Deeply Awake – As The Coffee Spills, He Chuckles By Kathy Vik 3-14-19

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I am already altered, even before putting any of these beautiful thoughts to paper. It has become more and more clear to me, now, what comes next and how things go from now on, and I wanted to come to you from this place, where the veils are blowing, far below me, like transparent rayon gashes of color against perfect white-blue clouds, perched here, on a particularly high promontory, comfortable in my clothes, eyes closed, tranquil and aware, touching every molecule on this planet, able to zoom in and out of any situation or incarnation at will, all is available, sitting here, in this moment.

It’s been my practice, since 2012, to come to you, especially in writing, when it’s something that will shift things, but it must be built in a way that is foundational, solid, requiring no further effort, an epistle, perhaps, sent from a quiet place. Mine has been a life of oppositions, of reconciliations, of upgrades, of transformations. No one has been with me through every moment but myself, my observer, and my sustainer. It is a curious thing, how this life thing works…

I write because there is a notion which keeps coming to me, an insertion, I call it. It’s a thought or image that reappears, and is incongruous to what I was thinking, or what’s going on in the moment, so it is therefore surprising, to some degree. Those are the things which catch my attention, and that I have learned to examine rather than ignore or toss aside.

This one has been about a realization I had long ago, when all of this started for me, in 2012. The internet was buzzing about talk of NESARA, of a living wage for all, of instant abundance which would be dazzling in its amount. It was connected to St. Germaine’s trust, and there was enough sparkliness around it that many in our tribe began to talk about this new reality, one in this now, here, where wish fulfillment, complete authenticity and utter commitment to your purest expression would be achieved. I mean, it was heady, it was healing, and I dare say, if we all, each of us as a group, spent a half hour just strolling through this reality, in meditation, synced up, we probably could shift things for the better, easily.

But at the time, it was a contagion which I felt had good effect for we light workers, we light warriors. We were finally banding together, and lifting each others’ spirits up, imagining in real terms the kind of freedom we were beginning to feel stirring in our souls, and in our lives. But soon it got tangled up in alien stuff, and that’s where we displace our shit, onto the galactics, who, according to some, are fighting quite the war.

As an aside, I will now make it abundantly clear that I have my own understandings of how this duality has played out on a galactic scale, and to pooh-pooh the idea of a war is, in my estimation, incorrect. However, I prefer to think about it as creator creating. A part of creator wanted to go a different way, and that was ok, but now that part of the conversation is over, and something new is about to be thought up. That’s the short version of my ontology, my cosmology. Sure, it can be seen in all kinds of fractals, the light and dark do battle all the time, in all sorts of ways, because it’s fun, and heart-pounding, and educational, but, things are concluding, shifting, changing. Can’t you feel it?

The way it was portrayed in 2012 was essentially a kind of real-time, modern day human utopia, handed to us due to intrigue resolved up high, in the ancient families that control global wealth.

I got to thinking though, how different is that than the idea that aliens are going to land on the White House lawn with trunks of gold, all the technology we couldn’t even think of, and world peace?

It was fantasy, I realized.

I liked that we had this metaphor to gain strength and purpose from. There’s something Kryon says that I think of a lot, these days. They said that one of the reasons they were with us, and that the message didn’t change, in its bones and blood, was that it was theirs to tell us we are winning. To help convince us, through repetition and experience. They said, it’s hard to convince someone who has always lost, every single time, that they are winning. And, we are winning.

What does that mean?

It means that the things that are gnawing at people these days are things of the heart, having to do with self acceptance and with self reflection. I meet many who are plagued with thoughts which have them crippled, just like I was. Energetic warfare, is one way of looking at it. I will be doing work, either on video or on paper about how to self heal from negative entity attachments. They are real, in this 3d world of ours, and knowledge of their removal, and then doing it, helps the planet, and heals the one doing the work. I k now that even this is metaphor, but it is a way to get people to work with light, and to begin to realize their innate power. Not “over” the dark. No. This is the power of intent.

Some of what I want to say is going to hearten some, and offend some, and disquiet many, but that’s the nature of this kind of stuff, and I’m ok with that, as I have always been. I like stretching boundaries, on paper best. I can feel them giving, and it’s a joy when I complete the task. I’m just taking a moment out to goggle at how good it feels to do this again. Can I just give you a bit of unsolicited advice, if you don’t mind? Allow yourself to do something that feels good, that makes you feel whole and complete and serene and glad to be on this earth, but that you don’t currently allow yourself to do. Is it because there’s “no time?” Or because you’ve been made fun of and would be isolated, if you pursued it, or, best, somebody else would be pissed as hell at you if you did. Just that one person, but, nuclear anger.

There’s a reason you aren’t already doing it, in other words.

And maybe you start small, little defiances, little deviances, and work your way up to finally picking up that paintbrush or writing that letter or plucking the guitar or doing that open mic, but even these are metaphors, for having broken through, for letting your young one out to breathe, for reaping the benefits of finally having made it safe to explore.

When I got a hit of the opium of the day, the idea that St. Germaine was going to bless the blessed among us so we could do The Work, I saw it all in practical terms, as in, how will this actually translate? This revelation kind of energy, of reaping reward for the glory of god on earth kind of stuff, it helped, because it magnified for me how I live, and how I know physicality works. But I had plenty of hardships in my career, so I, like all of us, were all standing around in rags, gazing up at this huge glowing golden chalice, so hungry for a physical reward.

The thing is, it just doesn’t work that way around here.

And so, I got on the internet and said so, and it was interesting, the responses I got, at the time. I was live blogging on a spiritual site called, and the feedback I got was helpful, because most of it was in agreement with my assessment.

I said that I really didn’t think it was going to go down like that. Any kind of alien intervention, or deus ex machina, at this point, is to be suspect, because anyone coming around saying they can solve our problems for us, isn’t doing us a favor. It’s an insult, really. We aren’t smart enough to get ourselves out of the corner we’ve painted ourselves into? I think not.

This is a free will planet. If anyone says they know better than you, and that therefore you must do as they say, they are not your ally. They are asking for your power. If you will notice, someone or something coming from beyond to fix everything is not a new human thought. It is a foundation of many religions, and is part of the consumerism mindset. Helpful rescuers, that’s a collective projection, a fantasy. It’s not how it works.

In my piece from 7 years ago, I said that I thought, instead, what would happen is there would be a portion of the population that would sort of blink out of existence. They’d not be on-line, but instead they would be going to an advanced school, cramming, getting used to new powers and abilities. And then they’d just integrate back into their lives, and go on doing what they do, though differently than before, a turbo-charged human, an ascended one.

