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 — 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 — No Secrets Here 10-10-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — No Secrets Here 10-10-13 By Kathy Vik

I start and end this piece with poetry.

“You Must Always Tell…”

You must always tell the world what you’ve been through,
It does concern the curious who pass;
The stories of our hearts and of our dead
Can all improve our image in the glass.
Here, or down there, or anywhere I stop,
Tipping my hat to twenty thousand truths,
Deep in a Now about to open up.

You must always tell the world just what you’ve learned;
It was not chance that took you where you went.
And when I search my pockets what I find
Is far more hope than I have ever spent.
You must always tell your secrets to the world,
Those passers-by whose business is the same;
And those from a land where all that’s holy’s dead
May not themselves be totally to blame.

You must always tell the world that you’ve been happy,
Loaded with talent, yes, a great success,
That you’ve built beacons from brutality
And made your music from the pain of love.
We cannot be both ignorant and live;
Let’s not just say we sheltered here a while.
When one’s known death and life – which is always there,
One tries to make a poem – and to smile…

(Sadly, this writer remains anonymous. Found this in Interview Magazine, as an ad for a play, in the early ’80’s)

This work, my work, vibrationally, as a human being, has changed once again, and the change has come from hanging with, busting through, integrating, doubt More than fear, more than anger, more than any primal thing which tries its best to unsettle me, it is doubt, doubt has been my dueling partner. It lies dead, on the floor this morning, taking its time before respawning, so while it lies there barely breathing, let’s have a chat

To describe the changes, I have to be honest with you, and to risk appearing grandiose. I find it funny, that the farther on I go, the more I must wrestle, unwittingly, at times, with doubt. Doubt is something I know very well, and it is one of my finest teachers. This teacher, though, is a little spiteful, like a Zen master who messes with littlemind, knowing its weaknesses, knowing its limits.

Since January of 2012, I have been living pretty much paycheck to paycheck, in a far more extreme manner than before. I walked away from a high paying gig, and decided instead to do shift work, field work, going from hospital to hospital, unit to unit, shift to shift, working with whomever was placed in my way. Of course, that is how it always has been, but the processed got slowed down to a crawl, and I got it, I really did, that each and every time I show up in my uniform, it is by invitation, I am being honored, and I am doing light work not only the patients I serve, but the co-workers I rub elbows with.
It is a paradigm which was important to see, to really get. I got it.

During this time, I felt great fear, because there were times, when the work slowed in the city, that I did not work. I would sleep on a night off, then sleep the following day, at least 4 hours, and then work twelve hours at night. The thing is, when the work slows, I wind up sleeping a lot, resting a lot, lying in wait.

The work has now slowed again, and yet, the panic is not there.

Yesterday, I had a meditation that I need to talk about, but first, I guess I need to tell you of the miracles.

First, the phone, then the stethoscope. I will make these brief.

I took my son out for dinner last week. We’d gathered our stuff from the table and were walking to the lobby when I told Sam I would like him to go find the waitress and hand her the tip. I put my phone, my book, all my stuff, on the shelf at the exit so I could fish money out of my wallet. I walked out of that restaurant thinking Sam had my phone, because I did not.

Turns out my phone went missing. I called to it while in Kirtan that night, and realized just where I had left it. Due to the hour, I couldn’t call the restaurant or pop in.

The next morning, I checked facebook using my kid’s phone and my heart sank… I was being admonished for having sent blind requests to dozens of people. I knew then that some mischief maker had found and messed with my phone.

Sure enough, the phone was not at the restaurant.

I drove to the Cricket store, prepared to transfer service to my son’s phone, and before getting out of the car, I reflected on things, just for a moment.

I realized that I was not perturbed, I wasn’t really upset, and I held no fear. I did not feel like a victim of circumstance, and felt mild curiosity about the events at hand.

And I like how I felt. I saw, sitting there for those moments, how I have changed, and I liked that I did not automatically sink into the victim place when troubles hit.

Then, on a whim, I decided to look down, between the passenger seat and the floor.

And there was my phone.

But that isn’t the weird part. The weird part is that I knew it had not been there. I could feel, I heard and understood, I had passed a marker, I had passed a test, and, although I have had these experiences before, this time, passing this test, I understood in a far more organic way that it was ME who had set up the test, and although the company of heaven was thrilled I was doing well with my reality, I felt special elation, an intimate elation, for seeing that I had tested and rewarded my very own self.

Sort of took the fear out of testing, you know?

So, that was the phone. And always the wiggle room, always the room for doubt. Some would shrug and say that the phone had been there all along. But I know this is not the case. I searched that car. It had not been there. But there it is… always a part of any miracle.

But it gets better.

The last time I worked, I was told I’d be working psych. I wore my uniform, but felt such relief and happiness that I could leave my stethoscope on the dining room table that night. Physical assessments are rare on that unit, and wearing a stethoscope is sort of uncool, so I left it there and reported to work.

My assignment changed en route, though. I was, once I got there, told to go to the geriatrics unit.

I drove to the adjacent campus, thinking that this is just a fine state of affairs. I was not mad, though I knew full well that it was only because I was low-man that I was being sent to that particular unit. The ones doing the assignments all felt relief it wasn’t them going over to work with the old ones.

As I got out of my car, it dawned on me I had not read this right. I hadn’t anticipated this wrinkle. I had left my stethoscope at home, which was a bummer, because even in gero-psych, a stethoscope is required equipment.

I presented myself to the unit, having gotten over any resentment that had visited me, and found a place to stash my stuff. I took off my jacket then, and felt a weird “kerthunk” on my collarbones as I did.

I realized as I placed my coat on the chair that, around my neck was my stethoscope.

All I could do was grin. I knew full well that my beloved piece of equipment materialized around my neck. I knew it to be a miracle. It was sudden, immediate, and strangely physical, this knowledge.

I let it sink in, all night long, I revisited my miracle and it gave me a little lift in my step, I must say. Not in an egoic way at all, no, just in a way that felt like a big old spirit bear hug. Funny. Nice. Solid. Sweet. Enduring.

On the way home from work, I thought about how I can apply this to money. How I can just plunk down a big wad of cash. If I can do it with a stethoscope, then I can do it with anything, right?

The thing is, I haven’t worked since that shift. I was told on the way into the building that this walk is coming to an end, but I did not think it would happen quite this fast. I told them I wanted things easy, no learning through extremity or suffering, not anymore.

And I am not suffering, not in the least, but the bills due press upon my awareness, cloud my joy, now, at times, just a little, when I let it.

And this brings me to my meditation, and then I will be able to finish.

I have looked back on the rhythm of all of this. The timbre and pace of the shift work changes as these things change in my spiritual life. And here I am, finding myself called back to work on a campus which fostered some of the most intense personal growth of my life.

Yesterday, I had to nap, I’d put it off, and so, there I am at 1pm, to rest up. At 2:45 I’d be up, running full bore until 9am the following day. But duty called. So, like a good little soldier, I layed down to rest.

The dictation was blowing through me. I felt good, so good, and yet, I felt that I needed to be unconscious, asleep, blank. That was not happening, so I saw my body as a current that was below, running, running, on and orange, vibrant, and yet, I could somehow get above it, and create a delineation, so that I could hang out and learn while my body got tuned. I talked to my body and we agreed that I would feel fully rested, and fully capable to do whatever I was called upon to do through the night and into the morning. This is not about survival, and I would be fine.

And then, things got good.

I could feel the ever-present high pitched squeal in my left ear get bigger, and I began to imagine that there was geometry in my head, connecting my ears, somehow, to my third eye. I found that when I connected myself this way, I was reminded of one half of a tetrahedron. I did not like that the geometry was only at head level. I wanted it to be a body awareness.

So two things happened, and they both warrant discussion. I went visiting, through this portal I made with my ears and eye, and also, simultaneously, I worked to embody the energy.

I began to move the light, the energy that I was feeling in my head, move it, through my body. But I did not like how it felt, to imagine this energy swirling through or around me. I did not like the thought of it visiting me. I wanted to feel it in another way. It felt so dissatisfying to think of it spinning, without it coming FROM, from within me.

And so, I traveled with the light down into the core of my body. There, at the center, what I found was the place that is where the light and the dark both come from. The point of creation which is transparently thin, from which all things have their origin. I found it satisfying, finally, when I could finally see and feel light peeling out of this thin, this nearly transparent reality of unity. I let the colors unfurl from that place, where all problems and all solutions sit together on the plain for harvest, and I see all of it, all of it, all of it, burst into light, where there is only one mind, one reality, one knowing.

But, I was also having this head thing go on.

I could feel almost a metal set up, this pyramid, this physical thing that my imagination was constructing, using the noise in my left ear, triangulating that somehow to my right ear, even though it was silent, and then, from there, it only made sense to go outward, through my forehead, through it, beyond.

I saw the greats, all of them, and love them all, I did, and then, I came to a council of light beings. I know them to be my old friends, wiser now, and I talked with them.

It was as if all the pictures I have of masters, the ones I love, who I know from dreams and thoughts and inspirations, I passed through each of them like they were paper, somehow, very colorful paper, and I felt just a tiny rush of relief to know that they are symbols. Colorful and helpful and perfect and symbols.

And then, I sort of felt my self rush to a place where there was a group of beings that glowed. They were light, and they were benevolence itself, and they were gathered in union, communion, in a circle. I felt such love, and I wept, I felt such recognition.

I knew them to be The Teachers, and I knew then that The Teachers were wonderful friends. I sensed the fortitude, the unwillingness I had to do anything but awaken, and I saw my whole life, then, a series of teachers I asked for, I agreed to work with, who I loved and who loved me. I understood, just a bit, perhaps, how cooperative the whole thing is, and I felt connected to them in a brand new way.

I told them that they have changed, and I asked them if it were true, could they have changed so much? They laughed and asked me the same thing, and then said, this is the time of taking on more of what one is, and as they did, so shall I, so have I. I have changed, they have changed, all is in motion.

They told me I can have access to them whenever I wish, and we settled on a very nice metaphor. The old channel’s attic, where we did many session,s came to us, and yet, it is an amalgam. A safe and inviting place, a hallowed place, and one I can go to whenever I feel the desire. It is the vibration which grants access, and the vibration is being fine tuned so that it can be held in consciousness more easily, but it really is just a thought away.

And then, I was given a gift.

I am obsessive, this is true, when it comes to this work. I get discouraged. I worry. I fret. I am impatient. Not anxious. Grandly impatient.

I have been told for a very long time that this is work which will live on, and I have often felt the gratitude that only a writer of code can feel, when the code is finally broken, and everyone has access. I have always understood that this is work which will live on.

And I have been able to see, especially after their talk on harmonics, how all of my good will have to, just have to, come to me. There is no other way of balancing this equation. No other way.

I set this lifetime up to have no human mirrors. None. I don’t feel I have ever met my match. That is certainly not a slam to friends or family or loved ones. No. But not one of them can discuss this stuff with me. Do you get that? The stuff that makes me glow, that sets me on fire, that gives me purpose, that has set my bones and allowed me to run again, my family, my friends, my co-workers, they have wanted no part in it. None. I am accepted if I keep quiet. And that is weird, I know, but it is the set up.

This does not mean I have not had teachers, because I have. Great masters who are my friends, two of them in my life right now, patterning for me self-determination, divine love, acceptance, honor, respect. I have that. I have the guru thing down. But to be sitting on a couch with someone, lighting up a smoke, and to feel permission to discuss the finer points of angels, or how we all are our own mountains, that sort of thing, this is NOT TOLERATED. In fact, I have some in my life whose upper lips curl when I even start THINKING this way. It’s really fucked up, actually.

