Deeply Awake: Art And The Primacy Of Personal Experience By Kathy Vik 11-2-18

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An easy, fun and helpful discussion about writing, art, the primacy of personal experience, and the unbreakable thread linking it all up.

For those interested, here is the website for National Novel Writing Month!    https://nanowrimo.org

 

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

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

www.kathyvik.com

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

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

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

Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

So I did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who is in your driver’s seat?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

http://www.kathyvik.com

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.

Deeply Awake: On Being OK With Being OK With It All By Kathy Vik 6-22-18

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A refreshing summing up.

The sense of legitimacy, of validity, I feel these days is such a relief, like a song breathing me, giving me a release from anxieties, worrying having been a regular form of self-flagellation for me, in the old days.

Now, I am r I report on what it’s like to be at peace with knowing myself as bigger, moment to moment, than had ever been thought possible by me, and by many. Yet, here we all are now, waking up, each in their own way, in their own time, each playing their roles, and each having their own experience.

That was a hard one for me, because I saw a lot of people suffering, as a nurse, as a friend, and when I looked in the mirror, most of my life. An anguish that was eased, sometimes for years, but never left me.

Things changed for me, but it became more and more obvious that I had never been unworthy of any of this new spiritual bounty. I have amnesia, and that is all.

AMnesia.

Well, it’s a tough nut to crack, but eventually, truths are revealed. This can happen to those who pursue QHHT and other reliable and healing forms of hypnosis which yield results which are soul- deep, not habit-deep. It’s this I am eager to pursue, finally now able to step away from my woes and conflicts and worries, finally seeing things more clearly, more magically, more wholly, but in stepping aside, I can help so many more, one-to-one, and I just can’t wait!

I include mention of a video published by Alba Weinman that I found particularly helpful, and healing. I am so very grateful for those who are doing this work, and of course, to someone very beloved to me, Delores Cannon. She has helped me from the beginning. It isn’t surprising, and it’s very smile-invoking, to know she is actively with us now.

Enjoy this celebration. My story and this session both serve as bridges between linearity and multidimensionality. What we are doing publically, so very many more are doing quietly. We are each changing. Be kind to yourself. You are so vast, and have simply forgotten. It’s just amnesia, and it’s burning off, with every video, with every experience that moves you up and out of fear.

Thanks for being here with me today. Namaste.

 

 

 

 

 

As referenced:

Deeply Awake: Thoughts On “What Do You Want? You May Have It.” By Kathy Vik 6-4-18

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A beautiful, heartfelt and light talk about the end of a process.

This morning, I was given a picture in my head, upon awakening, and from this comes a helpful and enjoyable discussion on the nature of will, desire, and inner completion.

 

 

 

 

 

Deeply Awake — “Enemy Mine” In Print By Kathy Vik 5-19-18

 

Deeply Awake: Enemy Mine By Kathy Vik 5-19-18

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What I am going to present to you is the culmination of a lifetime, actually, and I’m going to entitle it Enemy Mine. This is the bookend to the first essay I wrote as Deeply Awake, on March 23, 2012, 9 years after a very significant event, Judas Energy.

I have wondered sometimes why it is that I have such a blunt edge, with my reportage? Why do I couch things in metaphor? Why do I see things as paradox, and then express them as essays? Why?

Well, there’ are so many things I’ve called myself, over the years, but there are a few epithets that are true, and they’re just titles, really. I’m a poet. I’m a philosopher. I’m a writer. I’m a reporter. I’m a spiritual journalist, I guess, but I write in ways that are more like prose poems than discussion of facts and breaking down of probabilities. I did more of that after 2016, but I have a flavor that is poetic.

Ok. Alright. Well, it makes sense. The very very first Akashic thing I did was to get real quiet, and state to everything in my fields, every… all of it, all creation. I was going to do a novel, and I didn’t know how to write a novel. I wanted to create something, and I didn’t know how. But the need and the will was so strong, I sat down and said:

I know that you walk with me. I just do. And I need for those who are willing, and of the highest, the pinnacle of their skill, of their insight, those who really, truly not only understand, but can express in ways that make the heart flutter, and the mind reel, and the soul come into focus. Please step forward and join me. Please come and be with me, in my mind. In my heart. In my awareness. Express through me. I’ll know. I’ll know. And I’ll let you teach me.

