrients, to sit in sun and grow.

You are mature now, and your job is to offer your fruit up for consumption.

This takes an act of faith which each will decide upon, whether they have the readiness to test these waters, for they are strong, and the current is swift.

You will come to know what it is to be consumed and to be present and whole and ripe and unchanged.

You are not an ordinary apple.

The same sun and water fed you as your brothers and sisters.

They are on the tree. See them dangle there still. They are very beautiful up there in the sunlight, in the twilight, in the deep chill of night. They are doing as they must, just as you did.

You must now leave this analogy, because I can tell you are still thinking that you cannot do much, as you are, an apple without legs and without a mouth, plopped onto the earth to wither, to atrophy, to rot and go back to the mother.

This is an incorrect summation and must be abandoned. You are now, as you sail through the air toward the earth, you know now, you can feel it, your heart is opening now as you understand, all the dreams you have had recently about splitting off and reuniting. You see it in your dreams, and you bring it back in the morning and we appreciate how you sit, stunned, clearly reeling from what you are reminding yourself of.

We honor your assimilation.

The apple, as it is flying, just as you fly now nightly in your dreams, this act of flight, it changes the character and the ability of the apple. You’ve matured before the rest, and this is how you were made. You cannot hate others for not maturing as you did, since you don’t fully understand just how it was done quite yet. So hold no hate, no judgment, no fear.

Be instead grateful for this knowing you hold within now.

You have traveled far, and we are ever at your service. You are honored, you and those you write to. They must know as well, that Universal Mind is here, it is singing and speaking to you, every night, every moment.

We are a collective of entities and you had such trouble with the “me” and “them” koan. Do you see now? It is appropriate and desired for this mind to take on impossibly infinite variations. You see, now, as you go to work, more and more it is an amalgam of entities ministering to those you encounter, not only patients, but staff. You are sensing them more whole. You see them as separate from you, but coming from the same source.

You see them as differently faced you’s, and we caution you to steady your thinking now for this next part.

Although it is true that we are all made of the same substance, and we are all expressions of the same thought, you must understand that things are not as they seem.

There are variations, gradations, preferences and soul needs at work that you cannot currently appreciate.

We tell you that The Kryon is accurate and true. You are a Creator God, and you know this, and you shirk from it, but you know it to be true. You are an old one, and you know there are many old ones here now.

You know, deep within you, that everyone you meet, everyone you medicate, everyone you argue with, these too are all from the same source.

We now wish to settle you, little apple, and tell you truly of how things are for you in this life.

You have been playing with it for three weeks, and you know it.

You can feel it, and this power is all soothing, is it not? It is the truth of the matter. You are loved. They are loved. All is well. Nothing is out of balance. There is no need for anger. Fear not. Be still. You know this. You know this. You know this.

And we tell you now, this is your mission, this is why you came in. You are here to be a walking master. There are others. You are not alone anymore, not in any sphere. It is true you all walked solitary paths. You were alone. You abandoned yourselves utterly. It was quite a sight.

Each night, we mended you, each day, we buoyed you.

It was all for this day, and those to come.
Never again must you hide your light.
There are too many of you now to stop it.
You, all of You, have succeeded where you have failed in the past. You knew it was a gamble, and you knew it was a sure thing.
You each have had your walks in the desert, the temptations of christ still, at times, cloud your sensorium and become very real, quite ominous, they can appear, can they not.

This is a favorite treat of ours, this ability to cloud things with a simple thought, and the ability to right the Self with just one thought. Thoughts are portals, my friends. They are portals, all. Words, yes, and deeds, all portals.

You, now, the awake ones, you are walking portals.

You must come to peace with this. And we are instructing you, you are instructing yourself, nightly. Why do you think your sleep habits have changed? You are integrating physical with arcane, this is a lightning fast project, it is happening with more speed than anticipated, but just as much as the most hopeful around here held would come to pass.

You know that your civilization goes on the seed another galaxy. You have heard that representative, letters from the future. You know who we name now as Bashar. You know this, and yet do you feel it?

The only variable to this awakening is your degree of participation.