This had been on my mind the days prior to this meditation. I had come to see that the point of this set up was not to further illustrate man’s inhumanity to man, but instead, the set up was necessary so that I could have a pristine knowledge of self, self as generator and interpreter of reality, self as determiner or experience, self as source of divine love.

Although I have seen love for me in the eyes of another, it has always been with reservation. Always. And I think this has more to do with the space inside folks’ hearts than anything to do with me.

Tony Stubbs writes that all agreement fields have geometrics, and if one has the pattern, the geometric, say, for victimization, then when that energy comes blowing through your reality, one’s own patterning as a victim jumps up and latches onto the agreement field of “Victim,” and off you go, off you go into the world of scary monsters and defeat.

And just as there is an agreement field for victim, there is an agreement field for sovereign, master, although I am not sure I like that term, and when this is presented, sure enough, your geometry clicks into this field, and there you go, off and running, into happier, clearer fields of endeavor.

And with that, things got quieter for me.

Sometimes, it helps to see something in print. I had begun to really believe that I, little I, me, Kathy Vik, all by her lonesome, was projecting this weird pattern no one else could see, no one else had the equipment for.

Hence, the writing, so I would not feel so alone anymore, and to also understand, really slow it down and understand, just what was happening to me.

There is a field which rides above the physical, which is exalted and beautiful, a field which is clear and is pure light, unsullied acceptance, absolute honor and joy. This is the unified field, this is the transparent wafer which exploded, with intent, into light, within my body, in meditation.

And from there, in meditation, I saw something unusual.

I saw generations of people, unending people, with my books in their arms. I saw generations of people. I saw their respect, and I felt their gratitude.

I cried again then, so freely and happily, full of love, and a job well done. I saw that it is such a blessing, will be, when people finally read this and get it, because it will tell me that people’s hearts are more open, and they are ready. It filled me with such gratitude, such gratitude and honor to have been willing to set apart effort for this endeavor.

This writing will help many, and when it begins to, as it already has, every time I get a comment or a word of encouragement, it lightens me and excites me, because it proves to me that there is willingness, there is openness.

This writing will become important to people as their journey becomes important to them. Right now, many are still mesmerized by events, and that’s just fine, that is a loosening up of things that needed to be loosened.

There will come a day.

This I now know as fact. It is just physics. Just physics.

But that brings me back to this present moment, and also to what comes next for me.

I have held myself on the cusp for a long time. I have been unwilling to re-order my life, I have resisted taking on a full time job.

I have been waiting for the other shoe to drop since I sent out my first essay into the ethers. I re-read my work, and for all its cumbersome self-revelation, I can only see it as miraculous. How do I string sentences together, construct huge frameworks of knowledge, while in my jammies, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes? How is this possible, even?!

So I have been fascinated with the process and unwilling to break the flow, convinced that working full time would commit far too much time to interpersonal karma-busting, which I really just don’t feel like doing for others at this point. They can carry their own water for a while, that is what I have thought since I started this process in March of 2012. let the co-workers and weird bosses and messed up systems I find myself dwelling in, let them slide, let everyone just do their own thing without me for a while. I don’t want to bump up against authority, all that crap, I just want to be left alone to FEEL and to WRITE.

And so, I have lived in distressing levels of poverty since I made my decision to get right with myself, cursing my wealthy father, silently, for not doing more for me, angry at a system which requires one to abdicate so much physical time to daily bread that thinking quietly, contemplating deeply, this is seen as luxury, not necessity. I did not want that world. I turned away from it. I wrote instead.

Deeply Awake is a gift for you, a gift I made for me too, one which I know now will be on my bookcase, in my next family’s house, and maybe there will be more of what I have written, on the TV or in the movies, on the radio, on chat shows. I will be surrounded by it, won’t be able to escape it.

And it was there, in meditation, me in my next life, seeing these books on my mom’s bookshelf, it was then that I understood my legacy, and more, I understood, profoundly and simply, that my gurus, my teachers, my spiritual rescuers, I put them there, just as I am willing my books into my next lifetime, I willed these teachers, this enlightenment, this new way, into this lifetime. What makes me think I am exempt this lifetime from this sort of forward planning of compassion?

It was then that I saw that, even if the books are never published, even if there are no throngs clutching these tomes to their chests, I have seen, with certainty, with a knowingness which cannot be shaken, I have seen my bigger self step right in and intervene. I have had great teachers, profound revelations, and this has been purposeful.

There is one more thing from this meditation that I want to pass on, and then I can tie this up.

I saw, there in my family tree, I saw that there were guardians, emitting a pure, pure love that went unrecognized and often was ridiculed, while growing up. And these folks, they might have looked like martyrs, but they were holding a very high vibration, the vibration of unconditional love, and I could see, one by one, through the generations, I could see these avatars light up.

I understood there is a lineage of light that I am part of. My son is part of it, by choice. And I saw that we are connected, all of us, each of us in the family, but that some of us have a purpose which was more obvious, shall we say, and whose light was very very strong.

I saw that the truth of this is humanity is a matriarchy, when all is said and done. I saw that these blood lines, they matter, and that, although the love bond between two grown up human beings unrelated by blood, this is very very important on so many levels, but, blood, this is the way of it. This is the lineage. This is how the lineage is maintained. Choice by blood.

That is not to say that we are unrelated, because the truth of it is we are one, one entity, when you get right down to it, but then there are gradations.

From there I understood better about physical life. I could go on for more pages, but what the essence was is this: I was railing against my amnesia. I was telling them, at the end of this meditation, to remove it. I want it gone.

I saw then that in one respect, the reason we have amnesia is that the events, the minutiae that create events, these are unknown until potentiated. The future is unknown, and the amnesia is in effect because the future is unknown.

What is available are potentials, probabilities.

And then I saw that riding above the little decisions which make us move here and there, above the set ups, above the things that look like accidents, there are agreements, soul to soul, and these agreements are not as obvious as you’d think. There are agreements which insert themselves within our reality, within our matrix, and these are what can be hooked into, but the thing is, the more I looked at it, the more layers I saw.

It is a complicated system, and one that I am not so sure I need to know, or even want to know, the inner workings of.

What I know now is that I am covered.

So this morning, I feel different. I am done, I think, doing the woe is me dirge, ever again, when it comes to spiritual loneliness. It is my walk, for now.

Further, I have decided that it is time to break apart this fear over What Comes Next.

I knew there would come a day when the next bit would be clearer, and it does get clearer daily, but it feels like a whole bunch of residual has been cleared, and I can just see better, with fewer emotional barbs sticking out. It hurts less to think about the future now.

I used to think that if I took a full time day job that this would be the end of my spiritual growth. And it is true that having huge blocks of “idle” time has allowed me access to things I probably wold have avoided had I opted for wealth, or at least a higher living standard.

But I think now I can do this without giving into the vow of poverty.

I saw my spiritual work in the hands of generations. How poor can I be? I saw my love shining in the faces of those who read this work, who take this journey. How destitute can I expect to be?

I see now that I am covered, and that this next part does not have to be hard. I think that I can work in a system, get involved with people and their daily lives, to whatever degree, and still be happy. I can. I can have financial ease.

I have seen this choice, though, as one between spirit and money, for nearly two years. I moved past the resentment of a society, a culture, which values trinkets over spiritual depth, symbols of safety and comfort over spiritual safety and comfort, and I am done feeling anger, resentment, condescension, despair about any of it.

If the generations of readers never materialized, somehow even that does not matter all that much to me now. I may have to toil on in my area of training for a while more, it may not even take in my lifetime.

And I am not going to get down about that anymore. Not anymore.

I needed YOU to get ME for a really long time. You getting me meant that I did not have to fully commit to nursing, I could just continue to just keep patching the boat. I kept waiting for reinforcements, for people who resonate with what I write. I have found a few. A precious group, I tell you. I love them more than I can express in words. I owe them so very much, every reader, every reader.

But I am pretty much done with unpaid bills, with a messy house, with coasting.

I have had my fill, now, of these great downloads. I know, from my own experience, that I can experience life-altering downloads while on my feet, at work. I have had them happen.

What makes me think that if I stay put, stay still, stay disengaged, anymore, that anything will change?

I know I must make changes now, and although I have been saying that, to some extent, since I started this, I feel as if much of the work is complete. It will never be done. My last meditation is proof of that. I have written 11 pages thus far, and I have not covered a few gigantic understandings that came my way int hat hour and a half of sleep/meditation.

Although I have an aversion to cleaning up that is nearly physical, although I am unenthused about having to slog through one more shift as a nurse, I see what is before me, and I know I must make my plans.

I know that that stethoscope plopped on my neck from Elsewhere. I know I got my phone back as a reward for passing a self-imposed test. I know these things. To apply this knowledge of miracles onto my finances, this is tricky. I see that money is just another form of energy, like my stethoscope, like my phone, it is solid, does things for me, and is highly enjoyable to have around. My ego was not wrapped around my belongings though. My sense of self-worth was never in jeopardy, as I went looking for my phone, as I showed up for work.

And so, the last miracle was one which occurred while in meditation.

I kept hearing a THUNG sound, a deep bass sound, while I was laying down. My neighbor playing music, I thought. And although this would normally send me into spirals of hate, I heard, when the THUNG would come, I heard, “You need this tone. This is a tone which is helpful for you. You have called it to you. Be grateful for it.”

When I considered that this sound, this sort of intrusive, mildly irritating sound would happen, thinking on it as a gift, that it was helping me to tune up somehow, then the THUNGing stopped.

Then I would go off and think some other thought, something not quite as true, somehow, and the THUNGing would start again.

It happened three times, the silence. I realized there was a rhythm. Every time I surrendered to the idea that this THUNGing was not an intrusion, not a visitor sent to jangle my nerves or distract me, not something I had to fight against or hate, it went away.

And so, I see that this might be what is called for now, in regards to my work life.

I want to travel, take vacations, give readings and lecturers, encourage open discussion of that which has been unspoken for thousands of years. I want to be writing for TV, for the movies, I want to write books and plays and radio shows. I want to create. It is all I have ever wanted to do.

But to get there, how to get there?

I think it is by putting one foot in front of the other, doing that which feels perfect in this moment, and this one, and this one. For nearly two years what has felt perfect is to let housework completely slide, let work fall by the wayside, allow this process full expression, and see what happens.

And now, I look at what I have created, and I am stunned. It is beautiful, what I have done. And I think it is enough for now.

I have no one in my reality yet who sees this work as salable. But I have had people step forward and give encouragement. I have had many people, especially lately, extend surprising offers. I am happy for the movement, open to it.

I tell my guides, my Self, my angels and my God that I want ease. I want my financial scores settled easily. I want it to be like falling off a log, making this last part right. I deserve this. I have worked hard for no money, I have taken a pay cut to put all this to paper.

I told them, during meditation, like a prayer, like a ruling from a king, but more, like a surprised little girl, I said, out loud, in meditation, “I am being rewarded. I have earned a reward.” It was a solemn understanding, it was. I have earned a reward.

And so, I think it makes sense to go looking for a job that will pay me enough money for me to start digging out financially. The tradeoff seems to be that I will have to get more involved in people’s bullshit to do it. It is easiest to earn good money when they think they own you.