And so, I thought about what that would look like, and I imagined a skinny man in a sports car, getting onto the southbound highway ramp off Hampden. And as he brakes on the ramp, the coffee spills. In my meditation, I was anxious right then, wondering how he would respond, and I remember feeling delight and surprise when I saw him laugh out loud. I felt relief, watching him in my meditation.

I realized that the whole gig is about blending in, and helping out, and not sweating it.

The seeking and shrieking and weeping that went along with the work, the release work, the shadow work, has put me in a good position to help others cut to the chase, and get to the core. I’m fascinated to find that the synchronicity that used to just glitter bomb me now and then,about a year ago turned into a web that I came to feel, and then rely on. And now, it extends to the people in my life, the issues that confront them, and I realize that this is the point, this is the life, this was the mission. To just hold knowledge that others chose not to study (no judgment, this was a lifetime’s pursuit, and not optional, for me) and act decent toward others. To find no reason to hate them, ever.

If ever I find myself running that junk, which is rare, now, I know I am not quite right, and need to adjust. There is never a reason to hate anyone, ever. That’s me having a glitch, if I feel that, if I am thinking that. This I know as a truth, one of those “doy” ones, one that becomes crystal clear the higher up you go, the higher the perspective, the more divine the eye.

Want to know the punchline?

I haven’t indulged my twisty side with murder books since 2012. I put them down, mostly because I enjoyed them too much. I’d read them all my adult life, and by then, it was getting formulaic. A part of me knew that when that level of psychopathology feels boring, it’s time to ease up. So I did. No true crime documentaries, books, or shows. But then, at Christmas time this year, I was given The Devil In White City, the best murder book I’ve ever read, and this opened up the sluices for me.

I’ve allowed myself the indulgence of deep dives into super dark podcasts, and the alternate and weird, but I finally found my heroin last week, Sword & Scale.

Last night I was listening to Sword & Scale, and there was a killer talking, spitting out words of hate. I could feel his furious, controlled, righteous, complete hatred, and I felt it in a way that is familiar, and not at all frightening, and that, I know, should be frightening. I knew how that guy felt. In isolation, I had said the same words. I’d spoken them with as much hatred, as much venom and vitriol and acid. I’ve privately cast words like bullets out of my body, the kind that explode on impact and completely fuck you up.

Oh yeah. I know that feeling.

And this guy had butchered so many, and was such a sick twist. I shrug and chuckle now. It’s just part of the territory. I chose the light. I chose to listen to my god. Somehow I was gifted with an ability to feel that, to know that purity and grace, like a river going through my life, and I can call it on at will. Sometimes it interrupted things and made me go certain ways, and it kept me far from things that would have fed that evil creature living in my belly, the one that knows how to harm, and how to justify it. Being able to hang out in love, in a divine bliss, and to do good things by others, that’s something I have always had, but haven’t understood how to use, until recently. I have the capacity to do great good, and I could, instead, have chosen to do great evil.

I did my share of creepy things, and I was always mixed up, the closer in things got, but my vision is clearer now, and the only intention I have at this point is to learn how to use the energy that flows so abundantly now, in brand new ways, that benefit the most people. That I can go dark, that it doesn’t scare me, that I can gain comfort and strength even there? Well, I think that means that I see it for what it is, an expression, an absence of illumination, inverse reality, duality.


I know how to, but I don’t, play rough. Not anymore. (And, I guess it makes sense to just come right out and say it, I have never killed anybody, and I’m both relieved and embarrassed to say I have never been in a brawl. The worst it ever got for me was “Indian burns” and non-consensual tickling, when it came to physical stuff. I am a total wimp. I know this is from an agreement I made before birth. Any rough stuff, and my heart wold break too much, I’d be out. Lay off the bod. And that’s what happened, more or less. The aggression and conflict didn’t get translated through physical violence.)

The service to self/service to others path is fading, and service now, more and more, is to the plan. To what’s happening in people’s hearts and minds, because for many, what needs to be dealt with is finally up, or perhaps, for you, it’s the healing phase, once you realize the dragon is tamed, you made it through, and everything is forever different, now.

Service to a higher path is what many of us are being called to explore, now, and with this comes certainty that is unavailable when thinking about things in terms of making your name within a community, or branding yourself as the go-to thing.

I heard The Peace Dealer yesterday, and he once again blew my shit away. He did a reading for this tribe, and said, many of us feel like we have missed the boat. We have done all the work, we have been at it a while, but we just never caught the boat. He had had a vision, that of a boat leaving, sailing away from port. And people are mulling around, feeling like failures, like rejects, really. And then, in his vision, a spaceship comes out of the sky and a reunion ensues. And then, in his vision, when the boat docks to where it was destined, they all get off the boat, and there we are, saying, what took you so long?

I liked that.

When you’re needed, when it’s time, you won’t be able to believe your demand, and a whole new set of skills will populate, and assist in The Plan. In serving something that’s bigger than you, but that you know you consciously represent and are responsible for, life becomes light, purposeful but light. It’s not just situations that begin to sparkle, but those who show up. Some need to feel insecure and threatened. That’s a wake up call, and it’s an atypical response to a simple stranger, so if someone feels that way around you, realize they had a date with you they couldn’t fulfill because they found themselves not ready yet. Some a drawn and want to suckle, not knowing their own strength. Some just want to get you up so they can frolic with you, to remind you you’ve got some good moves, when the rhythm is right.

There is a lot I’m learning about my abilities, or how to hold my consciousness, that I don’t feel comfortable sharing openly. As my training has progressed, this has become more and more a theme. It makes me think about doing the Patreon thing, but I haven’t monetized any of this Deeply Awake stuff, and until I offer more than just my thoughts and impressions, I feel weird about charging.

That being said, the notion which keeps coming through, it was about this butterfly admonition they’d given me one day a few months ago. I was driving to work, and I got this image of an electric blue butterfly coming out of its cocoon. And they fairly blared at me: Look you, it comes out fully formed.

That’s been the insertive thought lately, not the butterfly, not the color, just the thought of coming out into daily life this new, fully formed creature. Most of it is in giving myself permission to be comfortable in my skin at any given time. Aware that I am capable of violently hateful thoughts, and sublimely, palpably healing thoughts, that I am capable of destruction and creation, I orient myself happily in being willing only to honor what I know heals me and helps me and makes me breathe deeply, anymore.

