DEEPLY AWAKE – An Empath, A Narcissist and Jesus Walk Into A Bar By Kathy Vik 9-8-18
I have had a prolonged silence, an interruption in expression, but this has been in place five months, now. I was given a simple explanation for the task at hand, but now that I have lived it out, I am stunned, once again, with the symbolic and benevolent nature of these otherworldly announcements, these personal, gentle and honest soul communications.
Without the warning, I wouldn’t have gotten all I needed out of the situation. Without the warning, I would have felt under siege, confused and abandoned. Although I am a lifelong skeptic, it just so happens that these messages I get are always reliable. Every time. I have never been lied to, messed with or tricked by my team. Ever.
Anyhow, this last period has been splendid, and more of a completion than I could have imagined. It’s not what I expected, but it’s everything I wanted. I recall visions I have had about this new time, when the sand clears from my vision as our gigantic sandstorm dies down, or as we move from a thick fog, or as our vision inexplicably goes from dim and distant to stunning and awe-worthy.
In a way, it is like that. I realize so clearly some core truths that I will refer to often, now that I finally see things for what they are.
A few years ago, Jesus came to me in a vision, to explain to me the main energetic problem of the times. I want to review it, and amplify it as I tell it from what I have been given this morning. It was much like the state I described above, where everything, literally everything is better, more solid and beautiful somehow, and yet it’s unexpected, un-envisioned, un-vision-boarded, and most decisively precisely opposite in many regards, that which was hoped for. And yet, it’s perfect, better suited to me than even I could have designed, because this structure is free of the blind spots my old structure took into account. This new one doesn’t have to. I am no longer blinded.
I had a meditation where I found myself a woman, in flowing coarse cloth, walking in between two other women similarly attired, each of us carrying surprisingly light, long clay pots. We were walking to the well to fetch water.
Up ahead, I saw him, and everything stopped for me. There, ahead of me, was Jesus. I knew this well before I was close. He glowed, somehow, a radiance coming from him that was intoxicating, and made my heart stop with longing and need.
I felt the curious sensations, the exquisite pain, as I imagined him living his daily life, needing this or that object, a piece of advice, a kind word, a show of support and adoration and acceptance. I realized, as this horribly, floridly vivid shearing pain seared my body and all my awareness, my face is not the face he will see each night, and my face is not what will greet him when he wakes, disturbed, rested, elated. I am not wanted. I am not this to him.
I felt such pain then… like nothing I had yet known. It was beyond hate, and it was beyond any love I had known, and all it could do, all I could do, was let it, consume me.
In a state of panic, feeling no possible release from this hatred for an unknown sister, and my shock and this overwhelming need and, yes, “love,” I cried out for help. In meditation I was stumbling around a black room suddenly, on fire with incurable, unfathomable pain.
Jesus appeared, to my left, just cool as you please, and said, “I can help you.”
He simply said, “Look at what is happening. It is the agreement of the age, and it causes a lot of problems.”
I looked onto that scene again, but instead of a desert scene, there were two human beings, two human forms. The one in complete adoration and terror was bending at her waist, and her crackling white column of considerable light was blasting Jesus.
Then he said, “Stand up.”
I saw the figure who had been bent over stand up, and as she did, her column was running straight up and down, smooth and white and happy, no longer bent, no longer so overpowering, no longer crackling.
He explained that this is the problem of the age, this running energy through others, rather than running straight up and down, as sovereign columns of light.
I saw the scene change then, and where once were these two, locked in a terrible struggle, there were many people, and they all were columns of light, all of them running straight up and down.
I turned to Jesus and said, I feel lonely. I don’t see how anyone is connected to anyone else, and although I like the idea, I don’t like the isolation. I feel so alone.
He smiled and he said, “Watch.”
His arm made a sweep of the place, and as he did, the place was filled with music, creativity, genuine affection, camaraderie, community, and the sharing was happening in colors, emitted from the white columns, streams of shining, crystal clear colors. It was no longer just verbal communication. What was happening was so complete, it felt so validating, there was no shame in the room, no false emotions whatsoever, and such inner peace.
I really thought I had unpacked this vision completely, having both written and recorded about it, and yet, just lately, I am understanding some fundamental truths which bear exposure and sharing. They are good thoughts, pure and true, and they are words of divine love, not the human distortion we have labeled love.