I have done my energetic management. I understand it’s quite possible to be labeled in this new age environment as being tricked, or listening to trickery, and thinking it’s true. Well, I think that’s what we are all talking about, as channelers and writers. One of my missions was to talk about discernment, spiritual discernment. How do you become someone who has Spiritual Discernment? Kryon also talks about Spiritual Discernment.

And I haven’t met, or heard, anyone in this community who hasn’t able to describe that they just know when it’s pure. It just makes sense, and there’s some stuff that just doesn’t feel good. And that’s just a perfectly fine way of expressing it. But, if you are sensitive, and you can feel your energy, you can feel it bend, and twist, and you can feel Resistance, what you come to find is there’s not a whole lot of literature that even acknowledges that. Some of it does, and fairy tales do, of course. That’s why I love literature and art, because it simply acknowledges that there’s something going on here, that has to do with the human heart. That has to do with the finest qualities, that we know heal, and create rather than destroy.

And of course, whales are poets, they are philosophers, they are singers, they are Guardians, and I really resonate with those dudes, so I think it’s ok. But there comes a time when you just have to lay the facts out, Mine was a journey of discovery, of discernment, and of a reverse autobiography. You get hit with light, with a new way of being, a new way of understanding. Something happens, and you are bigger than you were. And then you’ve got to explain your self to your self, and you’ve got to explain reality to yourself, all over again.

It doesn’t just happen once. Once it starts, it doesn’t stop. It gets bigger. And it gets better.

But it gets bigger.

I’ve talked about this phenomenon as walking a mountain. There are some things I can say at the base of the mountain, and then when I get midway up the mountain and say those words, and they mean something completely different, and I get up to the top, and I say those words, in full awareness and memory, and I realize I was just babbling down there.

But as I walk down the mountain again, and get in midway and say it, that middle meaning makes sense again, and by the end of the mountain, I can inhabit all three. Sure. All three make sense. Which one do I prefer? Which one is the most clear? Which one serves me best? It’s the one at the top of the mountain, where I can say “so be it,” and create a reality, whereas, at the base of the mountain, if I say “so be it,” I may actually be swearing. See how that works?

It’s pretty bizarre, when you get to the real big stuff, and your whole being sort of pops, like a soap bubble and then you look around and go, “Oh! Wait a minute. I’m just in a bigger soap bubble now.” It’s kind of disorienting.

My function has been that of discovering and fostering peace and love. This is primarily because I didn’t see it very much in my reality, but I knew it was there. There’s something underlying all this nonsense, I just know it. And I have known such pure, pure avatars of love in my life, who healed me, because they loved me and accepted me, as I was. There is no finer medicine. And it’s where I have been unable or unwilling to reciprocate or generate it, where I feel I have fallen down, and need to address it somehow, I need to make it right.

Karma for one, please.

How do you break karma?

You love everything any way. You find a way.

And it doesn’t matter if it’s reciprocated. It doesn’t matter if it’s understood. It doesn’t matter if it’s resented. It doesn’t matter if it’s battered, and burned, and its ashes are buried.

That’s just the structure.

The reality remains. Indelibly. A ripple, through all time and all space. Anchor enough of that, on this Earth, in humility and in gratitude, and in strength, and in sovereignty, and see how this place changes.

That’s how it’s done.

There has been, as I have mentioned, an “Armageddon.” I’ve talked about it recently, but I was driving down the road, minding my own business, listening to the radio, and I popped through and WOW. The energy was so intense, so intense, and I returned and said boy oh boy, I’m glad I’m here. This is perfectly fine, I’ll take this. Man oh man, it was really super intense, the last couple of weeks.

And here I was, in daily life, on the steepest learning curve of my life. And then a thought group comes…

Kathy, I ask myself, remember when you went to see Enrique Bouron? And on the last day, you sort of had a thing with him. Do you remember?

I do, and so I’ll tell you about it, because it’s kind of cute.

The last day of a week of instruction in Biological Decoding from Mr. Bouron, I woke up in a very peculiar state. A very peculiar state indeed.