Lately I have seen the image, just a flash of it, of someone sitting at the side of the bed, head in their hands, weeping. I Know that place well, and found that much of my release and shadow work came through me in cathartic crescendos to the lessons I was being taught.

I realize this has rambled, and I hope that there will be at least a few who have figured out the best thing to do when I start writing is to consider yourself on a lazy river ride, and your head is pointing toward where the current is pulling you, so it takes a minute to give up resistance, but once you relax, it’s a great ride, perfectly safe, scenic, relaxing, and not as turbulent as you’d have expected.

And, you feel better afterwards.

These cathartic moments are not as strong for me anymore, and the light shows have died down, too. I am instead aware that daily life is charmed in ways it never was before, and now I turn to it in absolute fascination, because it’s as shiny and alluring and magically fucken fun to me as the spiritual realm has always been.

In 2012, I made a deal with my team, my creator, my source. I told them I would stay here and do this thing if they would never leave me again. I told them I would NOT do this alone anymore. I tested them, and they proved to me they are with me now, always, and yet, through these years, I have forgotten that, and I have not known how to access it.

In 2016, I had a further set of activations, and I had a similar demand. I told them I would do what they wanted me to do, if they would get rid of this edge in me, this anger, that always would bubble up and poison things, my unwanted guest. I wanted it gone, and it was a black-and-white kind of thing, I want it gone, and that’s the deal. They agreed. And really, it’s been a cavalcade of final healings and completions since then, to get me here, where I don’t carry that energy quite the way I used to.

What I wind up doing with all of it, I don’t know. There are a couple things I already feel behind for, so I need to get on them, and I know that the rest will fall into place, just like it always does, more so now than ever.

I’m writing to the ones who have been through high strangeness, through the shit, through the weird, and who have maybe had experiences, open-eyed and sober that you don’t feel you’ll ever tell another soul, because they’d… well, it just won’t be shared, at least not today, with these people…

I have begun to get used to things, and much of it has to do with how I feel most comfortable with others. That’s something that listening to serial killers brings out. So many of them were socially so awkward it hurt, and many felt this acutely. It just reiterated to me that connection, positive intention, and high regard are healing, and they calm things down, and they help everyone think more clearly. For a long time, I wasn’t able to generate that on my own, consistently, and required it from others. When the supply got interrupted, I got scared. It may be culturally sanctioned to use each other that way, but I found that, in the end, it’s not healthy, and it made me very destructive.

For a long time, I didn’t feel entirely comfortable with myself, and, like I’ll be outlining on video later, I was under attack, of sorts. The bottom line is, since doing the clearing, and riding the celestial triggers, I can move in ways I couldn’t, before, and am free of things I knew were blocking me, but was unable to break, no matter what I tried.

I see myself in that figure sitting at the side of the bed, crying. I did a lot of time like that. I am glad I did. At times, especially earlier on, I felt as if, and knew that I was, grieving for the whole world. They were deeply altered states, those clearing times. But as the years ground on, I found that, as the healing got closer and closer to home, the grief was for my innocence, for those I had wronged, for those who wronged me.

Forgiveness opened the door to grace, and often, tears were involved, sometimes only after the release.

I see the image now, out of the corner of my eye, yet I am no longer in my slippers, back slumped, hair hanging around my face, snot and tears cupped in my hand. It’s an image of someone else, of an old me, I see, from time to time, now.

Now, when I leave my house, when I am driving, when I am at work, when I am socializing, when I am worshiping, when I am playing, when I am sitting at the edge of my bed, I am ware of my inner life, now. I don’t forget that I have done the stuff I’ve done, know and have seen what I know and have seen. I don’t abandon myself anymore, and it’s a great secret indulgence of mine that, no matter the starkness of the table set for me, I walk around enjoying my own movable feast. I am able to see that others each have their own explanations for everything. I find we are here together today, on this day when their own journey and mine intersect. I’m grateful when pleasant things repeat.

As I position my consciousness in a way that I find balancing and balanced, I realize humor is needed, lightheartedness, and this dispels anxiety, better than anything else I’ve tried, other than listing gratitudes.

I have rambled enough. I come into the world each day from my home, fully formed,now, no longer in process, no longer in lesson. I am entangled, of course, and gladly so, but this is something that I accept as a current condition, but not a commentary on future conditions. I have finally figured out that The Point Of Power Is In The Present mantra from Seth has encoded within it much, and is a giant key to manifestation. I’m learning now about reality manifestation, and it is this that I don’t care to reveal much more about, just that the downloads I am receiving about this stuff are usable, practical, hilarious and fun.

I hope this letter finds you well, happy, and a little giddy with delight, just now and then, and for no apparent reason.

Deeply Awake — Galactic Post-Eclipse Blessings By Kathy Vik 1-21-19

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A mystical, galactic and profound discussion of eclipse messages. The talk, as always, has a wonderful mixture of the profoundly esoteric, and the mundane, with me in the middle, explaining it all to you, and to myself.

Much astrology, metaphysics and new age thought here, so enjoy, if you’re into that kind of thing.

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Deeply Awake – Confessions Of An Old, Sovereign, Soul By Kathy Vik 10-20-18

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Deeply Awake – Confessions Of An Old, Sovereign, Soul By Kathy Vik 10-20-18

My work lately has led to many conclusions, some completions of open circuits, and hearing a sustained, returned ping, now, for nearly a month.

A ping, to me, is something I do, that my soul has done, in response to a seemingly unsolvable question, an unthinkable paradox, an unsustainable and yet weirdly entrenched, immovable reality, that has become a problematic area in my inner landscape.

It has forever felt, thinking on it from time to time, as if I am a little green alien who was plopped onto some random planet, with only a box in my hand, a little box with a big button. I press it.  Instinctively I know it’s my only connection to where I came from. Pushing the button elicits neither sound nor light, the box unwilling to confirm it even works, while I stand there pushing, in hope, in confusion, in despair, alienated, pushing that button, sending out a ping, while asking only one question, a fundamental one.


And then came living on this globe, inculcated into systems and agreements that seemed reasonable at the time. Once in a while, the button would be pressed, sometimes frantically and for days on end, sometimes just year to year, sometimes far longer, as the situation dragged on.

Finally, after I found a place of my own again, in 2003, I discovered that box, dusty and still silent, immutable, opaque. The button was pushed hard and long, then, and since. And in 2012 it seems the box came to life and turned into a communication device. Since then, I have gotten my pings back, those sent out in grave isolation and in utter frustration and in deep, soul-crushing fatigue, now finally returning in celebration and relief and homecoming.