I’ll preface by telling you about an improbable thing that happened to me on the last eclipse of this triad, on August 11, 2018. It had been a scrambler, and so I spent it sitting in a forest, feeling quite undone, and strangely aware I was being put together somehow, just out of sight.
They were strong that day, with many signs and miracles, many creature visitors with messages, and at the end of a day of leisure, I headed for my car, parked a short distance away, at the base of a mountain.
I was told, toward the end of my walk, that at the bend, way down there, I would be stopping. I appreciated the abundant shade, and how close I would be, by then, to cold water and a comfortable seat. But there I was, at the end of that trudge, just coming into the shade, when a huge, and I do mean huge, bird flew past me, on my right, and winged into the tree immediately opposite me. A hedge of willow-like foliage 6 feet high separated us, but oddly, this humongous blue white bird creature was halfway up an old, massive spruce tree, in my center of vision.
Here’s a photo of my winged visitor…
At the time, I was only given words. Ibis. Phoenix. Traveler. Time traveler. Slipping through portals, like a ghost. Slipping through. Not of, not from. Apart and a part of every now.
It took me a while to garner all the gifts, but with a witness, and with contemplation and vision work, I understood, finally just who, or what that was. It is not native, and it is self-sufficient. It looked like a prehistoric bird, and its beak clacked a lot, as it opened and closed its ginormous snout-like beak. I did research, which confirmed the Egyptian roots to this visitor, which of course was the best way to finally, safely, happily relate to that energy within me.
But the punch line was, it visited to remind, to return to me, my beloved Cygnus, Deneb, the Ancient One, my home. My family had been visiting me, and it took a long time to finally get that. Once I did, I can assure you the love was thick and the celebration hearty, my gratitude once again a fountain, a gusher, of joy.
In nursing school I formulated the understanding that mental illness was mainly the disease of relationship, with self, with other, with “reality,” with Source, and almost incidentally, within social matrices. The life is impacted in certain ways when the bones or lungs or prostate are diseased, and the life is similarly impacted when the disease is relational.
I knew coherence, I could identify resonance with creator, with something so unimaginably pure and whole and good, since girlhood. This is one relationship which is immune to disease.
My work with Biological Decoding led me to realize it is the structure, the mainframe, which is diseased, because this physical reality construct is coded for conflict, pain, suffering, and silent despair. It are these events which trigger stop-the-world illnesses, accidents, injuries, and which have a hand in tooling chronic disease. All based in unconscious programming which is itself a song of discord, profound misunderstandings, separation and isolation.
Pretty much. I took a look a that, at the end of my Level One Biological Decoding training, and I realized, no one escapes this shit, some have their heads screwed on straighter than others, but every single one of us is effected by each other, by the conflicts we create and cure in each other, to our fundamental misinterpretations of self, of other, and of our creator. All of this is important to what was to come.
Awareness, consciousness, the willingness and ability to observe, these break the bonds of this thick, repetitive, tarry, wholly unconscious system. Conflicts disappear when seen from the level of their authors.
But being willing and able to see things from many points of view, this is a mark of an empath, a situational ethicist, and someone who can cut anyone slack. And this is a problem, when not mindful of how one’s own energy is running.
It has been said that this reality is one of service-to-self and service-to-others entities, or camps. And this seems far too often to be the case, since I think this is, in the end, the verbal shorthand for that vision I had, where I was bending and running all my awareness through someone else, for that moment utterly unaware of myself, and any greater reality. I existed, for those painful moments, only in relation to the OBJECT of my adoration, devotion and spectacular violence.
A service to others person will bend low and stay there, getting off on serving, getting off on sacrifice. And the one receiving this blast of energy? Oh, honey, that just makes a person lazy, dazed, dependent and weak.
Who, in this scenario, is the parasite, the “energetic vampire?”
This can only be answered, of course, within the context of the bending. Throughout my lifetime, I’ve had those around me who would only have me if I bent low and served. Jesus had me witnessing an inert Target for the blasting. However, many have become dependent on the power gradient requiring light dispensed. And many are specialists in making others bend very low indeed.