That’s it.

And you have decided you wish to participate by spreading peace in the physical, and dispensing information on the web. And for now this is very functional.

Get used to your power, we ask you now, all of your readers, we ask all of you to take this in.

This is real. You are awakening, and the enlightenment is physical, emotional, mental, sexual, political. It is within your very cells, within the atomic matter manifesting as cells. Do you see? It is manifesting in the heavens, with solar flares, eclipses, comets. It this there for all to see.

Do you see?

Do you see that it is good to go to work and love? Are you willing now, this day, to do it all consciously, from 7pm to 7:30am, wherever the reader may be, in the vet’s office,  or in a cafe, or at home, or school, or maybe in a friend’s car.

Can you embody compassion? Can you see nothing but love in everything you encounter? Can you be at peace in the midst of physical and spiritual suffering?

We know these are things you have mastered.

Why not have a little bit of pride in how far you have come?

Your difficulties with never fitting in, old one, ancient one, that is alright, and truth is, please do not be coy, you never really wanted any part of it anyway.

You hear a different music, one that you love, and you are pleased to know of many musical styles, but, dear one, loved one, old one, ancient, please, understand, we are conspiring in your favor now, because you are no longer conspiring against yourselves.

Allow this love to fill your fields.

Allow this love to drip off of your fingers as you prepare your meals, your patient’s medications, your bread, your paperwork.

Let this love, this knowledge of happiness and peace which you have no words for, let it become expressed in HOW you do your work, HOW you say thank you.

You ride the flow of traffic and bless every driver, each on their way, each driving to their self-appointed destinies. Do not ride against the flow, and do not curse your fellow travelers. Stay with the flow, allow it all, see it all as a poem that God HerHimSelf is writing in a language only the two of you can possibly understand.

Hold the grateful heart in the sad places. Hold the soft heart in the hard places. Hold the warm heart among the cold.

This task, this self-appointed task, this is the all. That’s it.

You agreed to be here. So removed are you from the thought of an accident, imagining that this is happening without your consent, without your very direction, is becoming quite laughable.

Are you A Buddha? Yes.
Are you A Christ? Yes.

Is your name Buddha, Gautama? No.
Is your name Jesus of Nazareth? No.

Were you a prince, and did you renounce wealth to find self? To find God?
Were you a lifelong student, a shaman, simple laborer, touched weirdly by a future you neither fought against nor resented?

You, your readers, you are the Christs returned to earth, and you know this is a role when you have reached a certain frequency. This is a role, a service, a joy, a mantle few can wear. You can. Put it on. Smile as you wear it. Never curse it.

You may put it in a drawer whenever you want to. You don’t have to wear it when you have sexual relations, but we encourage you to, with the right partner, in the right circumstances, to wear it while creating physical passion.

We ask you to be big, to stand as tall as you can, and to know that you don’t have a ceiling. There is nothing stopping you from attaining greater knowledge, greater love, than has ever been seen on the planet, now.

Of course, we did not say greater power. This frequency is the frequency of free will.

The Buddha, The Christ, Mohammed, Rumi, Gandhi, these men, they had an inkling, many of them were turned on full blast.

Dear one, we leave you with a thought.

You have been female this life. You have been sexually marginalized, and you have been raped. You have had your sexual and soulic power identified and others have tried to rip it from you. This stands as a tale many women know of, have lived, have survived, silently.

So, of course, you are not alone. This struggle happens in countless bedrooms, in many light worker’s life.

The next wave, the First Wave, the wave of Christs, they are FEMALE. See a return of Mother Energy, this frequency allowing male to adapt, gently, and female to adapt, gently.

Look for it, we tell you.

You must stop marginalizing, you must stop this thinking. It is one of the final frontiers.

There is a crystalline agreement that is being readjusted, and it will become, as you adjust, possible for you to see true worth, true, identity, true power, in the female. You all have inklings. You have not seen it yet.

The females reading this are switching on. Their males are not yet. They dangle on the tree. The women will meet. They will have groups, and they will have seminars, and they will be very inviting, they will allow men in.