I didn’t like being a kid for a whole host of reasons, but one of them was how weird grown-ups and sometimes my own friends reacted when I revealed my intelligence. This did not resolve. It got worse. But it started innocently enough: I stunned them with my easy vocabulary in elementary school, and remember reading books on stars and geology very very early. I was questioning the bases of Lutheranism with my pastor during our catechism times. My essays won awards in school contests when I dared write them, which was rarely. My writing has stunned my teachers, consistently, since girlhood.

I say this not to brag. I say this to let you know that far from feeling like an achiever, an attractive person, an ally,  I saw how “normal”  people behaved when I was myself, and quickly understood that most of what I liked about myself was intimidating, scary or ugly to those around me. I adopted other ways to get along with people, I buckled down and learned the script, and played it out as well as I could, never really fitting in, always feeling weird, way down deep.

The circumstances of my nursing education and career are, to me, epic and interesting, and I have mined the meanings and levels behind this odd bifurcation in my life, moving out of academia, out of my comfort zone and my source of happiness, learning, and into the physical realm of allopathy.

I understand today, after doing this work on self, on the fragmentation required with role adoption and social agreements, that the circumstances allowed me to become re-acquainted with my true, bigger, happier, more expanded self. I was free, for a couple years, and I allowed reality to guide me, then as now. During nursing school and because of it, I was led into grand, safe, pure self-expression, I can no longer hold this decision in as much angst. The circumstances were the core issue, and it was not time to deal with the core. It was time to get free.

So I did.

I got comfortable with myself, and I liked myself, because that seemed the only reasonable response. Never attempting to get anyone else to join in, just learning to appreciate my Self. Always, until this very day, there were loud squeaks in my machinery, dissonance brought on by vast fields of unconsciousness, even then, but I explored me, how I mattered, what made me feel good, and it was great training.

So was the technical college. I had been brilliant in school, and it was easy for me, once I got the hang of things, but, as in childhood, and as it is today, during this again-flowering time, I still couldn’t read a regular watch, I still mistook “b” for “d” consistently, I never had “left” and “right” internalized, and I needed an aid to remember what day and year it was. Always. That’s how I am built.

The diagnostics I have taken confirm that I am very deeply, happily and truly on the spectrum, and that makes sense, I think, on many levels at once, not just one. These “autistic” characteristics are evident both because of the family dynamics I knew {the energetic/karmic reality)  but also because of my neurobiology. It was the energetic set-up, the parameters, the game afoot,  but more, the presentation of spectrum behaviors is evidence of being able to grock rather than simply think.

We’re grockers, not thinkers, we multidimensional ones.

Those who begin the ascension process have to come to terms with losing a degree of specificity, and need to develop tough skin and good humor, because this is a weak area for some of us. We can appear inattentive, spaced out, aloof, disinterested, neutral, disengaged.

I have heard many on the internet worry or caution against worry, whether you are going mad or senile. Get feedback from reliable, kind people about your memory and countenance. Do not invite critique of your countenance or internal process by the critical or the innately cruel. It seems obvious, but sometimes we do this, so, I ask you take a moment before inviting or accepting as gospel feedback or advice from random or disapproving people about your mood state, your demeanor. Maybe some things can be left unsaid, or at least untouched, by the ones who, just because that’s how it is, cannot truly appreciate you.

I have had great spans of time, intermittently,  when I have been able to live from my soul, rather than within roles in systems I fundamentally disagreed with. Somehow, during these times of freedom, permission, and discovery, the disagreement part quieted, put on a low rumbly bass note, rather than playing out as my daily bread.

In those times, I stretched my legs, did as I saw fit, befriended and loved as my soul directed, and I knew more peace, than when I finally agreed to reenter the fray, doubling down on living solely within the contemporary society.

In the late “90’s, I did just that, and in so doing, became a death walker. It’s then I started working Hospice, it’s then that death became a palpable, inescapable and repeated reality in my personal life, and it’s then that things got real, for me.

I was lifted out of that life in because of death, in 2003, realizing in one crystalline evening, after many serious near-death medical things, I would actually die young if I stayed in the life I had created.

Thus began the bulk of this lifetime’s work, and this is said finally understanding that as a frustrated scientist, spiritualist and ascensionist, I simply wound up using my daily life as my laboratory. What other reason is there to live, but to learn?

I have exhausted some studies, but mostly, I encounter a new discipline or school of thought, or thinker, and realize tout suite that I am outclassed, I am a student, once again, and the only thing that would be appropriate would be to soak it all in, synthesize it, and enjoy the experience, knowing I am once again quite small, standing among giants, grateful for their effort, their sharing, their indulgence, their unwillingness to call out my student-ness, what is called, in the culture, “stupidity.”

There is a symbiosis between teacher and willing student, the teacher learning and growing from the opportunity to share thoughts and ideas in this way, today, with this person, here, while the listener realizes this is new experience is valuable, and in resonance.

It’s this resonance that I chose to ignore, that I deemed unnatural and suspect when I began deathwalking. I say deathwalking because that’s what it was. It is a wonderful place to dwell, but it is a twilight place. I know the land well, having walked the path from that reality to this, and to others, daily since then.

Once 2012 came, there simply was more light available, and my true self, my old self, my real self, could no longer be denied. It didn’t want to be, and neither did I.

Writing became, and remains, a key to this process for me, because I am a writer by nature and design. An observer. A scientist-poet, let’s say.

I can now see that it is not a destruction, denial, or punishment of these “other” identities, long loved, well-recognized, and obviously comfortable, that is at hand, and I am glad for this. Part of this process of integration seemed to have a death quality, and much of the ascension process is laden with it.

Illusion, it can be seen for, in this new light, as twilight burns off and a new, unexpected light burns through the day and the night, but I was stuck on the idea that these bent up, sad, cruel, terrorized, repressed people I have been in the past would be nullified, sentenced to death for just cause.

It was tricky, a game of high-stakes internal chicken, and I waited, I guess, until things were less charged before deciding what to do with my past, how I have behaved, the choices I made, the things I KNEW to be true, which were not. What do I do with these unskilled, sometimes paralyzed, sometimes frenetic pieces of me? Is it a forgiveness thing? Is it an absorption thing? Do I pump them full of light and send even THEM Home?

I realized today that I couldn’t be sitting here, all consolidated and happy like this, if I had split off and murdered my tortured soul, you know? She’s here, and she’s sitting up sipping tea now, in bed, no longer in the fetal position. Her eyes dry, though her face is hollow and old. Without her, I would lack the depth I do. Without my crazy, rebellious, “I really, honestly do not give a fuck” person, maybe my boundaries would be a little fuzzier than they already are, retarded by continued coding as my limit-setter is.

