Deeply Awake: Another Level of… Whatever By Kathy Vik 2-13-18


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A bare-bones talk for those who are on the ascension path, for your enjoyment and consideration. I was urged to talk about many, many aspects of this thing our community keeps talking about, “The Event.”

In this multidimensional eclipse gateway, I thought it necessary, somehow, to talk about esoterics, energetics, prophecies and premonitions, many of them revolving around about being flooded with light, or…  whatever.

This is a personal, quantum reality for each, and this is an enjoyable recording for those desiring many observations and interpretations of the energy bombarding us, and that which is to come, from the vantage point of this intrepid spiritual reporter known as Deeply Awake.





Deeply Awake — Daily Life As a Multidimensional Being, or, Applying Ascended Reality To Daily Life 2-4-18 By Kathy Vik

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Holy smokes.

This is a vital recording, with a HUGE anomaly late in the recording, adding emphasis when relaying a soul confirmation … INCREDIBLE!

This is a FULL ON esoteric recording, for the hardcore among us, who need to know what it is like to apply these principles and to see them pay off in daily life.

That’s sort of the point, of going through this process in public. There had to be an end-point, I would think. There’ll come a day when things make a lot more sense, and then, it’ll be an obligation, and a joy, to just describe the view.

This is one such love letter, from a ledge that continues to blink on and off, literally (!!!!!), as I transmit this appreciation, and joy, and hope, and tips, and descriptions right from my being, to you.

Namaste, my brother, my sister.





As referenced:

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I really could not have set it up any better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is my better self you are meeting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it came to me.


I had felt safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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






Magenta Pixie’s Offering about The Bird Tribe:

Background Music provided by:



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


Deeply Awake CHANNEL — Lighthouse By Kathy Vik 8-18-13

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Deeply Awake — Lighthouse By Kathy Vik 8-18-13

Once there was a lighthouse. It was a sturdy and stout one, and one which had not been in existence until fairly recently. Fresh paint, now just gently weathered by a few storms, many, the lighthouse admits, on dark and starless nights, there were many it did not think it was going to survive.

A little thrill runs through our little lighthouse, thinking, happily, gratefully, joyfully, of those pounding waves, those deep, velvety nights of terror. It shivers then, and catches itself thinking, “my goodness, I did get scared there, a time or two!”

Time passed, and storms passed, over our little lighthouse, having been painted green, then red, then pale yellow. The lighthouse had never been able to shake its sense of loneliness, a visitor who would visit during daylight hours especially, and would skip and jauntily dance around the lighthouse’s base, reminding the little lighthouse it had never had a real conversation, and certainly never with another lighthouse.

The little imp would scamper and toss barbs, little passive insults, about something over which the little lighthouse had not one iota of control. The little lighthouse knew it would always stand here, on this gorgeous cliff, alone, without a fellow, without companion.

And so, on a particularly hot and still summer night, the lighthouse did something that later made it chuckle, in surprise, at how clever it was.

The little lighthouse was alone that night, on its rocky hill, and was glad of it. It began to think on the words of its perpetual visitor, reminding it that it would never see any of its own kind, ever.

The little lighthouse thought about it like this: If I can make up that imp who always insults me, maybe I can make up another lighthouse instead?

And so, right there, on that muggy night, the little lighthouse seemed to pop right out of its pale yellow skin, and there it stood, just its light. It looked at its solid form, there in the moonlight, and knew that everything was good, just as it should be, and it was safe.

And then, it taught itself how to fly.

It did not seem that much of a stretch, to the lighthouse, since it had already seemed to pop out of its own skin.

And so, the little lighthouse went on adventures, and visited many coasts, many shores. It saw how other lighthouses were constructed, and was awed by the creativity and beauty of each and every one of them.

He saw that some lights were just amazingly, beautifully bright, and others were dimmer, but all seemed to have this great ability of helping, just by doing that which came totally naturally.

These visits, these excursions, they became an almost full-time thing, at a certain point. The lighthouse found itself completely in love with everything that was out there in the vastness, of such immense beauty and singularity of purpose.

And then, the little lighthouse realized a great truth.

The little lighthouse realized that it had gotten very comfortable being away from its own self. The lighthouse had nearly forgotten, truth be told, that it had a form, a structure, something form which it had sprung.

And so, because the lighthouse had gained much in the way of knowledge and inner balance and good common sense, the little lighthouse decided it was probably a good thing to settle into its old building once again. To sort of snuggle into the bricks and wood, and to smell the old carpet, hear the sizzle of the bulb during a terrific storm, and yes, it felt good to have lighthouse feet that were once again cold at night and hot during the day.