That’s how I have come to see it. So I will look for a job among grownups who maybe are less likely to think of me as a human resource, and more as a human, but I am unconvinced that my fellow nurses are anywhere near ready for this. So I will cloak, I must, to some extent, and I will present myself for stupid nursing jobs, because the one I have has sputtered out.

And I keep thinking that just by getting dressed up and knocking on doors, other things will begin to present themselves. But it is time, one way or the other, to start moving again, start living again, start hooking in again, but differently this time.

I will reluctantly go looking for work, and maybe that is the exactly wrong attitude to hold, but I am not excited about being a nurse. I really sort of dislike it. Yes, there are a lot of things I do enjoy about it, but I don’t like being away. Away from my house, from my peace, from my routine. I have grown a little lazy, here in expression land.

But, I will, honestly I will, end with this.

As a nursing student, I carried a poem with me. One moment, I was among people who valued intellectual pursuits and who did not make fun or poems. The next, I was in a world where anything that could not be appreciated with the sense took a lower berth, became something to discredit, disbelieve, discount.

I carried that poem with me, and I carried within me the knowledge that even though I was surrounded, and continue to be surrounded, by people who act as if they allergic to anything more than the job ahead of them, the bills that must be paid, the obligations they have made, there is something which I value that they do not recognize, that I do, that feeds me, that keeps me alive.

I would read this poem after exams, after horrible shifts in psych, all through my life, since I found it at eighteen, I have read this and it has steadied me. I leave this piece as I began it, with beloved poetry. This piece makes the self-doubt I experience, it makes it go away.

Because it matters
to read books
jagged as boulders,
serene as a Mozart concerto;

to correct our lives
by the plumb-line
of Jeremiah or Plato,

and to comfort our hearts
with Isaiah and Bach;

to know the world anew
in the witness
of Galileo, Darwin,
Teilhard do Chardin;
and to savor a new creation
with Woolman and Blake
and Thomas More’

Because it matters
that we can be companions
in a learning fellowship
which begins here and now
and my reach to our
final darkness;

Because it matters so much,
I am where I am
and do what I do.

Paul A. Lacey

Deeply Awake — Just A Weather Report 8-15-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — Just A Weather Report 8-15-13 By Kathy Vik

This has been a good few days. Highs and lows, certainly, but no sharply angular or perplexingly unsolvable things in my awareness.

I had a big hit of something yesterday, some sort of light blast… I did the only thing I could, given how I felt, I slept.  For 16 hours. When got up just weak as a kitten. I took a shower and agreed that the water was somehow resetting me electromagnetically, chemically, washing me clean. I talked to the loving filaments in the water who are there to love and hydrate and express, and it really did help a lot.

I also asked my ascension support group for help. I asked those who were willing to send me light, and explained the situation (I felt crappy and had to work a twelve hour night shift in a couple hours.) I know that I was lovingly supported in light by my friends, and thought of their love through the night. It helped. I felt pretty good.

I think that I have realized that I have functioned at work largely out of fear. It is a profession which is rife with guilt and paternalism and blame and secrecy and mock transparency and pretty judgmental behavior, at times.

On the other hand, it’s one of the few professions, this sort of work, as is massage and dental and all sorts of healers, the idea is, the clearer, the more objectively benevolent you can be, the more people you help and the less people you hurt.

It makes sense, and you can always tell when someone finally has learned this. They do not hold judgment, they speak with compassion and tenderness, but with an authority that cannot be denied. They are trustworthy, they command respect, and they are people everyone feels good around, everyone likes.

I have met such people, and I have worked closely with them. I have had them as patients, as subordinates, but usually, that level of clarity I have only seen in physicians. You can see it a mile off. They are deep, but accessible. Certain, but without ego. They are healers. I have met them.

I know that if I can recognize something on the outside that is that sublime, it only means that I am capable of that depth my own self.

And this has been the window of clarity I have now stepped through.

Isn’t this the whole point of being here, after all, deciding you are alone and abandoned, unloved and insignificant in all the world, with a punitive Father God always bringing you down, driving you to do things no one who feels good about themselves would ever do… there’s that route, and lots of people take varying levels of it.

And this is how the window frame was constructed. Being given such great guidance and help along the way, and then I took off the training wheels, and I will tell you, I have always had a secret hatred of the Apostle Peter.

I didn’t ever like the man, Peter, as he was presented in the bible. I thought that his doubt was so stupid, so arrogant, so harmful, so cowardly, so ugly, just so sad.  His story really affected me. They all did, but Peter, I never liked him. How can he be in the midst of a christed one, a master, a teacher, and hold such doubt? How can it, and why should it, ever be forgiven, rebuking his teacher’s name?

You can see how visceral my response is, was, toward Peter. I would often wonder, why did he make those decisions of his? Was it really, after all that training, a simple fear of death?

Seemed to me that his slot could have been filled with someone who was smarter. That’s how I read it, way back when.

On the way home from work this morning, I was thinking about just what a doubter I was, these last 20 years, give or take.

I had the benefit of great intuition, a keen intellect, amazing mentors, excellent teachers, and then, it’s as if I just plunged headlong into physical life, family life, getting further and further away from my core, voluntarily, willingly, no victim here.

And now, I look back on this, and I feel like I am waking up from a particularly nasty dream, but there is no real emotional pain or dissonance within, now, when I look back on my path.

I believe I set it up this way so that my faith, my knowledge, could be rock solid, as certain and sturdy and immovable as a Sequoia. I needed to GET IT.

And isn’t that the test, after all? Are you going to believe that there is no magic, nothing holding this all together, as sad and odd as that thought is to me, I do know that many hold these thoughts. I have never, honestly, believed the lie that I was alone, but if you read my work you will see the degree of distress inherent in doubting what you know in your gut.

And so, I think it is time to admit that the stuff that I react strongly to, like the accounts of the doubter of old, it only sticks in my craw because I am holding that energy. Duh.

And this window that I daintily crawled out of, through, this afternoon, is simply that, I believe this to a degree which is allowing me to very simply see that every single person on earth has got to figure out this stuff on their own. And if someone is interested, they snoop around and push on doors and meet people, and things begin to open up.

It is synchronicity. It is trust. It is busting fear in the chops, doing that which terrifies, but just dropping the tinge of fear and let the butterflies of anticipation, of exhilaration, the exhilaration that comes with walking right, square into the unknown with joy and trust, let that take over, and everything sort of blossoms.

So, on the backside of this window is a person who needs a lot, just a ton, o validation, so much so that she walks around constantly angry she is not full. And on this side of that window, so lovingly and gradually constructed, is a person who delights in humor, in ease, in peace, in as compassionate of action as I can summon at any given time.

I have met a new friend, and it is the way, when in company, to see the differences each person has with how they approach the standard conundrums of life. It is fascinating to me.

As we talked, into the evening, I saw myself, several times, sort of outside of myself, or contained within something bigger. I saw my reactions to things, and I heard what I was saying. And I was so polite, just have this fallback position of being gentle, and it was really nice to finally get a gander at it.

I think that I have so not valued myself, and I wish I really understood why it is that I wrestled so strenuously with self-worth, and with doubt, and with the nonsense that passes for depth of understanding at times, but I don’t know that, and I am thinking, now, that maybe it just doesn’t matter all that much. It doesn’t matter.

It was a device, a device to get me here. And I did it to and for and with myself, and with so much support and loving action. My goodness, the love that has always surrounded me. Oh my goodness.

And so, I like this story most of all. An older lady who is very comfortable with herself and what she thinks her god is, and she walks around really doing her utmost to show compassion, just that core love, to all, herself first and foremost.

But without compassion toward those I share my walk with, what fun is that? How much wisdom do I demonstrate if I cannot find peace among anybody? I guess that has been a bit of my shame, that I have not, did not, sustain that sort of love, and oh, the recriminations I used to give myself, oh I was so not nice toward myself, parsing every conversation, mining every interaction for wrongdoing, for potential harm to other. Good Christ, how did I stay sane???
But see, for me, my search is at its end. My life is just beginning, but my awakening is at its end. I know this, and I am glad for it, because it was arduous.

And I can honestly say to you now that I think this writing is appropriate and wondrous and meaningful. It is not linear. It is packed with stories and adventure, but it is not linear, and that is just fine with me. I love what I do, and I am very interested to see how it will change now.

I know changes are forever afoot, and there is nothing that will cross my path that I have not put there. It’s mine, so I first love it, and then experience it, learn whatever I can from it, but mostly, now, for me, it is about loving. I am on the look out for opportunities to help, to be kind, to go out of my way, not in a cloying or ingratiating spirit, but in a full knowledge that I can help when someone is in need, and it may be that they are just in need of a joke, or maybe they are in need of being irritated, since some people respond in that way, and in many ways I find incomprehensible, really, but I’m not out to do anything but connect, to give off a warmth that need not be spoken, not really.

I know that this can be called many things, and I know that there are many classifications and classes and theories and names. I know what I call it, or used to.

I guess I will end by saying that I know that I am unusual, in that I decided to do this early. I am part of a group who decided to come into density and awaken with a bang, early, ahead of schedule. We are here to sort of ride that first swell, the first wave of a tsunami, but really, that is not a good metaphor.

I think of us as those who really enjoy field work, and are not averse to cutting a path deep into wild jungles full of terrifying stuff. We know there are risks, but the risks really are metaphoric, not actual, and they just add texture and depth to character, after all.

We of the first wave, those who decided to come in and wake up in a group, we are doing it now, you know? It’s all over the web. It is just so obvious. There are so many people expressing interest in things that are unseen, un-considered, until just recently.

It is a miracle, and it is a blessing, and it is a blessed confirmation to a life lived to these standards, to these truths, with I took as truth a long time ago, and have felt bad and weird and dumb for holding, until now.

I am proud, I can say now, for my dedication to this endeavor. I am proud to have taken myself seriously enough to trust what the “voices in my head,” really, my whole being, has told me to do, at any given time, any given time at all. I learned how to dwell in synchronicity a while back, and then the well went dry for me, and I am here to tell you now that I think it’s just a real nice combo, the Earth supporting all of us rock stars, the Heavens pouring energy into us, and us, being able and willing to remember, finally, that we have been doing this gig for quite a while, some of us, and it is such a relief to finally just breathe again.

I just feel like I can breathe.

I think it is fine to be wherever anyone is. Sure, I am proud of my trek, but I am fascinated, just fascinated, by yours. I want to know all about it, all the twists and turns, all the times synchronicity just knocked you off your feet and made you a believer.

These things matter. They are real, and they, for me, allow me to feel like I am alive. I cannot be here just to go to a job, or just to raise a child, although neither of those should be predicated with a “just.” Both are important feats, all by themselves, but see, without being connected to All That Is, without feeling like I am in my core all the time, invulnerable because I am in love, well, it’s just how I like to play it.

Everybody has their own level of comfort, their own history and their own path. I am not here to tell anyone how to do their life. That is not something that usually ends well anyway. And, since this seems to just get more unbelievably sweet with each passing day, I am really cool with having lost out on opportunities to be kind, to show understanding, encouragement, acceptance. But the days to self-doubt, recrimination and rumination are far behind.

What lies before me is anyone’s guess. I think it is best to leave predictions outside the door, because I can feel certain potentials sidling up, there is great synchronicity and humor afoot.

So, I said I’d end, and then I went on and on, but I mean it now. Here goes.

During my times of holding in full consciousness the idea that I can have, be, do anything, anything at all, and sometimes I imagine I’ve won the lottery, I think on the things, just the material stuff, that would be great. And I have lately been imagining a sea green Mini Cooper with a racing stripe.