I realize that what I was told in 2016, that I was going to write a tome, a thesis, entitled Personality Reintegration: The Theory Of Validity, is true. At the time, I had told them I would have no part in writing such a text without a partner who could help me stay physical while I worked on such a thing. Another cosmic joke, looky-looky, I have been working on it, since then, every single ding-dang day.

I didn’t like the intimation of the title, that maybe  I had a mental disease called “Multiple Personality Disorder,” and that I had bumbled into a cure. I see now how naive and tiny that thinking was. I also fully recognize that the “You’re crazy” motif sculpted my life, others thinking I am not quite right, for the reasons I’ve described above, and because I’m not entirely like them.

I guess I didn’t want to be thought of as diseased. That’s reasonable. I am not, though I am at times perceived as such.

Now I recognize that I have, as a dear friend of mine said once in relation to his life, my jaw dropping as he said the words, “I’ve lived many lifetimes in this one.” I am soothed now in knowing this is far from an individual battle with madness, what I have been puzzling over for a lifetime, and hitting that buttton about as the days melted into this living sculpture, this person I have become, this breathing, laughing, smoking, bleeding work of art. It seems it is about deciding, negotiating, realizing, just who is in the driver’s seat, taking stock of how skilled they are at navigation, resource management, time management, project management, direction, inner and outer environmental data, where the car is pointing, and to what end, and are they happy about it?

I think many times I have let a terrorized 8-year-old drive, who only knows anxiety. It’s a clusterfuck, every single time. Sometimes it’s the one who is just coming to, her body on fire with insults, her mind reeling from outrage, her breath hot with rage. Sometimes it’s the serene meditator, who loves crystals and angels and Jesus. Sometimes it’s the galactic, who knows of what we are doing, what the Body Of God looks like in space, who remembers dealing with other galactic races on this planet. Sometimes it’s the discarded, sad one, who never ever got a freaking break, to her narrow, angry mind. Sometimes it’s the detached scientist, the observer.

And sometimes it is the little green one, convinced there is no endgame here other than the realization, acceptance and normalization of abandonment, convinced the only answer is that I have been abandoned by the ones who matter the most to me, the nearly forgotten ones, amidst drama and chaos and betrayal and storyline.

Without sense memory of my little green comrades, the ones who I sometimes allowed myself to know were watching me, I dumbly pushed that button, clutching the little box in trembling sweating hands, at times.

It is the end of the story, now, the mystery finally revealed, I reflect, as I tuck that little box with its big button into my sock drawer, protected with soft, fluffy cloth, no longer my lifeline, no longer my radio, no longer the answer to my unending question of why.

Who is in your driver’s seat?

I understand now that I can find out simply by feeling into my body and being a little less swept away by emotion. Emotion is like rocket fuel, and I understood recently that when traumatized, which, let’s face it, every single one of us have been, to lesser or greater degrees, for lesser or greater lengths of time, when traumatized, it is natural for the brain to re-wire so that we no longer experience thoughts and emotions quite as clearly. We feed the now experience THROUGH memory, and then experience emotion. We feed the now moment through trauma, and then make assumptions, in essence perpetuating trauma.

So I have been playing with this, disconnecting that circuit of running stuff through the past, through past experience, which was often terrifically painful. It has helped a lot to know about this circuit and to then circumvent it. It leads to clarity, I am finding.

I have indeed developed a theory, and it is now that my bigger, happier self can finally come forth. That’s the funny thing about finding the truth: defense is no longer necessary. It is childish. It is a time waster. This, I think, is the best kind of skin to have, rather than thick skin. Translucent skin is better, the multidimensional kind.

Somehow it took nearly six decades for me to be comfortable with being me, unapologetically, and with great familiarity with and aptitude, but no further interest in the minutiae required by those who cannot and will not understand.

I can see that there are two levels of consciousness always present, the one from the higher agreement field, who knows all, and happily sends me notes, songs, thinkers, friends, guests, others, and the one who must and may forever have to, at the least, negotiate the lower agreement field, which you can call the dominator culture, the patriarchy, the old way, the Kali Yuga. To deny either lies madness.

The lower agreement field presents in humanity through karma, coding, deep grooves of expectation and fulfilled prophecies of doom, and is manifested by polarization.

Knowing about it helps, because it is the difference between the light body and the body who must negotiate a reality which has death as one of its core, required expressions. Connecting with things that are alive, eating them, thinking on them, allowing them to course through your blood and your brain and your biology, this helps. Meditation helps. Psychedelic plants help. Therapy helps. Friendship helps. Meaningful work helps. Music helps. Poetry helps. Painting helps. Driving helps. Giving gifts helps. Receiving gifts helps. Curling your toes helps. Deeply breathing in a favorite smell helps. Eating root vegetables, plants, and stuff you love to eat helps. Physical activity helps. Breaking up routine helps. Challenging outrageous, silly conclusions you or others have made helps. Humor helps. Study helps. Prayer helps. Switching it up helps. Travel helps. Humble conversation helps. Being a student of something complicated helps. Being out of your depths helps.

“Ego dissolution” is the point. It allows one’s true self to finally assert itself. Sometimes that dissolution must occur in the physical, and the bottom falls out. That’s the low-tech version of ego dissolution, but really, the most violent (and successful) episode of this was from Jesus.

It’s really all the same, to me, if this is read widely, or by me and a couple of nuts. I put it out there, and what the consciousness does with it is their business. I only know that I embody new vistas of peace now, and due to what I witness and participate in day to day, saying something about getting clear on a thing or two doesn’t seem weird at all. It seems like the least I can do, and it is, in fact, the most I want to do.

I know where I am headed and I know that my imaginings are as cooperative as my awakening was, so, for me and my house, I will leave it here: upon waking a couple days ago I felt it in my body, how true it is that I, this big, uncontained I, is present in what I will be experiencing this day, and each day in the future, just as surely as this Big I stands beside me every moment of my past.

Somehow, until that morning, I didn’t get the velvety physical aha that I needed to make such a beautiful thought real, that all day long, in new and possibly impossible situations, my Big I will be there, within and through and because of the circumstances, in the room, in my ear, as this thinking, grocking self experiences the events presented to me.

There it was a crystal clear understanding that seemed to emanate from my bones and skin. The feeling of safety and continuity were astounding.