And so, the lighthouse got accustomed to being a lighthouse again, having had many adventures in imagining.

One night, when the little lighthouse was re of many ships in its sea, the lighthouse had a thought.

It realized, in wonder and curiosity, how it was that in all of its travels, having seen so very many lighthouses, probably all of them, the lighthouse wondered how it could be that it had never struck up a conversation with one of them.

For all its longing to know other lighthouses, it reflected that it had seen probably all of them, on every bit of coast, around the whole globe, but he’d never once said “hi” to any of them.

Then the lighthouse had a thought that chilled him.

None of those lighthouses had said “hi” to it first.

Come to think of it, it had always given the little lighthouse pleasure to know it could visit any lighthouse it wanted, but never really be acknowledged. It had enjoyed being invisible, and this had led it sometimes to wonder if any of it was even real.

And so, in the still of the night and into the hours of dawn, the little lighthouse stayed with that thought. And then it decided that it should be left there. What had seemed natural, flying around and observing, filling up on the beauty and magnificence of the whole thing, was beginning to look less like some sort of special gift, and more like not enough. What had been amazing, so exciting! had now, quite suddenly, become not quite enough for it.

But it did not know what to do, if anything, so it just sort of crawled into its light bulb, and enjoyed beaming this light, not even to anyone in particular. It smelled the grass and the fishy mists blowing in now, and it just became.

Later, the lighthouse would wonder just how long it had become its light, joyously oblivious to anything but being its light. It could never fully reckon the time. But it knew its light, very very well, by the time its next visitor came.

One chilly October night, our little lighthouse became aware of a sensation it had never had before.

There, on the outskirts of its awareness, like a touch which could just be a whisper, there was a presence.

The lighthouse decided to really get into its bricks, into its planks, into its light. And when it felt really really solid, it called out to this presence, and said, “please, come here.”

And there, on the horizon, at first just a rumor of a pinprick of light, there, coming in now, coming in faster, was a great a powerful light.

The lighthouse became nearly blinded by this light, and could not see anything but that light. It had zoomed in very very fast, once the lighthouse had made the invitation. And there, its base turning frosty, the lighthouse was blinded by a light no one else could see.

The little lighthouse said, “Oh, my, who or what are you?”

“I,” said the light, “I am a clever one, like you.”

“What do you mean, clever?” the little lighthouse asked.

“Do you really think that you are the only one of us who have figured out how to fly?” And with that, the big light who’d come to visit our little friend, it bent in such a way to allow our little friend to see its visitor.

This was an ancient lighthouse, anyone could see that. In all its travels, it had never seen one this old. It was strong, massive in its strength, and it was well tended to, that was clear, but it held such an aura of wisdom, and quiet, and humor. It was beautiful, but a little intimidating.

“So,” our little friend asked, “You visit the others too? Why have I never seen you before?”

“Well,” the old one said, “I saw you flitting around a time or two, so I doused the light. I was not ready to meet you, nor you I.

It was not the time, because you were just learning your skills, and to speak with you then would have decreased your capacity for self-reliance, or so you told me, during dream time.”

“You must help me now with this ‘dream time’ stuff,” interrupted our little friend. “I don’t have dreams. I never go away. That has been one of my sadnesses.”

The ancient one chuckled, and said, “It seems there’s a couple of senses you have yet to develop, and I am happy to help you do so, if you wish, but I can assure you, we know each other well, and you and I are great friends during dream time.

That’s actually why I showed up tonight, you know.” And with that, the ancient lighthouse peered out onto the sea, and seemed to incongruously, imperceptibly, sway with the current, with the waves, with its friend.

“So,” our friend asked, “Why exactly are you here tonight? You know, I used to have a visitor who was not very nice. Are you going to be a similar nuisance?”

The ancient one quietly said, “That imp was one of your greatest teachers, young friend. That imp helped you think in ways that most of us do not. And so, I think it best to see all visitors as friends, but that is just me.” The old one turned and faced the sea again, this time for far longer, resting, it seemed, unwilling to discuss anything further.

The little lighthouse felt fascination, and was willing to suffer any little rebukes, understanding, as it sat with this visitor, that perhaps being guided in these next few steps wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

“So, then,” our friend, at last, offered.

So then, why am I here, is that your question?” the old one asked, tenderly now.

“Yes, my friend, I would like to know of your news. If you kept your light off for me before, then there must be a reason for you making this visit to me this night.”