While my dad was in the hospital for heart surgery and I was out at his house tending to his aging and confused girlfriend, the image came to me again and again. We started playing a little game while out at Roxborough, my son and I. We would think on it, in a moment of calm and peace, and then say out loud the things we know are around us, as we are living “Our Perfect Life.”

There is so much more than a car that we know to be ours, in our perfect life, but there definitely is a sweet ride parked outside our house.

Last night, on the way to work, driving east on 17th, heading into downtown Denver, what should pull into the left lane, eight or ten blocks back?

A sea green Mini Cooper with a racing stripe.

I laughed out loud and I got tingly. And then I watched it, and I listened.

I was told a number of things, but the gist is that my “alternate reality,” all these things and accomplishments, all these things that make up my imaginings of a different, a bigger, a freer and happier and lighter life, this new life I am courting, well, it is here.

It is here. It is in your sights. It is physically here.

The car did not change relative speed to mine, and so it never sped up, and I did not lose it, all the way to work.

That told me that it’s best to be content with the fact that my highest desires, the most benevolent outcome to all, is upon me, and so, showing the patience this auspicious harbinger calls for is not only appropriate, it is the only respectful thing to do.

Just be grateful. It is here. Just be steady. It is here.

I smiled as I thought about that car, through the night, a night that was so incredibly busy that first it was 7pm, and then it was 5am. It just flew, which I am truly grateful for, and I no longer hold resentment for my being in the situation I am in. it is fluid, plastic, and it is changing.

That’s the weather report for this day. I am clear, and getting clearer. I am peaceful, and I am certain that my highest aspiration, that of being a living breathing example of loving goodness, someone who is connected to a bigness of spirit, like those physicians I have worked with, my old mentor Marge, these are folks who keep the spark lit for all of us.

I want to also know, embody, and give away that spark, just lifting myself up past the stories which constrict and blame and torture, up to a place, up in these clouds, out past this window we, each of us have in our psyches, where there can be no blame, no shame, no fear, no heaviness.

A place where I see you, and like what I see. I really , really do. I think this is a good place to be.

I can imagine thinking such thoughts behind the wheel of a sea green Mini Cooper with a racing stripe.

I really can.

Deeply Awake — Dear Friends 7-14-13 By Kathy Vik

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Deeply Awake — Dear Friends 7-14-13 By Kathy Vik

You know, if you have been following along, that I sort of reached a point of disgust, of sadness and of disappointment which found me, if not inconsolable, then non-plussed, about a week ago.

I had not made it abundantly clear, for reasons which will remain unclear, that I had been given the gift of a lesson in discernment, in tearing away from a consensus reality, what appears to be once and for all.

This is a big, big step, and one that I have been flirting with, keeping interested, hoping that someday the time would be right for our love to bloom. Have you known something like this, where not having contact brings relief, and contact brings unpleasantness, not for them, just for you?

I left the writing thinking I would not go back, and in a way, I return to this work changed, really.

Through a series of gifts from co-workers, old friends, readers and spiritual teachings, through synchronicity and divine timing, I was given gifts, and none of them make me want to do anything but love people. I have things that jam it up, though.

I, like many of us, came in with some programming that it has been my job, and my honor, to rewrite. This programming, these overlays that are just ripe for destruction, for reintegration, they were simple ones, but profound, which made it absolutely impossible to feel anything like warmth with people.

This is programming which results in much drama, sleepless nights, and gnashing of the teeth. Wandering the desert, that sort of thing. But I know I am not alone in this. I know, having read the Cannon books, the Convoluted Universe series, among others, that there are many out there just like me, like you.

Dolores works with us, and has been spreading so much information, with her own observations and experiences, with her teaching and for me, still, it’s all about he books.

I’ve learned, and felt such a solid feeling of re-membering, with her books, much of them transcripts of sessions she has had with people like me, like you. Her books are filled with information on quantum meditation, memory recall, soul integration.

It is one way to get there, and it is effective.They’re field notes, oh! Just read one of the Convulted Universe books and I challenge you not to feel filled with something which you will know intellectually shouldn’t affect you as it does, but there it is.

In your hand, there on the page, stories, from our inner worlds, how outer and inner intertwine, examples, proof, we are so much more than we can access while the programming is working, while we’re awake.


There for a time, I’d say the last couple of months, I found it harder and harder to relate to the idea of an ultimate God.

I became so appreciative of the vastness contained in this wrinkly skin, I found it really hard to even want to assign a name or a meaning to the voices inside my head. I began to feel that inside, right in here, was enough. And of course, this is where communication gets tricky, and when I need to involve more open channeling, more honesty, to my explanation, so please bear with me.

I know, in the cells of my body, because the cells of my eyes witnessed it, when everything lit up gold, and I could see my ex-husband, my son, the truck, all lit up, all gold, and it was crystal clear to me, in those moments, that the only reason any of us are doing any of this, here on Earth, is because we love each other so so so so much.

We are all in love with each other, and we all love each other so much we sometimes even do outrageous things, and it may all seem totally random, but nothing is farther from the truth.

The truth is we are all here with the purpose of loving each other, and ourselves.

Loving oneself is sort of not even an issue in that place. It is so obvious it really is just part of the reality, and can be unsaid. And isn’t that nice?

So, I understood that on Christmas Eve, 2012, and it changed me. It really did. It quieted me. It calmed me to realize this.

And then the storms came, and I became more and more squeezed, gladly I then did what needed to be done: find a way to make this understanding my everyday reality.

And this led to great dissonance, and what always feels like it has to be the final resolution. Maybe now, I think. It seems reasonable.

I’ll ask you, and I really would love it if you would consider it, doing it, and then telling me your thoughts. What would happen, do you think, if everyone on God’s Green Earth got a hit of that? Because, in that state, on that night, it was abundantly clear, just unwritten, so obvious, that this vision I had (I think of it as having the scales removed from my eyes) is a truth for all, not just for me.

I am not the only one on this planet aware of this beauty.

And, what was so true for me, after seeing it, is that I understood I was being given a gift of how things really are, how things really look and the real and true reason behind stuff. I’d been asking. It was a bad Christmas,

They just arranged for a very nice gift. One I’d never return.

See, here is that overlay of isolation again.

And this is what my etheric friends have been helping me with. I have come to understand that part of my programming, and yours, perhaps, is to feel isolated, to feel alone and stranded. Of course, it is a normal reaction to having your memory wiped, and that alters friendships sometimes. But, more than this, there is an element of alienation which runs through this thing, this whole thing, like a lone bassoon note.

If the set up is that each of us is a discrete entity, and that none of us are connected in any real way, then of course, what I see in my head has no bearing on what you are aware of.

But I saw Michael Clayton a few nights ago, the movie, and I have to tell you, something in it just struck a gong in me, for the first time, though it was there the whole time.

This is taking the whole us and them thing to a place I can live with, maybe.

In that movie, which I have to say is the best movie ever written, for a lightworker, the boy is reading a book called Realm + conquest. In it, all the characters are having a dream, telling them they need to go to a certain place. No one knows that anyone else is having the same dream, but a whole lot of people are being summoned.

Does it not strike you as wonderfully coherent that someone in Tunisia can have the same weird feeling of getting supermassive, and then shrinking to the size of a pinprick, then huge again?

Do you not find it weird that regardless of country, biology, economic status, here on the web is one language, with everyone having impressions about it, but there is core information, core stuff, that we are all experiencing?

Many of us are having the same changes in our biology, in our personal lives, even.

How alone can a person feel?

But this isolation which I was walking around with was a metaphor. I could care less, really, if the nurse I am giving report to after my shift wants to give me nine rations of crap for perceived fuck ups. It doesn’t matter what sort of a jerk folks are, because maybe this alienation is not with her, maybe it’s with me.

I had my hand up with God, and maybe a part of that was just not being sure that something so grand could even exist. Maybe it was me coming to see that a need for something grander than just this, just this miracle we are currently living, is an egoic one.

But I fell down there, on the battlefield, and without my God, things got dicey.

My research had been telling me that human beings really are not worth the effort, but my heart had always made it impossible for me not to expect angelic things from folks. Then they’d do what they’d do, and I would feel so hurt, so disappointed, and so hopeless. I can do my part, but I really began to feel no one else was holding up their side of the bargain.

And, through the months, I have come to feel exquisitely comfortable, from time to time, with the truth that I am a little monk, a priest without parish, nun without cloister, shaman without tribe. This used to grieve me to no end.

To not have others who saw me, honored what I am, oh, I shouldn’t have felt it but I did, I did, I did, there has always, always always, been a tiny part of me who just, in utter consternation, thinks to herself, “IF YOU HAD ANY IDEA WHO I AM, YOU WOULDN’T BE DOING ME AS YOU ARE DOING ME, YOU KNOW.”

Where does that even come from, in me? It rides along, usually silent, often I feel I am made to bow, and yet it never overrides, but it’s there. Some feel it and defer. Most don’t And some feel it and start throwing haymakers, or spinning webs, or talking smack.

I have abandoned any real hope that my description of a sort of spiritual outrage would be understood by anyone. It is not something I have ever expressed, except right here.

But I think that it is because I refused to own this thinking as valid that I had the dissonance I had.  I just don’t do sour grapes. And there hangs this deference thing. Who am I to have such a thought. That sort of thinking?

I think it’s time to fuck questioning it.

And here is how.

I know I would never think such an egocentric though, such a potentially psychotic thought, unless A – I was mentally so fragile I was really close to shattering or B – it was true.

I opt for the latter.

It ties in with seeing things all glowing and knowing that I was so loved it just took my breath away.

I opt for believing, right here in my chest, in my skin, that we love each other so much it is crazy, just unimaginable how much love there is here, and we have chosen to see this as irrelevant.

We have simply chosen to forget how much we love each other.

But, you can see, can’t you, how this would set a person up for dissonance. Because here comes the jerk at the check out line, the jerk in the hospital bed, the jerk I have to give report to, the jerk who, it turns out, is my friend, parent, sibling, at any given time.

This speaks, of course, to the theme of last entry, that theme of people just acting horribly, and what do you do with that? Someone who says they love me who just shits all over me. How can this be explained, within this framework of cosmic love?

It made me want to walk away from the whole ball of wax, frankly. How can I stay here, knowing what I know, knowing all that I know, and knowing, being able to take to the bank, the truth of it, that you love me, when you are standing there telling me that I am nothing.


So, I did a lot of praying. I listened to Kryon, just a bit, and I was with myself. I decided I needed a walkabout, and after writing my last piece, I gave myself the option to just fricking walk away from this, not speak anymore. I was tired.

And then the miracles came.

I was told, have been repeatedly told, to be ready, because “Now is the time for adventures in loving.”
I have been told with great repetition and authority that it is now time for me to stand back and allow for the love, for adventures in loving.

I understand what was once unclear. I know what was once only a rumor, a hope, a random thought.

I need to tell you what I have come to understand about dark and light, about how light is working in this life of mine, but first, I think there is a thought which must be laid down, another note to add to this melody. It is a big one.

As dad was kicking me out of his house the day after he came home from his surgery, blind with anger that was alarming to witness, that was without rational cause. Under the circumstances, it was an act of mercy to pack and go, and hope an explanation would come later. But to get that stoic and stay that way as I gathred our stuff, strewn through the house after a week of staying there, I decided I needed a smoke.

I went out the garage, lit up, relaxed, and was struck with a great moment of clarity. Through this haze of hate and fear he was emitting, I made it to the garage and lit up a smoke.