I had just been disassembled, in this truly and utterly bizarre and beautiful and soft and unbelievably healing week of transformation. I was just… I woke up, and I contacted every single person who I loved. Every single one of them. I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was done. And then I looked at the clock and realised I didn’t have, really, any time, but I stink, so I have to get into the shower.

When I got in that shower, I was immediately in an ancient and quiet place, some sort of automatic place, my hands doing positions, my body being led, and me weeping, crying through the water turning my hair to ropes, beyond relieved that I remember how to do this. I said that at first, through tears of joy. I’m so happy I remember how to do this.

And then I began bringing up everyone. I went through every single person. Every single person. I brought every single person up, and I had a talk with them, because I knew I was completing something.

I was in reverence, and thanks, and release mode. And then I got to the last one, and I burst into flame in the shower. It was the most bizarre thing.

I don’t know how to explain it.

I knew before going in the shower that I was cutting it close and was going to be late, but I was told through the morning “Don’t worry about a thing, you’ll be there before he starts talking.”

So there’s me in the shower, and I’m so late, and then I’m flame, and then I’m dressing and rushing over there and there was no time. I got up there, finally, and he hadn’t taken the stage yet. I was considerably late, and he always started on time.

I took my seat. I felt I had been disrespectful to come in late, and I felt bad about that, but I didn’t fully understand what was going on.

I had the thought, sitting there, before he began, I can’t do any more slides. It’s too hard, it’s too intense, and I need for my grandfather to read me stories from the old country. I need for all of this to come together in some quantum biologic soup that I can understand and can take with me. I was almost crying, thinking, I’m so glad I have my grandfather to sit there and tell me stories from the old country. Please read from the book, please read from the book.

And he began his lecture, and the projector didn’t work. I was told, it was sort of a general announcement, just don’t worry about it, it’ll work just fine after this presentation, just tell stories. And that’s what he did.

And he began to tell stories, pulling everything together. I was gone within about five minutes. I have no conscious memory of what he said. I would pop back in and pop back out, but I was gone, and then he was there in front of me.

He had an Italian accent, and he didn’t look like he looks now, and he was so thrilled. I don’t know exactly where we went, or what we did, but at the end of it, he as the lecturer is still talking, and a part of me is absorbing and staying with the information in the ballroom, but I’m in my meditative space, he’s this ecstatic, jolly Italian man. He crackles back on in my awareness and says, “OK, it’s all done,” and he’s dancing and all happy, acting like the cat that ate the canary, so to speak.

I said, “What’s done? I wanna know how that’s gonna happen, because I understand from Biological Decoding that the whole deal is you gotta have this in your conscious awareness. It’s getting it  that heals you. How am I supposed to be healed, if I haven’t gotten  anything.

And he said, “Well, look!” and he was all excited and dancing, and his arm went p in a flourish to reveal a straight line that went on and on, all the way down, all the way down, forever, a path below and then there were these huge, huge boxes, they’re gift boxes, just dangling there, just dangling there.

He said, “Look, they’re all there. You just have to walk down the road and you’ll have your answers. You’ll have your a-ha’s. You’ll have your healings. It’s all done.” So I said, oh, ok, alright, and then I was in my body again, listening to the lecture.

I had so many bizarre, just truly and utterly other-worldly experiences during that time, it was magic. Truly, truly magic. It was so much fun! It was just amazing.

And, Dr. Todd was there. And now I finally understand what he was in resistance to. I understand why. There was something I hadn’t dealt with yet. There was something walking with me that I didn’t know about.

I spent a lifetime arguing, and throwing etheric punches, and getting punched. This thing that was beside me liked to take on forms and mess with me, play with me, and the whole idea was take away, and hobbling. It was all purposeful. It was to create this work, Deeply Awake. It was an agreement.

And here we are.

Once you can see the agreement, you can release it, right? Isn’t that the idea? That’s kind of the idea.

Enemy mine.

I didn’t talk about it a whole lot, not at all really, very very rarely. Everything in my environment told me it was taboo. It was not to even be acknowledged. It was taboo with my friends with the light, and it was taboo to win, at the dark.

Enemy mine.

It all started when I started to watch documentaries on megalithic structures, in between daily life stuff, and exercise, and all that stuff, recuperating. That research led me to Egypt. I am not a big fan of Egypt. It’s like a wart. I don’t like it. Never have.