“Indeed there is a reason, and it is a juicy one, one I think you will like a lot.” The ancient one now seemed to shiver with happiness, and seemed suddenly much younger and brighter than before.

It beamed a sweet, warm light at our little friend, and told it this.

“I came to you tonight to tell you that there was a reason that, in all your travelings, no other lighthouse spoke to you, and it never occurred to you to speak to one of them.

We, all we lighthouse, yes we have bulbs and machines and things that can break and need repair, sure, we get knocked around a lot and need a fresh coat of paint more often than most buildings, but, there is something about lighthouses that you do not know.

We are all able to be lighthouses because we have inside of us a light that matches the light we put out. Do you see? The light within you, the light which allows you to travel and think big thoughts, this light is internal. The bulbs and the machines, these are secondary, and if one structure gives way or is burned or broken, then another is built, and we then inhabit that structure, we light up the bulb with our will, with our purpose.

And that is the truth about lighthouses.

That is the dream time, but, you know, dream time is any time. Dream time can be all the time, my friend.”

The little lighthouse was the one, then to turn its light toward the sea. It had to think. It spent many moments in deep contemplation. It then turned toward the ancient one, and asked, “Why do you tell me this now? Why do I have to learn so long into this solitary life that I am connected with everybody else? Could I have been having conversations, friendships and such, all this time?”

“Oh, my little friend,” the old one chided, “don’t you see? If we are all connected, all part of a big light that splits itself off into these structures of ours, don’t you see, you HAVE been in conversation. You just need to see that this is what’s indeed going on, that’s all. No one kept this from you. You just weren’t ready until tonight.

You told me so yourself…”

“In dream time?” our little friend asked.

“Precisely,” said the old one.

“And so,” it continued, “tonight is a nice one to tell you that there is a change going on. You see, before, during your traveling years, we all had an agreement not to acknowledge one another, to not acknowledge ourselves, you see? But, during dream time, we decided that everything was ready, and we could start talking to one another again.”

“You mean, there was a time when we had these sort of conversations, together?” the little one asked, in awe.

“Oh, yes,” the ancient one chuckled again, “We used to have better conversations than this. Well, not better, just different. But they were different times, my friend. What is upon us now, they are even better times. This is just the beginning. Oh! You’ve not seen anything like it! Oh!”

And our ancient one was then overcome. It sniffled, and its light flickered, just for a moment, and then it continued.

“There are some of us, as your travels have shown you, that have been on coasts for a very long time. Our bodies were made to withstand a lot, because we wanted to be around to help you new ones, who are ready now.

There are old ones who have been asked to help the younger ones, and that is why I visit you tonight.

But before I continue, you must understand, remember what I said about when a lighthouse gets burned or broken and needs to come down? Then a new one comes up in its place, and the same light comes to dwell in the wood and concrete? Do you remember that?”

Our little friend did not need much more of an explanation. All at once, it understood. And it said, “So, are you here to remind me of this? To maybe not be quite so fooled about my age, my naivete, my not knowing some stuff?”

“Oh, I knew I picked the right one,” the old one beamed. “Yes, right you are. It is a gradual remembering, and we help you with this, and that is most of it, but it is not all of it.”

The lighthouses saw that dawn was moments away, the sky was about to burst with pink and purple and gold. In the tension within that moment, when night becomes something else, something else again, in that moment, they looked at each other. They saw each other. And they knew each other. They saw they were family, and this was a gift, this visit, which could never be forgotten.

“I’ve come to remind you that yours is not to struggle against the storms, or worry over them, or anticipate them, or think any thought at all about them, ever again. Yours is to know of your light, your service, and your family. Yours is to come join us, all of us.

Those who did not speak to you before, this is because that was the agreement, you all made it, and now you have broken it. It is just a matter of easing into it. You can do all your traveling again, but you will never be so disconnected from your structure. Imagine your flying, and being able to also be within your structure, feeling the heat of that bulb of yours, smelling the earth, knowing you are helping, and seeing the outcomes of others journeys. Imagine.

Imagine never being lonely again. You really don’t need to, and that is what the old ones are doing, going around and reminding our young friends, you are not alone, never have been, and we are so very proud of your beautiful work.

We have a message. We are telling all of you that this is the time of discovery, and of friendships, and of feeling a connection you’ve never known before. You will not feel alone again, because you will know that it is a false understanding. It is a misunderstanding, and that is all, to think you are out here, on this beautiful cliff, all on your own.”

“So, you will be helping me? How? When?” the little lighthouse asked.