Regardless of the cause of this irrational behavior, I closed my eyes, and through my tears, I realized that although the years had softened everything, and all transgressions had been forgiven and forgotten, and ways to realize and express gratitude part of our daily lives now,

I stood out there, smoked, and realized in a flash that it was this man, this one, quaking in rage for the route I’d taken home from the hospital, that was my sin this time. So obviously irrational as to be almost silly, almost alarming. But as I cleared my head I got it, like a light flashing.

As a girl it wasn’t trivial, it wasn’t obviously silly, it was unpredictable, but it was often. Sometimes for not loading dishwasher right. It could happen in a heartbeat, and it never made any sense. It was this person who I grew up with.

That were the formative years. I had a dad I was scared of. I’d forgotten so much of it, and it all came crashing back. Yeah, this irrational, rage-filled, barely controlled scary guy, this is the dad I had when I was little. This is the terror I knew. This crushing feeling that I was just destroyed. Decimated. I am now a stain. I’d been happy and excited. Fuck. Not again,

And I suddenly felt great.

A blossom of compassion began, and grew exponentially. I saw that this was something I love about myself, I feel compassion toward myself. And the love just kept going. Of course I’d been scared, and I’d had to learn how to deal with an unpredictable threat, not only find how to cope with it, to find a way to soothe it, and, the crown jewel, find a way to love i? That was my mission, that’s what I wanted, what I needed to do. I felt so loving toward myslef, but proud, too.

I coughed. I butted my smoke. And I realized, in vivid technicolor, I’d been shown me the truth of the matter:

There is no pleasing some people.

No matter what I do, I am going to be wrong.

And then I laughed. Right out loud.


This changes everything.

And then I found myself looser somehow, happier, and I went back into that house and gathered the rest of my crap, and drove away with a smile on my face. I really did. I was seen as the devil incarnate, and I rejected the notion, and I walked away with my head held high.

I couldn’t take this change of events personally, although it was supposed to be personal, that was the point, with these presentations, even now.

But it just wasn’t relevant to me, anymore. I knew it would work out, in the end, but I felt my way was now far clearer. My guess is my dad won’t remember much about this time, and in the end, I realize it won’t need to be relived, by either of us. But to write about it, knowing all is forgiven, and indeed, sainted, I don’t think he’d mind me writing this. I wouldn’t.

This was the beginning for me. The beginning of my adventures. But it didn’t know it.

From there, I have been shown, over and over and over again, that I have options.

I am surrounded by folks who are absolutely more than willing to offer me the reality they inhabit, that of me being bad, them being good.

The mechanics of this thinking, it used to fascinate. I used to be enthralled with figuring out why people act in horrible, horrible ways. What would make anyone be so mean? What makes anyone act meanly? It’s so messed up.

See, I used to go there when being assaulted. I used to go right to that place. Why are they doing this? If they had any idea, they wouldn’t be. Oh. My. God. The. Pain.

It makes sense, I suppose, to take this posture. Sinking low, drawing into a ball, this is a protective posture toward a rain of blows. It is natural and it’s fine. No worries.

But through the last several days, I have not been so willing to curl and lay down and whimper when people come at me blazing in their state of being convinced I am an enemy.

And, as I am not equipped to fight this lifetime, am unwilling to fight back, will not strike another, will never, then, what to do, what to do?

Quite a pickle.

Something Kryon said at the time of the dad drama punctuate the madness and made me feel clean, briefly. He said that the dark, this metaphysical, quantum, innate force we are aware of here, the dark sends out many representatives, and the dark is aware of a few things I am not.

So, now we get into the lesson, the mechanics, and then, at the back end, we will tie it up with a pretty bow, OK?

What I understand now, about light and dark, well, there is a lot, but I will capsulize it here.

The Teachers told me that it was our job, so to speak, to stitch love into the earth. Whenever, however it happens, when true love, that real love you feel for nature, for others, when that happens, and when things like recognition and forgiveness and absolution occur, it creates love, and then, our job is to be aware of the love, love the love, and know that when it is felt, it is being literally stitched into the grid. It will be felt for all time. It will change everything. Everything that happened before, on that ground, wiped clean, and in its place, love.

They told me that in 1992 or 1993. It was something simple and it stuck. It became an explanation for me, a reason to take abuse, a reason to have hope. If I can manage love, I can change the Earth.

Kryon amplified this teaching, actually blew me wide open as a result of this amplification.

First, understanding that I am running so much light that I cannot be harmed, this is a key point. I guess I have always known this is true, since I did do battle with some wickedly dark entities while working with The Teachers. But, what about just garden variety nonsense, and meanness, and bullying, and all the officious, fussiness we are invited to partake in day to day anymore?

The dark is dumb, and easily tricked, but the dark knows a thing or two.

The dark deals in doubt, in fear, in denial, in equivocation. The dark is what sits on your chest and tells you you will never ever amount to anything. The dark is who is speaking when your friend tells you that your spiritual pursuits are madness. It is the dark who tells you that you will always be poor, alone, unloved, unrecognized and stuck.

And it is when I hear these words, and look into my little life and see, oh, here and here and here, I see proof of this dark talk. I see that this has always been true for me, so, ok, you are right, I am stuck/fat/dumb and it will never change, then, the dark has won.

The dark is what wins when someone gets my goat. The dark wins when I speak out of anger. The dark wins when I give up.

The dark is doubt, fear, loneliness, separation.

And I maybe have spent too much of my time thinking bad thoughts about the person who has been the dark’s most willing representatives, because now I am seeing that this concept of someone being able to turn on a dime, change and never look back, altering themselves irrevocably, this is truth, and if that is true, it really does let everybody off the hook.

I am unwilling to see you as an enemy, and if you do not know me as friend, and you think I am an enemy, I am no longer willing to hate you back.

If you are unable to see the light streaming out of my heart, how can I hate you? How can I now? And if you never see me as anything but the enemy, who has lost here?

I can remember my car ride on Christmas Eve, it rides with me. I remember. I know you love me.

And now I know that if you act in a way which is unloving, you are not doing anything but dancing in the dark, with me.

And I really don’t enjoy dancing in the ark anymore. I like the lights on. I like to see your face as we travel across the dance floor, see how your chin looks angular now, soft now, how your face glows, and now glowers, and now glows. It is beautiful to watch. But it is your face. Yours.

Of course, some of this comes from not being wrapped very tight, being screwed with early in life, losing a sense of identity which would have come in handy as I grew up, but there it is.

Some very primitive thought patterns were just there, part of my makeup, things most, and me, never thought I could overcome. A hole in me that told me in no uncertain terms mine was to remain lost, remain empty, remain unfilled.

But I have come to see that the time of The Father is over for me.

The Father who cannot be pleased, who takes without asking and demands, tortures, for the ambivalent muttering of how much I love and need him.

This time is over for me.

And then, there at the counter this morning, putting coffee on to brew, it came to me whole: My central question has been this: How can I be intact in this life if I need you? And how can I not need you to be intact? If you do not reflect me as I am, then who am I?

And there it was, whole:

Reflections are nice, but they are only reflections.

The reflective surfaces are not clear, not really, not any of them, really.

And this hole in me, this sucking chest wound I have always walked around with, believing any random curse as fair, any criticism as fair and possibly accurate. I got knocked off my horse with regularity thinking this way.

But now, I think I see that when someone is unloving, cold, or even mean, they are perhaps more than a flawed and disposable human, a lost and screwed-up person. Not someone I need to extinguish or reflect pain back to.

It is reflection of themselves I am looking at.

What a relief to figure that out!

Yes, I screw up and don’t hit the mark sometimes, but I know within me is a lot of light, light which has dispelled much of the darkness I took within me when I came here. I understand my dark more than before, and I am getting better at recognizing it.

The dark, being dumb, just rely on dirty tricks. And just like when the lights come up after a concert, after a movie, there may be a few, or a lot, of folks hiding, doing any number of dumb things in the dark.

The lights come up, and all the nasty stuff that had been going down, and all the ugly, mean stuff that just seems natural to do in the dark, and had to be let run its course because there was no recourse, not one in sight, well, now these things are being exposed, and the balancing begins.

I don’t agree to the thoughts that I am bad, need anyone to tell me how to live, and I no longer believe that there is anything within me that is worth disliking. Sure, I have foibles, but I am intact, I am whole, and I know my heart is open and in the right place. I trust myself.

So if you don’t, and demand I relinquish my reality for yours, well, to that I can now very politely say, oh, well, thanks, but I’ll pass this time.

It means, if you are a jerk, I no longer hate you, no longer fear you.

The dark has a couple of tricks, you know.

The dark knows that our Achilles heel is self-worth.

Kryon puts it this way. Try to imagine for one moment how many times you have come into a lifetime, seek and find enlightenment, and found you had to leave it early because the people around you did not like that.

How many times, shaman? Witch? Pagan? Heathen? Weird one?

Makes you think.

So, the willingness to abandon enlightenment, to fight and shut down and render useless the knowledge that God indwells each of us and is well pleased, it is as real as anything, and just a little hit of it is enough to makes some people so frightened, so shaken up.

And here we come, blazing hearts open to God, hearing non-stop monologues, or seeing visions, or living within synchronicity, and here, beside us, comes sidling up our old friend, our old enemy, the dark.

So if I am seen as an enemy, I now know that this is just a little exercise. I may get tricked again, maybe this afternoon, and that’ll be just fine, but I think it might get harder to trick me.

I know now that even if I do get tricked, even if I do battle with the dark, with its representatives, sent to invite me to once again feel small, insignificant, a beggar at this banquet, I know I will always return to center. There may be pain, dissonance, fear, but this is instructive too.

The more time I spend feeling intact, the more time I am feeling intact. Is there anything wrong with it? Nope, not really. Feeling intact is pretty nice. And I know now this is my birthright, to return to center, with more than I had the last time out, more able to see things as they are.

I hold less fear now, and this is a central element to this next part.

I am convinced that our greater good, it is connected to connecting with you,it is in building up instead of tearing down, it is in creating, not in destruction.

But here we are, all in the world of polarity, duality, all of these choices, dancing around us, among us, asking us what we would like.

If you are inconsolable, and in that inconsolability, you see me, incorrectly but understandably, as the source of your suffering, well, friend, that’s is just fine, but it is not true, so I will not be taking this burden on. I will help you, instead, with my countenance, with my humor, with my good will, to dispel the shame and fear that is clouding your better judgment.

Some folks really cannot tolerate much light, it makes them crazy, and so from these folks I retire. I just can’t do it anymore, beating my head against a wall, upset about someone else’s interpretation of their reality, or of mine.

If you do not enjoy my expression, then your choices around your displeasure tell me volumes. And if your expression is a nasty one, it really is not a reflection of my spiritual state. It is a reflection of your spiritual state.


So, by now the coffee is ready, my son is awake, and I want to sit and watch some entertainment with him, so I will leave you with a story about him and I and kirtan, and then I will join the land of the living.

I have lately, along with being told that my role now is to hold no fear and to encounter love, to really cross this last frontier and come to see the Earth as a loving one, this is my new role. And there are lots of goodies here for me. But with this bit of information, I continue to get an image. I can feel my body, which has already shrunk significantly, I feel it shrinking more, and I inhabit a small body, a wiry one, and I am a brown man, I am an Indian man.

And this little brown man is someone I, me, Kathy Vik, would really like to be. Internally I know somehow that I am already this brown man. But I can feel my body habitus, when I have these visions, I can feel my body getting littler, getting thinner, and it feels good. I feel stronger, somehow, more of myself, when this little brown man visits me, as the whispers tell me that it is now time to hold no fear, to be bold, and to receive, partake in love.