All that said, I’m describing my experience after a lifetime of having been tricked into the energetics of this kind of relationship, and I’ve been coerced, manipulated and threatened into bending low all my life, serving those who don’t deserve a second thought, simply because they manipulate.
As such, I can only report the experience of this unhealthiness from the point of view as the service-to-others role. The service-to-self stance was not my role this lifetime . It was my cross.
Even so, I would have to say it is the service to others person, the low-bender. And so, I stand and look at what Jesus gave me, this tableau so rich and meaningful and pregnant with meaning, and I laughed out loud, a couple days ago, awed at his depth and his respect, his trust and his certainty that I’ll get it, if I just keep at it.
I have heard it said that a narcissist’s core issue is with envy, described for clinical purposes as a primitive hatred, and that the empath’s core issue is that of pride, and their need to instill covert contracts involving “love.”
And yet, I as the lover, the adorer, the worshiper of Jesus, it was only in realizing I would never be a chosen one, that I was in no way special to him, that I turned to that envy, and the pain began. I rejoiced in how free and full my love was, until I realized I could not possess, I did not perhaps even want to be touched, I could not have access. It never dawned on me to consider whether I’d sought his consent, of course. And with that imagined abandonment, the hatred ate at me like acid.
Am I describing love? Narcissism? Devotion? Mental Illness?
Or is it instead a lesson, from someone who demonstrates mastery, about energetic management, ease of function, and inner peace?
What I do know is I am glad I have teachers who think higher than I can, and are willing to send me birds, and pictures, and messages which soothe as they instruct, because they bring things together, they bring with it the relief only mercy can, and they are so personalized that to deny them, at this point, would be a a torture from which I could not recover.
I know myself to be that ibis, that crane, that phoenix, that portal slipper, that traveler.
I know myself to be a friend of Jesus, who helps me when my thinking gets jammed up, or when I am about to hit a rough patch, or need a guardrail in my thinking.
I think what Jesus meant, when he told me that this bent up stuff was the problem of the age, what we are getting over, I think what he meant was something I couldn’t access until recently. I felt recognition when I first saw him on the dirt path. And that first spark of recognition ignited into a torrent of unbridled identification and selfish sacrifice that ran right into him, and this may very well have been my energy, my spark, my intention. I realize now that what was completely discarded was me.
As I bent and sucked and blasted, I did not exist. All that did exist was him. In that primitive place of bonding, well, it is a holy temple, after all. There is nothing like staring into an cherished infant or lover’s eyes and feeling the whirl of two galaxies merging. And yet, in that swirl of recognition, of relief, of HOME, if there is an abdication, a forgetting, then a fracturing occurs.
Maybe what he was trying to say is that we have forgotten or selves. The command was to stand up, and in so doing, the loneliness and isolation I felt was like pin pricks, it took my breath away, and I felt ice where I had been on fire.
He had to show me just how connected I actually am with every “living” thing. In standing up straight, I was able to feel ALL of it, not just one cherished person’s reality. I realized I wasn’t having my experience THROUGH another, I was having MY OWN experience.
The trouble of the age, huh?
All that smack about finding your one true love, all that talk about the brass ring, making it, succeeding, being number one?
I know how competitive, how nearly homicidally enraged I was at not being Jesus’ eye candy, hand holder, platitude spewer. In that state, I wasn’t good for much. All I wanted to do was brush his hair and tell him everything was gonna be ok, and I wanted him to make the world go away and braid my hair.
Not healthy. But very understandable.
Just think of the way we think of relationships, crushes, marriage, commitment, and how these concepts translate so very poorly at present, the trampling and abdication of free will being the hot potato of all conflict, and I think it’s safe to say that this culture doesn’t have state of the art judgment when it comes to relating to each other.
I am realizing more and more that standing up means letting every single person have their own interpretation, their own reality. Living my belief that everyone has a team, that no one is disconnected, but that everyone feels they are, these concepts shoot competition, comparing, envy and pride dead.
This core concept of free will is no small thing.
And so I think I will end this with this free will concept. We hear that the ET’s have a rule of non-interference, because they abide by free will. And yet, I am living proof that it’s not considered cheating to have a relationship with my source of all good, and some of Source’s representatives are indeed ET, as am I, and as are you, most likely. My intention is my will. Those who thwart or do not recognize my free will are engaging in the trouble of the age, as I had, as we all have.