But there is beauty there, there is beauty there. But the energy is warped and it’s ugly, and it’s mean, and it’s cold, and it’s not right. It’s just not right. Maybe you feel the same way. Maybe there are other places where you think about it and react with ,”Whoa, I would never, you couldn’t pay me go there,” and everybody else is flocking to it maybe. Ok. Acknowledge it. It’s real. There’s a reason.

There’s a reason. And it’s buried in your memory, which is in a state of disrepair, at one state or another.

I did the megalith thing, and I felt so hugged, and warm, and happy, and then I did the Egypt thing, and I felt all gross and violated, and then the speakers came. Then the truth was revealed. And an Armageddon happened up there. And maybe that was just for me, and that’s fine, but I know I’m a big one, so I think it’s important to talk about resolution.

I always thought about Armageddon as the battle, you know? The life and death struggle. And the apocalypse as the Big Reveal. Here’s the reason you guys were fighting. Here’s the outcome. Here’s the truth.

The revealing of the truth, the burning away of the veil. The big reveal. The Big Show.

It’s pretty stunning, for me, to have this knowledge, and to have it all come together. I am including an interview from Project Camelot of George Kavassilas, because his story is similar to mine in many respects. It was really good to hear who has survived the dropping away of everybody that mattered to them, and the reordering of your reality.

He is someone who has experienced that every time you have a big huge experience, you’ve got to somehow, somehow come back and try to fit in and function with people who are NOT having that experience, and who need, NEED, to shut you down, and shut you up about it, because THAT makes them uncomfortable. One way to handle that discomfort is ridicule, and there are other ways, to handle that, depending on how heavy-handed someone in discomfort decides to be.

And in all this research, I could come to no other conclusion: the enemy is mine, and I am the enemy.

I really had to struggle with this. When I was doing this research, I finally began listening to contactees.

I listened to Alex Collier, and then I listened to Simon Parkes, in a video entitled “33% Reptilian, 33% Insectoid and 33% Human.”

It blew my mind.

I am a blend.

My physical DNA has the genetic imprint of all of those races. That’s sort of the point. That’s what makes humans so incredibly beautiful, and brilliant, resilient, creative, strong, important. And indeed, royalty. It is an honor to hold this DNA. It is an honor.

Think about that, and then take a look out at Trumpland. Come right back. Do you notice a difference? How are you asked to think of yourself, in that closed system of government, medicine, justice, education? It’s a closed, finite system. It is an irrelevant system.

Closed systems die.

Listening to that man speak about his experiences, the choice that he made to see all of it benevolently, the story behind these races, and that’s something I couldn’t do before.

They had hurt me I had been hurt by them, here, and I didn’t know how to defend myself. They’d come visit, or something from them would happen, and I’d be sick. I called it magnetic, and it was an illness, and I’d be sick for a long time. I wasn’t visited by spaceships, I was visited by human beings holding that frequency, that intention, that signature. It smells horrible, and is the emotional equivalent and psychic equivalent of abject, raw terror.

They could induce me, and then feed off of it for weeks, sometimes longer. And they did that, until 2012.

It bothered me when I was visited again by them in 2012. I wasn’t visited by the entity in the flesh. I was visited by his mother, who had come for help. I don’t know if I was as compassionate as I could have been, but I was in misunderstanding of what was going on.

One question was whether she should advise him to go ahead and take the monoatomic gold he wants to eat. I was emphatic. NO. No. No. No. No. Especially for him, no, no, that would make him miserable No.

Soon after, I had a talk with my Self and with my God. I felt so threatened, in the middle of this, so threatened, yet again. Because there are lesser versions of this in all of my reality through all of my experiences. It has been everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.

That is what I have come to break.

That is what I have come to heal.

That is what I have come to love.

And release.

I call it the demiurge, that’s what I call it. And it has been individuated as has the Angelic forces. And so you can see it in the draconians, and you can see it in the Archons, and you can see it in the Thetans, and you can see it in Jinn. It’s the same energy.

And that energy runs through the justice system – let’s call it the legal system – and it burps into your wallet as green cash.

It invites you to believe that “You must earn everything, including a sense of self-worth, Including love. Including acceptance.

It must be earned.”

Well, that’s just a construct.