So last night, after some initial complaints which were, I have to admit, lacking in conviction, and weeks of mild protestation, my son agreed to join me in kirtan.

We had it over at the leader’s home. Weekly, this man of peace opens his home to strangers who are his family, and as one, we raise the roof and are filled with love. You can feel the love, it is thick and golden, before we begin to long after it is over.

Sam felt self-conscious at first, but he was also open. We settled onto pillows on the floor, and he leaned over to me, smiling, pointing at the other folks, and he whispered, “They are my friends, aren’t they?”

“Yes, Sam, everyone here loves you very much.”

He smiled, he calmed, and we began.

It is hard, especially when self-consciousness has its hooks in you, to do kirtan joyfully. And I guess some folks have more comfort with chanting what seem like nonsense words than others. So that Sam did not sing, not an issue. He spent the first three songs in a deep sleep.

When we got to the midway point, Sam and I had both come out of our shells. And then came the Hare Krishna.

I always have just such overwhelming experiences, emotionally, to this song. Filled with love as I am, I began to weep. Sam undid my hair and stroked my head as I chanted and sang and was so full of love, so full of gratitude, so full of wonder, just thinking of it now, writing of it, there are tears in my eyes. It is as real as anything, knowing this sort of love, this sort of devotion to God.

After that song, he and I spent a lot of time cuddling while I sang, and in between songs we giggled a lot.

At the end, Sam chose to put our crystal from home, full of all that love, on the altar. He chose to place it at the feet of a statue of St. Francis, which was propping up a picture of Yogananda. I believe these are the same entity, and another expression of his is St. Germaine. It was beautiful, lyrical and meaningful for him to have chosen that statue. His middle name is Francis, after all.

All the way home, Sam told me of who he feels he is. He told me that his people look like insects, but their sun is so much bigger than ours, and this sun is where they are from. He told me many things. He explained about multiplicity, and told me of the ways in which this planet is failing.

We got home and parked the car, and continued to talk. He has come to think that perhaps his last expression was that of my old friend, Jeffrey. This caused no dissonance, it was sort of like a celebration. It didn’t feel weird at all, it felt happy, like something nice to consider. I know Jeffrey rides with me now. He died after Sam was born, but to this Sam says, well, I think he’s a part of me now.

I looked at him at kirtan, and I knew him as an ancient mother, and I as his ancient son. And I knew him as a grandmother, he an adored granddaughter. We were there, together, and I saw that our faces have changed, but that’s the nice part.

And I was filled with a healing I had given up on ever feeling.

After my last entry, I was convinced that mine was to now walk from the world of men, apart always, disappointed but hopeful, but thankfully apart. I would take myself out of circulation, and just give up. It hurts too bad to be hated by those I love. I am tired of it. I am tired of feeling like a bad person just because I am not understood very well.

And then, after so many invitations to all my friends had long been forgotten, passed over, and I was convinced that kirtan was just going to be mine, a little patch of grass never to be shared, there sat my son, on a cushion, held in love’s arms, and willingly we both celebrated a deeper knowledge of joy, of home, of God.

And I held him, on that floor, when it hit me full force, that I was indeed here sharing this with someone who has also found that it speaks to him.

And here I am, miraculously, counterintuitively, on a Saturday night, in a house in southwest Denver, chanting Sanskrit words for God, with a bunch of grown ups who also walk their walk out of step with their companions. Many come to kirtan alone, leave alone, and say nothing to anyone while there. Most sing, chant and run light with their eyes closed. It’s something I love about kirtan.

Here, your understanding of God can be shared but is not judged by the other. No one is on display, everyone is singularly experiencing their understanding of God, and as it happens, God comes and visits all of us, speaks the one language, the universal language, the language of the ancients, of home, of a love so deep,so profound , that, while in it, it is only natural to know that each of us is miraculously safe and loved and whole.

Sam gave me the thumbs up a few times during kirtan, and at its end, he did the impossible. He asked to do it again.

This was an adventure in loving, and while I am on that pillow, I will tell you a secret. From the first time I sat kirtan, from that first om, from that first time a year ago, that is when I came to know of the little brown man.

That first time chanting, it came to me, and I know it to be true. There is a little brown man, a fully self-actualized man, who lives in the Himalayas. He lives on the side of a mountain, but he can travel anywhere, and he is universal in some respects. He has secrets, and he has been alive a really really long time.

And I am him, and he is me, and he is who is helping me a lot these days. His wisdom is my wisdom, his temperance and humor and multidimensionality is mine.

This morning, I was not a little brown man. I was a plump and hopeful girl, plugging in her percolator, opening up her computer, greeting her son by the light of day. Here. In this skin.

To close, I pose a question to you. During kirtan, I feel so close to Shiva, to all the deities, and see myself in them. I am in love with life and earth and God and myself during kirtan. I am blue, I am in the lotus pose, and I am light, I am power, strength, mysticism.

I know of things that it feels good to know, remember things that feel are appropriate to have access to. I am ancient, Pleadian, revered, and old while in kirtan. I am being revered and honored in kirtan. As are each of us.

And this knowledge that I am more than this skin, this clump of retarded life stories, the feeling stuck and finding no solace and wanting that which I do not have, it settled within me, and I began to changed the way I sat. I could feel my spine loosen up, I got a hit of that dry, baking heat, and I could see myself turn into, bodily, that blue Shiva. I felt the warriors blood coursing thought mine, and I felt my body shift, straighten, correct.

I opened my eyes, and I could see much more clearly. More sparkly, everything was. I enjoyed the baking, and played with how I was sitting, because I could feel the connection, body to spirit, and I could see how the energy had been running just a little crooked.

And, although this passed, I know this is the origin and the direction of good things.

I have felt about kirtan as I have felt about all my spiritual pursuits. It is a tool, a good and wholesome one, but a tool alone. Just as Tarot, astrology, all of it, they are tools.

There is but one thing to do when the world turns against you, and that is to turn toward something that the world seems to have forgotten.

Kryon says, you know, many many people, their whole bag is to keep busy, keep doing, keep moving, keep structuring and telling others what to do, keep the focus out there.

By doing so, seeing the need and then fixing, fixing always fixing the outside, this allows folks to never get still, never go within, never find little brown men and big blue men and old grannies and all the rest.

So keep fixing. Keep doing. By all means, keep telling me what I am fixing is without hope of being anything but flawed, and that my doing is inadequate.

What else can I expect?

I can feel it, and I know it, when I am around someone who has already had a hit of this. It is just so obvious. And when that spark is not there, why, then, expect it to be there?

I know we are all connected, and that we are all here because we love each other.

Many do not.

Those who refuse to consider this as a possibility are those who find great discomfort in my having done so. And their requests for me to shut off the light, let’s all just go back into the dark, well, it can’t work that way can it?

If enough of us turn on our lights, and the lights make it possible for everyone to see just what it is that has been going on in the dark, then you tell me. If we all choose, stupidly, to extinguish our lights, everyone still will know where the weirdest areas are, right?

If I am stumbling in the dark and then have a flash of light, I can get a good enough lay of the land to then remember where the walls and doors are, and maybe, even with the lights out, I can still remember, still find my way.

Could it be that The Teachers did that for me all those years ago? They illumined my house, every room in it, and I got real familiar with my house. Then the lights went out, and even when it was pitch, I had a better idea of how to proceed safely, just for me.

And now, I really have to admit it, it’s noon. The sun is blazing, and I may not know all of it, I can’t, I guess, but I know more than I did, and light has a way of making the unknown routine.

I know this light disturbs some.

So be it.

I am having adventures in loving, because I am no longer as afraid as I once was. I do not fear The Other as I once did, and I no longer can see someone’s displeasure with me as anything but their displeasure with me. I can do nothing which deserves hatred. I am not made that way. I know. You know, if you are around me. I am not made that way. But the dark, it is my companion as much as it is yours.

I will continue to do this dance. I think I have a handle on it now! To be full, inside, this is a good place to be.

I have told you that there are dragons up ahead that I know I must learn to ride, but I don’t feel the foreboding about it that I once did.

I have rewritten my programming, I have allowed for a really interesting operating system to kick in. I can expect a little flak, maybe, but I no longer have to own it, or even think it salient.

If I can approach you without fear, then we have a chance, don’t we? If I can love you, even if you don’t know about the God that is inside you, well, I do. Even the mention of it is enough to make some people turn into assholes, but that’s just what the dark does, that’s just what it does here.

I want more adventures in loving, in fearlessness, in freedom.

It could be kirtan that gets me there, or Kryon, or meditation, or writing, or a walk. And that’s just for this little section of my road. In fifty years, it’ll all look different. This is good, for now, which is all I’ve got, anyway.

This is what has changed, and this is the only reason I write to you, dear friends. I was beginning to see this whole thing as the ultimate act of blind egoism. I had become worried about what I was trying to accomplish here.

And then, this morning, it came to me that really, I have only ever written when I have felt so full, that if I did not drain some of the stuff out of me, I couldn’t take another step. Some of this is just too complex not to examine, and then rationally decide how to proceed. All of this has to make sense in 3d land, right?

I am on the road to meeting more dear friends, and these letters I have been writing have been for my dear friends. I love myself enough now to not be embarrassed for not being more succinct, more disciplined with my words.

I know what I am writing contains truth, for me, in this now, and this pursuit is a good one. It helps me to see that I am indeed among dear friends, and that there is a way to help friends who have lost their way. It is with humor and love and a very light touch, with an open heart, open ears, and willing mouth that I communicate with you now.

I look back on this journal and I get blown away sometimes that even in the depths, there is great truth being expressed. Do you know, when I re-read these things, I am constantly learning? How can that be, unless maybe I, this little I, is doing the bigger I a favor, being obedient, being willing, being devoted, I write these words, not knowing if they will tie together, not knowing if I am just being self-indulgent.

And these doubts, they may still come and settle onto my chest, try to pin me down, but I just don’t think there is as much weight behind all that darkness anymore.

Before going into kirtan last night, Sam was telling be about how he was going to handle bullying this next year. He feels hopeful about his grades, and about his chances for finding friends and helping others. An amazing little kid. He told me, as we were walking from the car on that fine Saturday night, about a new found sense of generosity, tempered with not taking any of it seriously anymore. He told me of his hopes and plans for the future.

I am glad he has hope, and knows that he is ok. I am glad to know that he is not walking around with a fallback position of being in a ball, waiting for the rain of blows he has been accustomed to. I am glad he is not accustomed to being beaten up. But he has had his fair share of troubles, and got a beat down on the last day of school, by a girl, who did not take kindly to Sam interrupting her beating up a little girl who was unknown to him. He knows that there are a lot of assholes in this world. And yet he smiles, he has a strategy, and a heart full of love.

I continue to learn from this little buddha, and am glad I can share in his world, and that, by extension, you can share in his.

We are all, don’t you think, might it be? that we are all, in the end, simply, elegantly, proudly, dear friends?

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.



Deeply Awake Realized — Pleased To Meet You 2-28-12

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Deeply Awake Realized — Pleased To Meet You 2-28-12

The writer has changed, so too the voice.

Once meek and mild, full of equivocation, doing my level best to sneak up on things rather than call them out by name, stating a truth bluntly. What lovely poetry did it make, but it is too much work to continue to approach myself and writing that way.

So, the voice is sparser, more blunt, to the point. Hopefully funnier.