What is required now is not to puzzle the whys anymore. The time of cleverness and coherent explanations are part of my DNA now, a bass note in the riffing I do now. There is a bigger wisdom now, which informs my thoughts, guides my actions and moves my reality, now. It’s one in which I, me, myself, am actually part of the equation. The restoration is in connecting with the only true source of knowledge, wisdom, truth and light for me. I’m only talking about me, here.
I realize that in my wounded places, this inauthentic, plastic, battered self is always present, and I do think that with time it is she who is being healed and welcomed home to rest. This scared one, constantly measuring the impact of every word that is said. In a room of twenty talkative people, you can imagine how much is being processed, now. It is no longer possible to run my energy splayed like that anymore, a harried mother, a constant gardener, seeking out disharmony like they are weeds. Just because I can soothe it, I try, while stumbling and bleeding on the sharp corners of other people’s minds. I gave myself away to the pained, the worried, the angry, the punitive, abandoning and denying myself.
It’s time to re-adjust.
Of course, it is that scary place of loneliness which must be addressed to close, that weird, faintly clinical place I felt once I stood up straight. I felt disconnected, even though I was, at long last, finally actually reconnected with nourishment.
It felt different. It was not intense. It was gentle. It felt complete. It felt quiet. Not sterile, and not scary, really, just very quiet, still, pleasantly so. This was before the colors, before the new kind of connecting. And it is this place, this odd place of pseudo-disconnection which I am popping out of now. I want to explore this new way of communicating more fully, more comprehensively, and more safely than has ever been possible.
So, I am standing up straighter more often, now, and I am more keenly aware of the triggers which create that bond of servitude, of false connection, of panic and forgetting and need. I know that place well. But it is a full on pain event feeling even glimmers of it now, and I intend to keep it that way. There are some experiences which I want to remain awful, so that I can avoid them, just by their fetid odor, knowing it is then I must apply my awareness to something far greater than a bogus, adrenaline fueled interpersonal threat.
Obviously that has always been the point, to not be disabled around behaviors which, for me, act like huge magnets, knocking out my signal, rendering me a gray rock, or a quivering mass of anxiety, or apoplectic with righteous indignation. Whatever the affective state or behavior cluster, I have termed this state being disabled, because I check out, and a false self goes through the motions. I notice that the effect can be massive or weak, but the disablement is real. I’ve actually complained about it, noticed it, for a while now, and until this time, I didn’t understand it is nothing but a trauma response, a coping strategy, a glitch in the wiring. I am aware that some of the healing is on a neuro-biologic level, and this I have given permission for since the beginning. The point, for me, is ascension, which is, for me, DNA activation, waking up, coming to, becoming functional, shaking off the nonsense.
Well, as always, I intended to stop a while back, but the words poured out and I enjoyed every minute of it.
I guess the way I really should end this is in telling you how much peace I am feeling by simply owning who I am, what I have become, how I understand stuff, and how I approach life.
The most disowned and abandoned part of myself, Deeply Awake, has stood by, stalwart and sure of herself, as I have argued and protested and denied this part of me. And at the end of this long road, I have come to see this is the most fundamental of clues that something is off.
That is the original fracture, right there. And as my original sin, my doubt, burns off, as my shame falls away, as my suspicion crumbles, I am feeling, finally, sated and well-loved. By whom? By me, the totality of me, which includes me personality, me the traveler, me the author, and me the inner child. But more. By me the silver goddess, me that shining, gold light I know as God, me as earth, me as creatures around me, as the weather, and circumstance this hour.
The blah-blah, the general warning has always been, well, I know I am going to be dragged into it again, so I’m glad I left a bread crumb like this. But now, it’s really now that way, anymore. I know it is a choice, if I bend low and blast. I know it is a choice if I pick an argument with my God, and by extension, my reality. I know it is envy and pride which keeps me in service, in fear and in distress. I know it is that divine love from Source, innervating all, that brings be and keeps me in balance, in good humor, and in hope. And I know it is in talking, sharing, giving, that I rise, spitting in the eye the monsters I have had a hand in strengthening, because I was bored, and didn’t know any better, until, one day, I did.