“Do you see a physical structure in front of you? Honestly, do you? Have the construction men come and erected me next to you? No. We are connected by something far more durable than stone and tree. We are connected, as a family of purpose, each to the other, and at no time are you ever alone. You think on me, and I will be there. You may not see me quite as brilliantly as you do right now, but I am really focusing, and this is special, you see.”

“I am at your service,” the ancient one declared, and I am here to help you in any way you see fit. Do not forget about dream time, though, my friend. Do not forget there might be things you do not know about, yes?”

The little lighthouse thought about that and did not like the idea of being in the dark. It worked up its courage and said just that, tot he old one before it.

The old one was ready to finish, and the young one felt it. It did not want the connection to break. There was, to be honest, a little moment of panic, for our little friend.

“Do not fear, my great and true friend,” the old lighthouse said. “There is a bit more you must know before I can depart, this first time.

I want you to understand something as I leave, I want you to think on this in my seeming absence, and I really do want you to look forward to our discussions about this, and many other things, yes? in the times to come.

I did not tell you at first, but need to tell you now, it is something that all of we elders are passing on to our youth.

You understand that yours is to weather storms. The reasons for this are deep and beautiful, and we, each of us, wish you to honor just what it is you do. It goes unseen by you, most of the time, and we have been urged to remind you to spend just a little bit of your time thinking on you, on your light, on just what it is that you do. This is a good and right practice, one that will strengthen your light. You’ll be very surprised.

You remember, in your travels, how some lights were dimmer than others, yes? This is a deep and complex riddle, but one reason for this is often that the lighthouse does not even realize that it is a lighthouse! Imagine that! Imagine that!”

The ancient one laughed so hard that it began to cough, sputter, and needed a moment to compose itself, from all its mirth.

“Imagine a lighthouse unaware of what it is! Do you know how to solve this problem?” The ancient one asked then.

Our little friend had no answer. It seemed an unsolvable problem.

“Have you already forgotten, have you failed to bring it inside yourself, little one, that we share the same light?

Some do not wish to burn bright. Some do not know how. But most do not fully appreciate their beauty and their purpose. And that is all.

And when you young ones, you travelers, you clever ones, as you come to see this, then your light burns brighter, and, this is our goal, to make sure that there are enough of us burning bright, then all of our family can burn brighter. It is a collective thing, you see, a group endeavor.”

And with that, the ancient one seemed to tire. The little lighthouse wished to ease the old one, comfort it in some way, so it said, “I love you. Thank you.”

And with that, something good and strong and hopeful happened. The little lighthouse could feel it, and the old one could too. There was a surge, there was a push of light that our little friend had never felt before.

It felt good.

The little lighthouse smiled then, and could feel its friend the sun warm its hat, and match its light.

The ancient one and the young one sat together on that lonely cliff, and for a time, they knew, they felt, and they cherished that they were together, thinking thoughts which felt smooth and clear, thoughts each knew, sitting there together, these were moments that would come to them during their next storm, when the sea was black and the cries around them were especially pitiful. This moment, they would remember and cherish it.

It was the first time the young one knew it was not alone. It understood in a real way, even though it was talking to an apparition, it knew that there was nothing this old friend told it that was not true, somewhere down deep, in a true and pure place the lighthouse had always visited, and always longed for.

They say until mid-day. It just did not feel right to part until the sun was warm and there were children frolicking among the pumpkin patch the little lighthouse’s keepers loved.

And then, while the sky was cold and the sun was hot and the two lighthouses felt full and complete and satisfied, the ancient one said its goodbyes, and went where it very much enjoyed spending time, there on its own hill, overlooking a vast sea, ready to shine its light, smiling while it did it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I just feel like I can breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sea green Mini Cooper with a racing stripe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I really can.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See, here is that overlay of isolation again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How alone can a person feel?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think it’s time to fuck questioning it.

And here is how.

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

I opt for the latter.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

And then the miracles came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I suddenly felt great.

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

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

There is no pleasing some people.

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

And then I laughed. Right out loud.


This changes everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quite a pickle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dark is doubt, fear, loneliness, separation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time is over for me.

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

And there it was, whole:

Reflections are nice, but they are only reflections.

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

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

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

It is reflection of themselves I am looking at.

What a relief to figure that out!

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dark has a couple of tricks, you know.

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

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

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

Makes you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled, he calmed, and we began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What else can I expect?

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

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

Many do not.

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

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

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

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

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

I know this light disturbs some.

So be it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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