And I have decided that for this blog, I am going to be a little bossy. I have decided to try on, not an authoritative or pedantic air, but the air of an elder who really should be listened to, so sit down, be quiet, drink your cocoa and let me talk. You might learn a thing or two.

Now, this is brand new for me. I am not someone who has ever felt that I have any right to tell anyone how to think or feel or act. Somehow I made it to 52 thus shackled. But, this is what I know. I know that I spend more time and effort and imagination trying to figure things, the big things, out than most people expend on their most cherished pastimes.

My passion is to understand life and God and myself and my place within this whole thing. I think that is a very reasonable thing to be obsessed with. I am cool with you thinking it’s batshit insane. Most people do. They don’t use that term. They’ve always preferred “weird.”

This need in me to know, to understand, to think and see as clearly and as wholly and as honestly as possible, to get down to the heart of the mysteries, to know the real reason behind it all, just all of it. Oh this thirst! This curiosity! This innate stubbornness of spirit which has made it impossible for me to be satisfied with life on the surface. I’m OK with the extra work now, but it’s been a real pain in the ass, overall.

But I have learned a lot because I chose a profession which allowed me deep access to people’s interiors, and I have, then, played in many fields of varying extremity, until I was satisfied that I knew what it was to be human and completely, utterly broken.

The edges of where things are tolerable, and when they no longer are, that has been my home for these years of mine. I am grateful for it, and understand that this privilege that I have known, to be part of the nursing community, this has fed the part of me which kept the lights on when I fell down and had trouble, the bigger part of me that always knew that a time would come when it all gets pulled together and everything finally, and rather suddenly, makes sense.

It has been worth the wait. It was a lot of years in the dark, but of course that’s just my style, always the extremist, the one dancing on the ledge, if not physically, then imaginatively. I have no idea what my life looks like to others. I imagine it is much like everything else in this world, it looks like how the viewer needs it to look like, prefers it to look like, within the confines of the viewer’s belief structure and imagination and native personality.

So I am going to start a new blog, and begin expressing myself with just a little bit more confidence. Take or leave what I have to say. I’m just one person. But I am on to something. I know it. I just know it. There is something here that is real and true and current, and there are many things to explain to those who may not have been as freaking obsessed as me all these years.

I will tell you, some of what I have to say will not be entirely comfortable to hear. I see things sort of differently, I think, but mainly I just like trying on new ideas. It is so freeing to break free of mental constructs that you don’t even fully appreciate so limit you until they are removed. And some of those mental constructs can only be tossed aside.

Some of the stuff we have believed is just so distorted, it’s not worth keeping going with it. Other stuff needs to just be tweaked. And then there is all this new information, all these new ways of considering things which bring weirdly sustainable peace.

So I may not tickle you with the stuff I say. I am not here to placate you. I am not here to keep lying to you if you. But, and this is quite a rotund butt, I speak only for myself. Forever and a day. It’s the only way I know to buck the system without coming off like an embittered old crazy grandpa type to hollers at children and kicks dogs.

Speak only for myself, keep things neutral, and for God’s sake, always, always, always maintain a sense of humor. This is my life stance anymore, because otherwise I just freak people out, make them really uncomfortable, or come off oddly haughty.

So, I may throw around a “you” or two, but let me assure you, I have as little interest in what you do with this stuff as I want you to have in my business. Your path is your path, your “lessons” are your own. The only one who has true authority over you is you. And no one is the authority on me. No one has earned that right. No one worth their salt would presume.

I think that is where I want to leave my first entry. Short, sweet and to the point. I cannot guarantee such brevity in future, as any of my stalwart readers know, but through all of that writing, I learned the thrill of getting to the point. REALIZED will be all about getting to the point. You know I love me my Leonard Cohen-tinged prose, but I enjoy a new economy of thought, and of expression.

So here we go.





Deeply Awake — Problems Solved 11-20-12 By Kathy Vik

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I just want to write a post script.

It’s funny how simple it all gets, and what devices can be used to help the pieces curve, slide, and lock into place.

Last night, it was cigarette tubes.

I like to roll my own smokes. I know there are plenty of people who call themselves lightworkers who have great judgments against smoking and smokers. This fascinates me, and, when in a park, happily smoking on my patch of grass, it always amuses me when someone walks by and makes sure they time their puny but powerful cough to coincide with marching, nearly imperceptibly seething, right past me.

Oh, how fragile you are, I think to myself. Oh, how certain you are of your beliefs, so certain, in fact, that you impinge upon my very behavior. Ooh, ok, I guess this means, this round, you win. Hope to do this again with you, when you feel it unnecessary to judge me. Keep coughing. There you go. Buh-Bye.

That’s how it goes for me, as these coughing people walk by, all trying to tell me how much I am hurting them, each of them punctuating their utter conviction that they are so fragile that a puff of smoke can undo them. I don’t agree, but I honor their beliefs and do not smoke in their presence. Whatever.

Anyhow, I roll my own smokes primarily because I don’t want to spend $50 on something I really only have to spend $15 on. I invested in a good rolling machine, and just a few days ago bought a luscious blend of regular, mint and pipe tobacco. I’ve been drying it in a huge bag since I bought it, and it’s dry enough to make smokes with.

I started to roll my smokes, but have only 100mm tubes, the long ones. And I cannot get my machine to cram the tobacco into the long tubes. Every ciggy I roll comes out a dud.

I felt so much rage last night, so much bitterness, so much inconsolability, because I couldn’t get my tubes to work. Here I have two boxes of 100mm tubes, no pre-rolled smokes, and no idea how to roll these things right.

Intensify this powerlessness by having just enough money to be turned away at the tobacco store if I were to go in there for a box of the short tubes I actually know how to work in my machine.

OK, here I sit, knowing I will want to smoke in a little while, having a huge bag of baccy and 200 tubes that are too long, so, no smokes for me.

I sat there and stewed in it for a good, long time.

And then it hit me.

All at once, it dawned on me, this is not an unfixable situation. It is like all the situations in my life. It requires just a tiny bit of openness to seeing things just a little differently.

What if, I thought, suddenly, what if I just take a short tube, put it up to the long tubes I can’t seem to get to work, and then cut the long tubes into shorter tubes?

How about that?

Sweet relief.

And then it was simple. From there, it all became clear.

The things I know to be true, about all the things I can have if I keep on in this vein, committed to awakening, to expression and to joy, maybe I have been withholding them from myself not because I am mean, bad, or broken, stupid or powerless or the evergreen victim. Maybe I just need to modify myself, change my definition, go from long to short, from nurse to writer, from I Refuse to I Will.

Maybe it really is that simple.

I see now that the last few weeks of crazy underemployment, this has not been something that has been done to me. I set it up so, in the final days, I would take a look around and say, gee, there really is nothing keeping me from trying.

And it’s not just the financial/energetic push I have recently felt that I am referring to, but a deeper sense of permission. There are those close to me, who have never really approved of me. Not really. So why on earth should I care if they approve of me now? Why give it a second thought? It’s a proven impossibility!

What if I do the things which they have always contended I cannot, should not do? And what if, in the final analysis, they never once uttered a word or constriction, a word of discouragement? What if I interpreted certain things that were said and done in the moment to stand for great truths that they themselves never had a hand in constructing? What if, in other words, it turns out they had my back.

Just look at the words I use when honestly describing the feeling states within these two realities. In this exercise, consider, if you are conflicted over a choice, to do this sort of word painting, maybe you’ll get gifts too.

NURSE: No one gets me. People suspect me. I am not allowed to speak openly and honestly. I am a threat to the status quo. Go along to get along. Focus on him, her, the one in the bed. Smile when they are hateful, rarely risk reminding them to speak kindly, take the abuse. Keep on doing tasks. Task, task, task, task, task. Neglect your needs for as long as you can, all of them, on every level. It’s not about you. It is about the person in the bed, the person you’re making money for, the relief you will feel next Thursday.

WRITER: Now what? I like that thought, let’s spend time on youtube researching. I like what my friend said about that thought. Let’s see how this will play out. I’d like to go meditate on Lookout Mountain. I wonder how to write a screenplay. I want to go take a walk. God, this group of writers is even weirder than I am, but they give themselves such glorious permission to be weird! Now, an essay about cigarette tubes? Really? Well, it may not be this particular piece that I wind up reading to an audience at Carnegie Hall, but I’m gonna help someone struggling, feeling alone, in a bathtub, almost ready to give up. And now, look! I get to meet all the people I look up to. Everyone understands and respects me here, and the ones who don’t still appreciate me. People get me.

You see, when I daily make the choice to put on my scrubs and go to work, this is what I am turning from, and toward. At least in my mind. At least until now.

The truth is, I spent a long time not wanting to love the nurse I became, and that’s pretty sad, because she gets hardly any love anyway. You will never know the kind of crap a nurse has to take just to keep her damn job. You will never know the degradation she willingly takes from her patients, the families, her colleagues, and, worst of all of them, her bosses. And how we all do it so willingly, so lovingly, and usually without complaint.

I turn to that sort of service and away from what lights my heart up every time I put on my uniform.

And that is getting harder and harder and harder to do. No wonder I feel such visceral relief when I am canceled. No wonder I feel heaviness the night before I have to work.

I am not going to live like that anymore.

I will pull shifts, but it is for a discrete amount of time, and it is solely for the purpose of keeping things afloat here, and for purchasing the very few tools left that I need to make this happen.

It matters not to me anymore if I fail miserably at writing. I know, given the sort of energetic feedback I have been getting, that this will not happen. It can’t. It’s just physics. It is not possible to fail.

That doesn’t mean that my success will look like what you imagine success to be. I know now that, for me, success is living the life in which I feel unfettered, and am in company with those who are similarly unshackled.

And that’s why I will be able to function in nursing just fine until the writing thing takes off. Because even there, now, I sense freedom.

I have never been a victim of circumstance. And this chorus of disapproval of which I speak, please know, they may very well see even this disapproval differently than how I interpreted it. I needed a prison from which to escape, a dramatic exit, a flourish and bow like a modern day Houdini. I wanted high art. I gave myself high art. I like action, surprise and plot twists. That’s what I spiked my punch with.

I can no longer take my reality for granted.

I am not willing to see the things/events/people/circumstances in my life as anything but holding the highest intent for me now. And never has anyone ever come into my reality and really harmed me. Oh, I can complain about the mistreatment, but how much of it did I imagine, just for effect, just for contrast? I may never know. Sure, harm was done, but to whom, on what levels, and to what end? The harm was the gift, the processing was the gift, and the resolution was the gift. I can’t stay mad. I can’t hold a grudge.

What I know now is that my reality can and will turn on a dime. I am in this moment, no other, and everything here glides effortlessly, and I can make just little tiny adjustments, but still, everything slides effortlessly into place. That is where I have come to be. A place of effortlessness. It’s all poetry and symbols now. It’s all metaphor and remembrance now.

As always, I have no idea what any of it will look like. Who am I to limit All That Is with my word-pictures? My pictures are markers, gongs that go off in my trunk, reminding me to take notice, that this is something, someone, somewhere that I really should remember from long ago, that this is where I need to go next. But how it all shakes out? Who knows? Who cares?

I have this moment, here. I have solved the smoke problem. I have figured out the beginning of the end of the nursing career. I have decided that the money will, must, take care of itself. I won’t, can’t worry on that now. I have enough to keep going. I have needs that must be met, I must apply myself and quickly, but it can and it must and it will get done! I will do it! I have begun! And the writing will come up, pull me in, and carry me forward, as it should, as it always was going to, and as I always feared it wouldn’t while fully and completely trusting that it always would.