No, it doesn’t, you dork.

Well-being is my birthright. Joy is my birthright. Fun, play, excitement, creativity, expression, those are my birthrights. Look at what my body can do. I can create human life. And you dare tell me that I’m not free?

You’re dumb. And you’re small, and you’re petty. You’re not very bright, you know.”

Enemy mine.

I have that inside of me. I would see it, when I would watch a dark film, or when someone is doing something dark to another person on film, there would be this BOOM, this reverberation in my body, and sometimes I could feel it intensely. Sometimes it surprised me with its intensity.

And it’s funny, I think I have been able to notice these things because, for me, there hasn’t been a time speed-up. I’ve been really happy lately, because everything has slowed the fuck down.

I can understand things finally. Because there was always this buzzing, information zooming, but the last year or so, everything has slowed down so very much. And in the moment, I can see what’s going on, and respond in a way that’s in accord with what I really know to be true. Not in fear, but in humor. That took things slowing down, not speeding up.

I like it, because I can really think things through.

I took all this super, super personally. It was right in my face all the time. Maybe it’s being a woman, maybe it’s just being dialed the way I’m dialed, so maybe it would be helpful to just tell you my philosophy of life.

I’m gonna do what I’m gonna do, what I need to do, and there are certain things that you can argue about until you’re blue in the face, but I’m still going to do them. You can be upset about it, I don’t care. That’s fine Be upset. Enjoy that. But I still need to do this. And you having a problem with me completing my mission tells me more about you than me. So, I don’t care, have a problem with it.

That’s a pretty easy place to be. I don’t know how compassionate it is, but that’s sort of been my way, and it means that everybody else has the same freedom, and that’s really, really hard to give. But, that’s my philosophy.

You hang out with people, and you let them show you what they believe and who they think they are. Within that construct, there are certain things that they’re not going to be able to do, and certain things that they’re going to want to do, and it’s up to them. Not me. And if I want to join in that, I can. And a lot of it’s really fun. But, you know, everybody has the right to choose their own way.

In relationship, it means I watch. I just observe. I let people be. I wasn’t like that with my son, a whole lot, at first. It was the programming. I’ve stopped the clamp-down, but that’s how I am with everybody, just, whatever. And I guess it might appear uncaring, but there’s a reason for it.

I know of having soul urges, and experiences that can never be explained, because they would never be understood, so why bother? I know that everyone walks around in prisons, because they don’t talk about their experiences, and they don’t even have words for their emotions.

I was so shut down in 1985, when I started psych nursing, that I had to use an affect chart with faces to realize that there were a lot of expressions of emotionality.

I had just been pooped out of a pretty rigid structured system, and I had a certain amount of affective range, but I didn’t have words for any of it, and I hadn’t had mirrors, or I hadn’t been paying attention. So, the repetitive sort of inculcation began to break in nursing school, and once I got out of nursing school I realized I really needed to define – not define myself, that was way premature, but I just needed to figure myself out. I just needed to listen to myself.

I could finally sit down and listen, and I had some freedom, so that’s what I did. I started very multi-dimensional, parallel reality-friendly therapist, who resonated with Lazaris, and that was six years of putting myself together, and then I met The Teachers, who were an insert. I didn’t meet them on their spaceship, though they once took me there in session. I didn’t have contacts and visitations. I had to pay money.

But that’s consistent with my role.

It’s been to walk hand in hand with monsters, and what people thought were monsters, often times, as a psych nurse. I worked with people who went on to murder, and burn things down, and rape, and create mayhem.

I was always right smack dab in the mayhem, as a nurse. I liked the mayhem. I liked the seedy parts of town, and the parts that were thought to be rough, and run-down. I liked that the best. I was so uncomfortable visiting in expensive mansions, and being around that kind of folk. That’s just not me. “Everybody’s pretending here. Let’s get down to what’s real.”

It’s just one example of this weird blend I had going the whole time, and it was so hard to reconcile What is a being of love and light, who can totally hear god through a cloverleaf doing in a seedy bar? What the what?

Enemy mine.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

Love your enemy.

Enemy mine.