These women have no fear, and so the phallus has no power, not really. Not anymore. It can be seen as co-creator, once reigned by an awakened heart and mind.

It is a tool, a grand and sacred one. But it is a tool only. It is not the foundation. Mother is the foundation. Woman is the foundation, Feminine is the foundation.

There will be great power, and it will come in waves, from the woman.

They talk about these miracles, how things will come about, how the new earth is to be manifested.

It is manifested through your kind acts, your expanded fields, your inclusion, and it happens through your children.

How many of you are SINGLE MOTHERS?

No interference with the male, primary caregivers, the source of training, with a peripheral male?

How many?

There is a reason for this divorce thing, you see.

Position yourself so that you may have children, or grandchildren, or access to children. We all have to. And we are working our greatest miracles there.

Unimpeded. Uninterefered with.

No one legislates parenting.

No one can.

And, really, we old ones, we would just ignore the rules anyway.

That’s how we are built.

OK… That is over, the blast is through.

I am left with knowing it’s cool to just be compassionate. If that’s all I do, if I can just be compassionate tonight. I must remember, compassion and gentleness are paired. It is twinned energy, but it is from gentleness that compassion blooms.

OK, I tell you this before I sign out.

Kryon said something today, and as he did, I was transported to the unit I last worked on. The nurses all started out cranky, upset, cursing the place, calling the patients names.

And I just kept radiating love and tolerance. It felt good. I just really could find nothing to get my underpants in a twist about, so I stayed quiet, did my reading, worked and answered lights and hardly sat down, actually.

He said, as I imagined that last shift, that when you do this, when you sit and radiate pure pure pure unconditional live, just see them as whole and loving and capable and free, and so loved, and you just give it away, well, it does a lot of things, obviously, but this blast may very well be the only pure love they feel all that day, or all that week, or all that month.

I thought then of my desert years. Those years when I was just barely hanging on, so dark, so squeezed was I.

And this is what I got from The Teachers. From my guides and teachers, here on earth, to whom I paid cash for their wisdom.

I got blasts of pure light, and it helped me.

There was so little about.

Now that the grids are loosening up and it’s so readily available, the memories that I have about the old times, the dark times, my life still on the tree, these are fading, and I am glad for it. I no longer need the devices of punishment and fear. I no longer need some of the more crude or dramatic realities to understand. My lessons can be soft because I am soft.

I think that Jesus would be pleased with my progress. I understand that he has come to me to remind me of things I should be remembering, when I need to remember them. He comes through in my essays, sometimes, and he is with me, steadying me, before I enter particularly difficult interpersonal situations which, well, they may not be of my making, but if I am in the middle of them, I may as well calm them down, because, when it’s all said and done, I am quite sleepy still, just waking up, and I like things smooth. I like things pleasant and pretty and, darn it, I’ll say it again, I like ’em sparkly.

I doubt that Jesus wore a lot of sparklies. He has never been described as someone who enjoyed accessorizing.

But I think it is awesome that these days we have be-dazzlers. And we can be just as sparkly, just as plain, just as flamboyant or silent as we see fit.

We are making this up as we go along, and the giving of love is not wrong, is never wrong, is always correct and timely and appropriate.

I have been wanting to know how to be a loving person, in the midst of hate.

He came to me when I was a little girl, to tell me it is indeed possible.

He came to me in my thirties to remind me of my mission.

He smokes clove cigarettes and cracks koans with me now.

If this is all made up, so what.

So fucking what.

My god is real, jesus is my friend, I am a living, breathing christ, this is attainable by every human, and it doesn’t mean anything more than I am, in the end, always an explorer, and my creations are these notes, and my world, such as it is, and the world will go on spinning with me thinking these odd thoughts.

The only thing that happens when I think them, is that I feel peaceful and people are nicer to me.

So I will go on thinking these thoughts, and more, much more.

And occasionally, when there is a break in the action, I will sit down and tell you a little bit about what is going on.

It really is a very lovely construct, for the moment, maybe for all my moments. We’ll see. It’s good for now.

So now I need to take a shower, andthen I go to work.

Chop wood, carry water.