And there is probably not one nurse I have worked with who will ever pick up a book of mine, but that’s ok. They were never my intended audience. They were just keeping me company until I found the courage to sing a song in a cadence and language I didn’t even understand.

Funny how, once I began to simply hum it, ever so softly, and came to know this was a good song, even though it was an original, funny how now there are others singing with me, harmony is filling my days and my nights, whether dressed in jammies or scrubs, and I have never been happier.

So, I will solve problems by standing them on their heads, and sometimes I see now, it doesn’t hurt to turn myself upside down, just to gain a different perspective, just to see that the problem is just that. It is not a knife to my throat. It’s not a threat of exile. These are leaps of faith, these problems. And whether it’s doing the obvious and making my smoke tubes the length they want to be, or getting a refurbished printer and cranking out a book proposal, it’s just working in an original way with the same old materials.

Micro to macro, macro to micro. Am I, when all is said and done, someone who hangs out at night with The Teachers and Bashar? Could I be one of them? Could I be someone they go to when they need help? And could it be that there are miracles afoot, identities and habits and cycles lying broken and blessed on the ground? And is it not so that I am deeply loved, richly blessed, cared for and nurtured beyond my current comprehension?

If all I choose to see is mercy, joy and peace,how can my problems only turn out to be harbingers of mercy, joy and peace? Discovery, joy, surprise and laughter? Knowing and clarity and simplicity and great depth?

And if all of that is true, how can my problems not, whenever I say so, be solved?

Deeply Awake — The Shift 11-12-12 By Kathy Vik

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Last night, I worked what will have probably been my last shift at the hospital which has sustained me since April. I practiced with some tough characters: the controlling charge nurse, the uppity nurse I went to lunch with and appreciated good reasons to never do lunch with her again. I had an hour and a half nap. I drank lots of decaf. I ate cheese. I smoked in 18 degree weather. And through it all, I was unaffected.

All through the night, I surprised myself by finding myself feeling so neutral. And when I was not neutral, I was feeling brotherhood. Appreciation. I was seeing the humor in things, I joked and I found that just by talking, just by opening my mouth and making sound, I saw how much ease I was creating.

Funny how the pushy charge nurse decided against her plans and wishes, and spent her nap break just hanging out with me, while she crocheted and I played video games. I saw the borderline mental health worker ease, and the conflict we’d previously had just felt erased. I don’t remember how I insulted, or even whether there was “an event,” but she does. Even so, she was relaxed last night, more easy, less constricted. Still guarded, but I know that’s her stuff, not mine.

I felt oddly transparent. I think I am experiencing what I have been praying for through this whole transformation: to be so clear, so uncluttered emotionally, mentally, socially, that I am not even there. Transparent somehow, clear. Nothing sticks, everything blows through, leaving nothing broken or undisturbed.

Being so complete with stuff that when confronted with the conflicted, angular, incomprehensible or unhappy, I feel nothing within me, just the sensation, but neutrally, without self-reference, and without temporal placement. The experience is. And then it is something else. And then it is something else.

The only time I did not publish a Deeply Awake after feverishly spitting one out was yesterday. I was so inconsolable yesterday, puzzling so hard over a most vexing koan, and I decided to write that process.

It was a train wreck, not least for its disingenuousness, but more, for its mundanity. It was spinning its wheels much like I was spinning my soulic wheel, over and over these ancient unhappinesses, these ancient misunderstandings.

Have you noticed that trying to solve a problem by ruminating and obsessing over it just deepens the pit into which the monstrosity has fallen, the pit into which you know that you must eventually descend,  to rescue and resuscitate a broken part of your self?

The more you worry over the thing, judge it, judge self for judging it, oh, it makes for such a complicated hall of mirrors, and there is no relief there. None. Only more worry, more accusations, more self recriminations, more disappointment.

Somehow I got myself away from that particular abyss when I got into my car and headed off the work. I finally disengaged from problems without solutions,  problems which was causing such internal distress that the only relief I found from this distress is straight-up self-loathing, and this, of course, is no true solace. It only looks that way from the outside.

At work, I saw myself in context, and I am really quite in love with me in context.

By the end of the night, I realized that my worrying, my ruminating, well, that’s a habit. It’s a dumb choice I make, and it’s an uneducated choice. It leads to unhappiness, lack of trust, fear.

I want to talk a minute about a framework Bashar has constructed to explain the states of anxiety and fear. He says that this buoyancy, this natural joy and those moments when you are simply brimming with love for yourself and with all creation, well, that is our natural state. That’s how we are supposed to feel all the time.

What creates these eddies, these pools of worry, fear, dread, well, that’s this natural exuberant joyous energy being fed through a belief system, a perception, which distorts the natural happiness of our souls.

Think of the beliefs which create fear as the thick tangle of hair and crud in the hair trap in your shower. The water can only flow the path of least resistance. And your shower turns into a bath as the dirty discarded shower water flows off of you, unable to drain off, making a cold, filmy pool instead of being something which brings you a feeling of cleanliness and release.

These beliefs are the problem. Not the backwater, and not you. Well, not you directly. But let’s face it, it was your hair, your crud, and your inattention which created the situation to being with.

I started to really apply this idea in the hours before leaving my house for that shift last night. It is a freeing concept, and it deactivates all the crazy in the most fantastic way! So, there was that loosening.

And then, through the night, I realized that some of the energetic eddies I’d been buffeted with lately were from saying goodbye. Just unplugging, mourning or grieving or completing things.

I realized that this was, indeed, probably the last shift at that hospital in this lifetime. Never say never, but it is highly improbable that I will do another shift there. Next week, there is a new job, a new set of colleagues and a brand new paradigm of expectation. And I just don;t care. This is my last night here. I can face anything, I’ll be fine no matter where I find myself.

And, thinking on this further, I realized that the Deeply Awake I wrote and didn’t publish last evening before work was a goodbye. It was a long essay on my realization, when attending a nanowrimo event, that right now, right this moment, I have written enough for a book. Boom. There it is. I wanted to write a book. I have written a book. Yep. Boom. There it is.

And on my smoke break after my two hour paid nap, I allowed “them” to be heard again. I haven’t heard my monologue for several hours, and was withering on the vine. And there, in a cloud of frigid smoke, I finally heard them again.

It’s nice having them here in my heart again. It’s an odd thing, this voice. It comes from my chest, from my throat, from my forehead, altogether, as a triad, and the words are not sound but a funny form of electricity. Pre-sound, maybe. But very translatable, and always dead on.

Here’s the thing about admitting to “hearing” voices. We all hear voices. And we all act from a place of internal dialogue, as silent and pernicious as some of our voice over talent is.

When people do things that are self-destructive, counter-intuitive, mean spirited or selfish, they are doing it because they have convinced themselves that this is the proper course of action. If these particular voices I hear from chest, throat and head told me stuff that was nonsense or led me into trouble, I would, by now, know that, and would seek to avoid listening.

But the voices I reference are benevolent. They always tell the truth. They always inspire and encourage. If I am to always obey some sort of internal mandate, why not let it be from my higher angels?

And there the higher angels stood, smoking with me deep in the night, and this is what they said: You have failed to grasp that this is coming to a conclusion. It has been shielded from you. It’s too big to take in all at once. But dear heart, this is nearly over. Things are changing, and nothing is as it seems. There is magic in the air. You don’t completely understand that in just a few weeks… well, just enjoy it, dear heart. Please just enjoy it. Don’t take it all so seriously. Please just lighten up, and the next time you want to come down on yourself for anything, just don’t. Don’t engage in that. It’s much like when you decided you would no longer engage in rumors. You just stop one day, and you don’t worry about the fall out, because it is the right thing to do. Just stop, dear heart. It really is ok to smile. It is fine to relax into this. Everything is changing.

They sort of hugged me energetically, and I didn’t feel the struggle anymore. I no longer had the worries I had previously. I can love everyone, I have no reason to fear anything, and all is right with the world.

Today is the 11-11, and I feel like this is another tribe’s holiday, not mine necessarily, but I am so glad that people are gathering around the world today, honoring moments which are outside regular time. Moments which, by their very configuration, stand above time, as monuments, markers, gates.

Mine is the 12-12. I am starting to plan that day now. Of course, it will unfold as it should, but I am beginning to consider the intent with which I want to walk into these coming weeks.

It is hard sometimes to maintain this double vision of mine. But the littlemind is finally extricated from its throne of power, and I am loving it into balance. The shadow parts of myself are absorbed, and I am strangely, calmly whole.

These months have been a study in extrication, rocking myself out of crazy notions and distressing beliefs and misunderstood data. That is the first phrase this voice of mine said, the first mandate of its existence, I think. “That is a misinterpretation of the data,” they said, and continue to reiterate. A misinterpretation of the data.

Bridging this chasm, and being aware, as I am now, of different meanings, far off understandings, the immediacy of this world has waned. Adrift from the collective consciousness, I rebuilt myself, with such wonderful, miraculous help.

But the rebuilt me interacts with things differently. The physical dimension had begun to lose its fascination, and this fascinating process I have known of abandoning conventional meanings and expectations, doing things my own way, thinking my own thoughts, finding new and fascinating friends and things to do. This has been a journey.

This morning, as I was letting those last 45 minutes tick by, helping the patients as best I could, I had ample time to sit and look up at the tree growing in the courtyard. Up its branches reach, and once again, I could feel its entangled, ancient wisdom instruct me.

Yes, a lung is just like a tree, the working tissue are the leaves, and it is not the bark or the strength or the endurance which makes the tree viable. No, the things which make the tree live, the things which actually sustain the tree, are the fragile, countless leaves on that tree.

And what if, my voice asked, your physical incarnations are just like the leaves on a tree? Your Oversoul, your higher self, all those sturdy, durable things which you have been falling in love with, thinking they are the point, well, they are the point, in a way, but, do you see how all of this is interrelated? And do you see, dear one, that it is the leaf which is the point of power? Without the leaf, the tree dies.

And yes, not every leaf is perfect. Some are malformed, some are ugly, some are huge, some prematurely fall to the ground. But each leaf is instrumental. Vital.

And this, my love, is your being. You are the tree. You are rooted in God. And these lives, these moments of great despair and confidence and love, these lives are what makes the tree live. Without these experiences in density, I would be less than I am. And every single life, every single moment spent focused on a leaf’s duty, being that leaf as best I can, this is the real work.

As I let them minutes tick by, I let the floridly psychotic patients do their floridly psychotic socialistions, and I communed with that tree. I began to feel a lifting, not only of mood, but of my spirit. I matter. This crazy life of mine matters. And I am trunk, branch and leaf. I am sky and water and earth. I matter, I am beautiful, and I am growing just fine.

That’s it. That was my shift.

And now, on the 11-11, I will eat dinner with my dad again. The last time we all ate, it was another big meditation day. And there I was, spending it with my dad, eating a cheeseburger. I will do that again tonight. That will be my church. Being kind and being present with my dad and my sister, my son and all the ancillary people, this is my church tonight. And I will worship dutifully. Joyfully. Peacefully. I will fill my belly, and I will return home, and I will sleep a deep slumber with angels and trees and ships and lights.

I will continue, in some form, throughout. I exist. I matter. I have said enough goodbyes the last few hours. Now I walk into a different moment, a different me, realized as a tree, as a receiver of voices, as clear and transparent transmuter. I have changed.

This was, and is, the shift.