With every reveal, through these videotapes I’ve been watching, through my studies, through my research, research I wouldn’t be able to do any other way, so I am so grateful for YouTube. What a miracle. What a wonderful thing! This is the way to cement it. This information is available in our Merkahbic fields now, we can access all of this now, but it’s so satisfying to hear a stranger talk about something that sets things in motion, like a key finally turned in an engine.

A’Shayana Deane, I listened to her, and it took about five and a half hours to put Humpty Dumpty back together again, for the veil to completely burn off, and for me to see, finally see, just what I’ve been up against.

What strikes me the most is the manipulation of the solar system. And I looked at that, and I saw all the movements, and the processions, and the complexity, and the compulsivity, the compulsivity. And the arrogance.

Taking something that is obviously divine, and good for you, and saying, “I can do better. And, I don’t care who I hurt. In fact, it’s kind of fun. I like it.”

That is the mind of a tweaker, and a sociopath. That is what we are up against. Raw stupidity and arrogance.

Enemy mine.

It’s diabolical. And it’s super-mechanical. And it’s dead.

These tweakers don’t know how to design open systems because they don’t have the DNA to consider it possible. They’re not smart enough, simply put. But, oh my god, they’re tweakers!

And I have seen that in my life, and in my work, and I’ve described. There’s even an essay that talks about it, “Obsessive-Compulsive.” I resonate with Antares, and one of the fundamentals of this energy is to learn balance, and abstain from obsession. It’s been on my radar for a while, and once again, another stream comes in to confirm that which is coming into clearer and clearer focus.

This is one of my theses, that there is a mindset that creates a field of experience that’s closed, that’s karmic, and the energy is tarry and sticky and infective.

I’ve been describing it.

I’ve been living it.

I’ve been writing and speaking, and thinking the words, but it’s only today that I feel power, and peace, and safety.

There’s a lot about the plan, and what’s occurring that I am in agreement and in accord with, and it’s counter what we have been led to believe or that we understand, but it is coherent and consistent with everything else I have learned in my lifetime of research. I really had to struggle with that, especially overnight, I asked for some help.

The truth is, had I had this information any sooner, I would have left. I would have exited. I wouldn’t have been able to maintain enthusiasm. I barely did, with a complete cloak around my head, I barely survived. Had I known what I know now, that would have been that.

So, what The Teachers told me, way back when, is really true. I wanted to know where I was from, in order to understand what it was all about, and they said they wouldn’t reveal, and that’s my policy, too, with my clients. That’s the most profound discussion you’ll ever have with your soul, and it’s not for me to tell you. You’ve got to ask a few questions. And you might be put on a scavenger hunt or two. It may be a weird experience, or it might be handed to you on a note, who knows, but I’m not the one to hand you that note.

They told me, if I knew, I wouldn’t stay. And now I understand why.

That was the God’s honest truth, it turns out. And to hold this awareness has led to such profound peace. It’s indelible.

All that’s I’ve been saying, that there’s nothing to worry about, and that everybody loves you, and everything’s cool, all the messages from the rapture of spiritual awakening and all that? That’s singing from my bones, and my blood, and my nervous system today.

So, where is this enemy of mine?

Still here.

Still here. Within me.

It took A’Shayana saying a joke, to break the fear, for me. The way that she talks about the dracs, and the reptilians, and all that stuff, all the greys, she’s had her tussles, ok? She’s been hurt, just like we all have. But you know how she responds? “Yeah, well, it takes a village.”

You gotta get to the place where you love. And the only thing that energy requires of you is hate. Hate and fear. It’s the only thing that makes sense, when you’re looking right at it. Hate and fear.

That’s all it knows.

Well, that and tweaking. Unbelievable.

So, I’m sitting on my bed this morning and thinking, no wonder I’ve had problems with this reflectivity, I am that which I hate. I contain that which I abhor. I am genetically, biologically part of my enemy.

But, you know what?

Somehow, somehow, I can see bigger, than my enemy. I can do things my enemy can’t. I can love them. And, they don’t seem capable of it, but, I don’t care. I love them.

Enemy mine.

That’s what shadow work is, you know. You get beat up by the shadow, or you beat up somebody else, and you feel the shadow overtake you, if you do your shadow work right, it blossoms into radiant, brilliant diamond light, and love. That’s the idea. Always. That’s the purpose.