So much of what I now experience day to day I described in my writing as Deeply Awake, when it came through often at a lower octave, needing to do so just to get my attention. As the frequency has raised, I have jumped octaves, and can now trip the whole scale.

So, I had been wondering, who is gonna drive, how does this work, and how do I ensure that the old one is at the wheel more than anybody else? I like remaining clear, I like really liking my self. I like being unconstricted in my thinking, my imaginings. How do I stay at the wheel for the duration of the ride? That has been my fundamental question, understandably so, given the state of the collective, and the individual realities being acknowledged and healed these days.

I will continue to ponder, but I like that I am not as quivery, shivery, shimmery in my belief that this bigger I is real, and is a friend, and is on my side, and really likes me, and is super happy to be here now. I like the sense of continuity and safety I am feeling.

I am aware, abundantly aware now, of the things which flip me, sometimes instantly, into old patterns of behavior, old assumptions, old memories of horror, old hates and loves and needs.

It is with permission to have past selves, and a Big I, and all the rest, that this peace is embodied. With permission.

For me, this was hard earned. I am glad I put in the effort. My work stands as a testament to my devotion to a belief that there was so much more than what my senses and my companions knew was real. I am glad I was guided, I am glad I was trusted, and I am glad I am home.

Deeply Awake — The Root Cause Of The Collective’s Psychosis By Kathy Vik 9-17-18

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Denial Is A Dissociative Device

Through my studies and personal experience, I have been led into the areas of mental health, mental illness, the meaning, cause and consequence of cruelty and neglect, as well as theories on energetic management, and thoughts, always, about what might be driving this thing.

Through the years and experience, I knew that there had to be an answer to the problems I was required to face, and a higher purpose to the pain, but until recently, I did not know what it could possibly be.

I have realized that there is a requirement inherent in the collective reality (dissociation) which, if undetected, can cause grave harm, and lead to a zombie-fied life. An inauthentic, troubled, angry life.

Sit back and plug in and think on these things that I bring to you today, me here with no malice in my heart, no anger left to toss at anyone, no suffering left to take on. My burdens are put down now. I don’t have to take them up again.

Through this process, I have seen the stupendous, unbelievable, personalized and sainted magnitude and beauty of the troubles I was in, as well as the larger purpose for the koans. It’s a stunning, panoramic view, and it’s from here I speak.

I am pleased with my current awarenesses, knowing there is more to come, but from here on out, it’ll be less spicy, and it’ll be easier, since I see and operate more willingly from an energetic level now.

I can hold all harmless now, as my attachment to outcome is finally weakened, my need to calm others appropriately holstered, and my need to be in the dark ever dissolving.

DEEPLY AWAKE – An Empath, A Narcissist and Jesus Walk Into A Bar By Kathy Vik 9-8-18

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DEEPLY AWAKE – An Empath, A Narcissist and Jesus Walk Into A Bar By Kathy Vik 9-8-18

I have had a prolonged silence, an interruption in expression, but this has been in place five months, now. I was given a simple explanation for the task at hand, but now that I have lived it out, I am stunned, once again, with the symbolic and benevolent nature of these otherworldly announcements, these personal, gentle and honest soul communications.

Without the warning, I wouldn’t have gotten all I needed out of the situation. Without the warning, I would have felt under siege, confused and abandoned. Although I am a lifelong skeptic, it just so happens that these messages I get are always reliable. Every time. I have never been lied to, messed with or tricked by my team. Ever.

Anyhow, this last period has been splendid, and more of a completion than I could have imagined. It’s not what I expected, but it’s everything I wanted. I recall visions I have had about this new time, when the sand clears from my vision as our gigantic sandstorm dies down, or as we move from a thick fog, or as our vision inexplicably goes from dim and distant to stunning and awe-worthy.

In a way, it is like that. I realize so clearly some core truths that I will refer to often, now that I finally see things for what they are.

A few years ago, Jesus came to me in a vision, to explain to me the main energetic problem of the times. I want to review it, and amplify it as I tell it from what I have been given this morning. It was much like the state I described above, where everything, literally everything is better, more solid and beautiful somehow, and yet it’s unexpected, un-envisioned, un-vision-boarded, and most decisively precisely opposite in many regards, that which was hoped for. And yet, it’s perfect, better suited to me than even I could have designed, because this structure is free of the blind spots my old structure took into account. This new one doesn’t have to. I am no longer blinded.

I had a meditation where I found myself a woman, in flowing coarse cloth, walking in between two other women similarly attired, each of us carrying surprisingly light, long clay pots. We were walking to the well to fetch water.

Up ahead, I saw him, and everything stopped for me. There, ahead of me, was Jesus. I knew this well before I was close. He glowed, somehow, a radiance coming from him that was intoxicating, and made my heart stop with longing and need.

I felt the curious sensations, the exquisite pain, as I imagined him living his daily life, needing this or that object, a piece of advice, a kind word, a show of support and adoration and acceptance. I realized, as this horribly, floridly vivid shearing pain seared my body and all my awareness, my face is not the face he will see each night, and my face is not what will greet him when he wakes, disturbed, rested, elated. I am not wanted. I am not this to him.

I felt such pain then… like nothing I had yet known. It was beyond hate, and it was beyond any love I had known, and all it could do, all I could do, was let it, consume me.

In a state of panic, feeling no possible release from this hatred for an unknown sister, and my shock and this overwhelming need and, yes, “love,” I cried out for help. In meditation I was stumbling around a black room suddenly, on fire with incurable, unfathomable pain.

Jesus appeared, to my left, just cool as you please, and said, “I can help you.”

He simply said, “Look at what is happening. It is the agreement of the age, and it causes a lot of problems.”

I looked onto that scene again, but instead of a desert scene, there were two human beings, two human forms. The one in complete adoration and terror was bending at her waist, and her crackling white column of considerable light was blasting Jesus.

Then he said, “Stand up.”

I saw the figure who had been bent over stand up, and as she did, her column was running straight up and down, smooth and white and happy, no longer bent, no longer so overpowering, no longer crackling.

He explained that this is the problem of the age, this running energy through others, rather than running straight up and down, as sovereign columns of light.

I saw the scene change then, and where once were these two, locked in a terrible struggle, there were many people, and they all were columns of light, all of them running straight up and down.

I turned to Jesus and said, I feel lonely. I don’t see how anyone is connected to anyone else, and although I like the idea, I don’t like the isolation. I feel so alone.

He smiled and he said, “Watch.”

His arm made a sweep of the place, and as he did, the place was filled with music, creativity, genuine affection, camaraderie, community, and the sharing was happening in colors, emitted from the white columns, streams of shining, crystal clear colors. It was no longer just verbal communication. What was happening was so complete, it felt so validating, there was no shame in the room, no false emotions whatsoever, and such inner peace.

I really thought I had unpacked this vision completely, having both written and recorded about it, and yet, just lately, I am understanding some fundamental truths which bear exposure and sharing. They are good thoughts, pure and true, and they are words of divine love, not the human distortion we have labeled love.

I’ll preface by telling you about an improbable thing that happened to me on the last eclipse of this triad, on August 11, 2018. It had been a scrambler, and so I spent it sitting in a forest, feeling quite undone, and strangely aware I was being put together somehow, just out of sight.

They were strong that day, with many signs and miracles, many creature visitors with messages, and at the end of a day of leisure, I headed for my car, parked a short distance away, at the base of a mountain.

I was told, toward the end of my walk, that at the bend, way down there, I would be stopping. I appreciated the abundant shade, and how close I would be, by then, to cold water and a comfortable seat. But there I was, at the end of that trudge, just coming into the shade, when a huge, and I do mean huge, bird flew past me, on my right, and winged into the tree immediately opposite me. A hedge of willow-like foliage 6 feet high separated us, but oddly, this humongous blue white bird creature was halfway up an old, massive spruce tree, in my center of vision.

Here’s a photo of my winged visitor…

At the time, I was only given words. Ibis. Phoenix. Traveler. Time traveler. Slipping through portals, like a ghost. Slipping through. Not of, not from. Apart and a part of every now.

It took me a while to garner all the gifts, but with a witness, and with contemplation and vision work, I understood, finally just who, or what that was. It is not native, and it is self-sufficient. It looked like a prehistoric bird, and its beak clacked a lot, as it opened and closed its ginormous snout-like beak. I did research, which confirmed the Egyptian roots to this visitor, which of course was the best way to finally, safely, happily relate to that energy within me.

But the punch line was, it visited to remind, to return to me, my beloved Cygnus, Deneb, the Ancient One, my home. My family had been visiting me, and it took a long time to finally get that. Once I did, I can assure you the love was thick and the celebration hearty, my gratitude once again a fountain, a gusher, of joy.

In nursing school I formulated the understanding that mental illness was mainly the disease of relationship, with self, with other, with “reality,” with Source, and almost incidentally, within social matrices. The life is impacted in certain ways when the bones or lungs or prostate are diseased, and the life is similarly impacted when the disease is relational.

I knew coherence, I could identify resonance with creator, with something so unimaginably pure and whole and good, since girlhood. This is one relationship which is immune to disease.

My work with Biological Decoding led me to realize it is the structure, the mainframe, which is diseased, because this physical reality construct is coded for conflict, pain, suffering, and silent despair. It are these events which trigger stop-the-world illnesses, accidents, injuries, and which have a hand in tooling chronic disease. All based in unconscious programming which is itself a song of discord, profound misunderstandings, separation and isolation.

Pretty much. I took a look a that, at the end of my Level One Biological Decoding training, and I realized, no one escapes this shit, some have their heads screwed on straighter than others, but every single one of us is effected by each other, by the conflicts we create and cure in each other, to our fundamental misinterpretations of self, of other, and of our creator. All of this is important to what was to come.

Awareness, consciousness, the willingness and ability to observe, these break the bonds of this thick, repetitive, tarry, wholly unconscious system. Conflicts disappear when seen from the level of their authors.

But being willing and able to see things from many points of view, this is a mark of an empath, a situational ethicist, and someone who can cut anyone slack. And this is a problem, when not mindful of how one’s own energy is running.

It has been said that this reality is one of service-to-self and service-to-others entities, or camps. And this seems far too often to be the case, since I think this is, in the end, the verbal shorthand for that vision I had, where I was bending and running all my awareness through someone else, for that moment utterly unaware of myself, and any greater reality. I existed, for those painful moments, only in relation to the OBJECT of my adoration, devotion and spectacular violence.

A service to others person will bend low and stay there, getting off on serving, getting off on sacrifice. And the one receiving this blast of energy? Oh, honey, that just makes a person lazy, dazed, dependent and weak.

Who, in this scenario, is the parasite, the “energetic vampire?”

This can only be answered, of course, within the context of the bending. Throughout my lifetime, I’ve had those around me who would only have me if I bent low and served. Jesus had me witnessing an inert Target for the blasting. However, many have become dependent on the power gradient requiring light dispensed. And many are specialists in making others bend very low indeed.

All that said, I’m describing my experience after a lifetime of having been tricked into the energetics of this kind of relationship, and I’ve been coerced, manipulated and threatened into bending low all my life, serving those who don’t deserve a second thought, simply because they manipulate.

As such, I can only report the experience of this unhealthiness from the point of view as the service-to-others role. The service-to-self stance was not my role this lifetime . It was my cross.

Even so, I would have to say it is the service to others person, the low-bender. And so, I stand and look at what Jesus gave me, this tableau so rich and meaningful and pregnant with meaning, and I laughed out loud, a couple days ago, awed at his depth and his respect, his trust and his certainty that I’ll get it, if I just keep at it.

I have heard it said that a narcissist’s core issue is with envy, described for clinical purposes as a primitive hatred, and that the empath’s core issue is that of pride, and their need to instill covert contracts involving “love.”

And yet, I as the lover, the adorer, the worshiper of Jesus, it was only in realizing I would never be a chosen one, that I was in no way special to him, that I turned to that envy, and the pain began. I rejoiced in how free and full my love was, until I realized I could not possess, I did not perhaps even want to be touched, I could not have access. It never dawned on me to consider whether I’d sought his consent, of course. And with that imagined abandonment, the hatred ate at me like acid.

Am I describing love? Narcissism? Devotion? Mental Illness?

Or is it instead a lesson, from someone who demonstrates mastery, about energetic management, ease of function, and inner peace?

What I do know is I am glad I have teachers who think higher than I can, and are willing to send me birds, and pictures, and messages which soothe as they instruct, because they bring things together, they bring with it the relief only mercy can, and they are so personalized that to deny them, at this point, would be a a torture from which I could not recover.

I know myself to be that ibis, that crane, that phoenix, that portal slipper, that traveler.

I know myself to be a friend of Jesus, who helps me when my thinking gets jammed up, or when I am about to hit a rough patch, or need a guardrail in my thinking.