So the question becomes, how much conflict do you need to get to that love? Do you really need conflict, to feel forgiveness and release? How important is it to you, how necessary a device?

Yeah, make-up sex is kind of fun, but I’ve never had it. I think it’s kind of dumb. It’s disordered thinking. Coming together after misunderstandings, that’s different, but I’ve witnessed couples, myself included, get into cycles where their anger and pain become their passion, because they’ve lost their love. And then they don’t understand why they’re in this cyclone of despair all the time, but it like, “well, you’re addicted to something that’s not very healthy.”  I think that’s what a lot of us do. We get hooked on the conflict because we’re still trying to figure out what love is. Because we are trying to get it, get it, from someone else. And it’s just disordered thinking, that’s all. It’s ok, it’s really ok.

When the lights come on, then you have to make a decision. You can get your juice from anger and slight, and pain and disappointment, or you can lift anchor. And, you find, the wind takes you, and the sea supports you, and you’re no longer alone.

It’s very odd.

So, I’m a poet, and a philosopher, and not necessarily one of those who had experiences in crafts and in other physicalized realities. My way seems to blended earth life and cosmic life, and got my understandings in perhaps unconventional ways, more shamanic or visionary, or lalalalala.

But I did it all in amnesia, and finally, the big reveal came. Boop. We’re up against tweakers? Oh Fuck. They’re impaired. They’re impaired, they’re dangerous but they’re not healthy individuals, and it’s not a healthy consciousness. It’s going to do unhealthy things.

OK.

Well, it isn’t a conundrum. It isn’t a puzzle, it isn’t a problem. It’s the task at hand. Figuring out exactly what, who, or if, there is an enemy.

It really took realizing that by virtue of being human, I am, I have internalized, through my genetic code, this whole set up. And because this darkness has individuated and tapped me on the shoulder and messed with me, it became a priority, for me, to figure out exactly what it was.

So, to end, I’ll tell you of my big Aha!, because it’s been really hard for me to know, am I good, or am I bad? I freaking resonate with the dark. I understand the dark. I don’t mind it. I’m kind of immune. It doesn’t seem to stain me, but instead invigorates me, and it makes me appear dark, and corrupted, to some.

Enemy mine.

I am that which I fear.

I am my own destroyer.

I am paradox.

I am a singularity.

And I am the creative essence.

I know, and am, with, that thing, that if you’ve been touched by it, if you’ve run after it and touched it, you know what I’m talking about. The Isness. The All. God. Creator. Source. The Unified Field. Call it what you will. It doesn’t mind.

I resonate with the dark, because I created the dark, because I like a good story. And because, with free will the way it is, well there was a part of me that wanted to run free, and defy. And say:

You. Can’t. Make. Me.

Interesting.

Will is a quantum force. Love is a quantum force.

My enemy likes to play with will, and ignore the solvent that is love.

And I am my enemy.

And I am at peace, with what was, what is, and what is to come.

I love my enemy.

I love my Self.

And I love you.

I declare this the day when all misunderstandings fall, all misdeeds are seen as our own, seen for the silliness they are, and dismissed, with a chortle.

I know my enemy, and I know why I can go dark. I know why it’s bothered me when I have gone dark.

But there is no enemy. It’s just a game. And the light always wins. Always. Without exception. That’s the only rule. This has been a wonderful, wonderful game. Big to little, little to big.

Love your enemy.

Enemy mine.

SEYLAH.

 

 

Deeply Awake: What Happens When Resistance Becomes Self-Aware? By Kathy Vik 5-5-18

 

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A compelling, intense, deep and comprehensive report on further integration in the ascension process, discussing the link up of cosmic and Gaian realities.

Issues of identity as they relate to the ascension process are discussed with gentleness and a unique point of view. A coherent discussion of ancient history, DNA activation, energetic management, shamanism and “mundane” daily life.

Anomalies abound. There is very little on this tape that is synched up, most of it is on a time delay, and the delays and synch are as meaningful as the words. I am beginning to think it is a form of communication, and I think it is beautiful and clever of “them.” At 43:14, my much-beloved wisp appears!

 

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.

Safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Such a barrel of laughs, I used to be!

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what.

It’s a first draft.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He said, this is what you have changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It hadn’t been time, now it is.

I am so grateful I finally have permission to speak.