I think what Jesus meant, when he told me that this bent up stuff was the problem of the age, what we are getting over, I think what he meant was something I couldn’t access until recently. I felt recognition when I first saw him on the dirt path. And that first spark of recognition ignited into a torrent of unbridled identification and selfish sacrifice that ran right into him, and this may very well have been my energy, my spark, my intention. I realize now that what was completely discarded was me.

As I bent and sucked and blasted, I did not exist. All that did exist was him. In that primitive place of bonding, well, it is a holy temple, after all. There is nothing like staring into an cherished infant or lover’s eyes and feeling the whirl of two galaxies merging. And yet, in that swirl of recognition, of relief, of HOME, if there is an abdication, a forgetting, then a fracturing occurs.

Maybe what he was trying to say is that we have forgotten or selves. The command was to stand up, and in so doing, the loneliness and isolation I felt was like pin pricks, it took my breath away, and I felt ice where I had been on fire.

He had to show me just how connected I actually am with every “living” thing. In standing up straight, I was able to feel ALL of it, not just one cherished person’s reality. I realized I wasn’t having my experience THROUGH another, I was having MY OWN experience.

The trouble of the age, huh?

All that smack about finding your one true love, all that talk about the brass ring, making it, succeeding, being number one?

I know how competitive, how nearly homicidally enraged I was at not being Jesus’ eye candy, hand holder, platitude spewer. In that state, I wasn’t good for much. All I wanted to do was brush his hair and tell him everything was gonna be ok, and I wanted him to make the world go away and braid my hair.

Not healthy. But very understandable.

Just think of the way we think of relationships, crushes, marriage, commitment, and how these concepts translate so very poorly at present, the trampling and abdication of free will being the hot potato of all conflict, and I think it’s safe to say that this culture doesn’t have state of the art judgment when it comes to relating to each other.

I am realizing more and more that standing up means letting every single person have their own interpretation, their own reality. Living my belief that everyone has a team, that no one is disconnected, but that everyone feels they are, these concepts shoot competition, comparing, envy and pride dead.

This core concept of free will is no small thing.

And so I think I will end this with this free will concept. We hear that the ET’s have a rule of non-interference, because they abide by free will. And yet, I am living proof that it’s not considered cheating to have a relationship with my source of all good, and some of Source’s representatives are indeed ET, as am I, and as are you, most likely. My intention is my will. Those who thwart or do not recognize my free will are engaging in the trouble of the age, as I had, as we all have.

What is required now is not to puzzle the whys anymore. The time of cleverness and coherent explanations are part of my DNA now, a bass note in the riffing I do now. There is a bigger wisdom now, which informs my thoughts, guides my actions and moves my reality, now. It’s one in which I, me, myself, am actually part of the equation. The restoration is in connecting with the only true source of knowledge, wisdom, truth and light for me. I’m only talking about me, here.

I realize that in my wounded places, this inauthentic, plastic, battered self is always present, and I do think that with time it is she who is being healed and welcomed home to rest. This scared one, constantly measuring the impact of every word that is said. In a room of twenty talkative people, you can imagine how much is being processed, now. It is no longer possible to run my energy splayed like that anymore, a harried mother, a constant gardener, seeking out disharmony like they are weeds. Just because I can soothe it, I try, while stumbling and bleeding on the sharp corners of other people’s minds. I gave myself away to the pained, the worried, the angry, the punitive, abandoning and denying myself.

It’s time to re-adjust.

Of course, it is that scary place of loneliness which must be addressed to close, that weird, faintly clinical place I felt once I stood up straight. I felt disconnected, even though I was, at long last, finally actually reconnected with nourishment.

It felt different. It was not intense. It was gentle. It felt complete. It felt quiet. Not sterile, and not scary, really, just very quiet, still, pleasantly so. This was before the colors, before the new kind of connecting. And it is this place, this odd place of pseudo-disconnection which I am popping out of now. I want to explore this new way of communicating more fully, more comprehensively, and more safely than has ever been possible.

So, I am standing up straighter more often, now, and I am more keenly aware of the triggers which create that bond of servitude, of false connection, of panic and forgetting and need. I know that place well. But it is a full on pain event feeling even glimmers of it now, and I intend to keep it that way. There are some experiences which I want to remain awful, so that I can avoid them, just by their fetid odor, knowing it is then I must apply my awareness to something far greater than a bogus, adrenaline fueled interpersonal threat.

Obviously that has always been the point, to not be disabled around behaviors which, for me, act like huge magnets, knocking out my signal, rendering me a gray rock, or a quivering mass of anxiety, or apoplectic with righteous indignation. Whatever the affective state or behavior cluster, I have termed this state being disabled, because I check out, and a false self goes through the motions. I notice that the effect can be massive or weak, but the disablement is real. I’ve actually complained about it, noticed it, for a while now, and until this time, I didn’t understand it is nothing but a trauma response, a coping strategy, a glitch in the wiring. I am aware that some of the healing is on a neuro-biologic level, and this I have given permission for since the beginning. The point, for me, is ascension, which is, for me, DNA activation, waking up, coming to, becoming functional, shaking off the nonsense.

Well, as always, I intended to stop a while back, but the words poured out and I enjoyed every minute of it.

I guess the way I really should end this is in telling you how much peace I am feeling by simply owning who I am, what I have become, how I understand stuff, and how I approach life.

The most disowned and abandoned part of myself, Deeply Awake, has stood by, stalwart and sure of herself, as I have argued and protested and denied this part of me. And at the end of this long road, I have come to see this is the most fundamental of clues that something is off.

That is the original fracture, right there. And as my original sin, my doubt, burns off, as my shame falls away, as my suspicion crumbles, I am feeling, finally, sated and well-loved. By whom? By me, the totality of me, which includes me personality, me the traveler, me the author, and me the inner child. But more. By me the silver goddess, me that shining, gold light I know as God, me as earth, me as creatures around me, as the weather, and circumstance this hour.

The blah-blah, the general warning has always been, well, I know I am going to be dragged into it again, so I’m glad I left a bread crumb like this. But now, it’s really now that way, anymore. I know it is a choice, if I bend low and blast. I know it is a choice if I pick an argument with my God, and by extension, my reality. I know it is envy and pride which keeps me in service, in fear and in distress. I know it is that divine love from Source, innervating all, that brings be and keeps me in balance, in good humor, and in hope. And I know it is in talking, sharing, giving, that I rise, spitting in the eye the monsters I have had a hand in strengthening, because I was bored, and didn’t know any better, until, one day, I did.