Saviors Of Earth

The Unification Epicenter of True Lightworkers

FIELD NOTES - MY FAMILY ON THE AUSPICIOUS 11-11-13

FIELD NOTES – MY FAMILY

By Kathy Vik on the auspicious 11-11-13

www.deeplyawake.tumblr.com

Yes, I continue to write my novel, and yes, it's really is going well, thank you. I think you are going to like it a lot.

Sitting here thinking about this risk, I have to tell you, it's sort of a big one, I think.

I have a theory, you see. It is more than a theory. It is an understanding, a knowing, a cosmology, and, here's the thing.

I think it makes all good sense. That's trivializing it, really. Let me explain.

I was born, it felt, with a longing. A homesickness that I couldn't shake. A weird heart/head/body ache that was pulling you and pushing you someplace, many places, actually, a force you could never say no to, learned to obey, learned to recognize,even when being crushed by the hard, steel, gray shoulder of your cultural norm.

Your ache, depending on where you live, might have been less than mine, but see, there we go, right into my theory.

So anyway, I realized that there might be a certain section of people who would read this and feel convinced I am possessed by something they cannot recognize, and so fear, and thus label evil or pagan or any number of inflammatory labels, like throwing rocks at a rhinoceros.

And that's a group who reads it and thinks it's some sort of psychopathology, and it is they, I think, I feel something very sharp, and it is contempt. These that the folks who have just enough good judgment to see that this stuff I see and am aware of and think might actually be a good thing, but it stirs up something uncomfortable, and this discomfort is not seen as self generated, it is, instead blamed on the other, who then is appropriate, in their mind, to insult, and inflict as much suffering on as they can take, because, after all, they are inferior.

It is a twisted thing,and it is all over these days, on the news, in people's families.

This is, also, part of the theory.

You see, if this is psychopathology, I ask you to find the chink. What I know is whole, it is benevolent, it is fluid and it never argues with itself. It is wisdom and kindness, appropriateness and good humor, tenderness, more than I would have expected, and, actually more belly laughs per day, anymore, than I can count. A lot of things strike me funny anymore.

It is a knowing, and it comes from, to be honest with you, as honest as I have ever been, it comes from the longing so many of us walk with. A longing that just never went away, and when we turned and did our best to block it out, it got my attention, anyway, by putting me in serious car crashes and od's. Trying the hardest to fit in almost killed me, and it took getting on my knees and walking through an arid valley, eighteen years when it was so dark I just couldn't see, and then, all at once, it seemed, the lights went on.

I looked back, after a time, at my former life very differently than I once did. I could see, all along the way, teachers of such high magnitude, great minds who not only sheltered me but tenderly and sometimes forcefully taught me about morals, ethics, and energy management when in company. What the point of all of this is, all of this under the hood of a dumpy woman, a simple woman, with little money, an extraordinary son?

And so, why talk about this on this most auspicious day, the 11-11 of our first year here, as more whole human beings, as something else again?

Well, that's the point. My theory.

I believe that this is a planet of ascension. Ascension is the way of evolution, and after this first bit, I will not be calling it ascension again. I think the word needs to be abandoned.

I believe there are a little under 400,000 of us, and I had always tended to think that there were fa finite numbers of starters, same age, all over the world. That is my theory's question, really. I know we are all over the world, in very specific geographic coordinates, and many of us get moved, quite mysteriously and sometimes abruptly, from place to place, holding energy for whole grids. I know of this. My friend Diane is one such.

And we came in with our plates,many of us, piled high with things we come to see a lot of our friends did not encounter. Some of us are able to do pretty much anything well, and are perpetually bored, always vaguely feeling like we are spinning our wheels, even when, or maybe especially when, things got quiet.

You see, my theory is that those days, especially before, say 1989, and please know, right here, if you're into dates, you can']t rely on me. I have no real concept of time, never had, and it makes writing job applications a bitch. I feel like it is some sort of learning disability, and I should get SSDI for it, or at least a little leeway. I forget a lot, and need to be reminded of stuff. I pay bills late, and I can't remember names. There;s stuff that sort of misfires, I guess, so I'm just as human as they come, and no different than you, and maybe your thing is not being able do something else, my weird is just a different color than yours. Everybody has them.

So, my theory is that there is a family of ancient ones who are here to be first in the shift. To soften up the energy, to clear for the collective, to take in as much as we could of this and that and the other, so that we would be believable when we told people a few things about how we see things. Just like you, dude. Just like you. In many ways, when you get a little deeper, that's where things get weird.

So, if I worry about the haters who are going to label us, then I think I am standing very firmly in the old land. I know what I am, and when I meet one of you, we always both know, aren't you finding that to be true? I have met more family the last month than I have for many, many years.

And this is because, you guys, we did it.

See, I want this book to go out to the ones who are willing to read it, but also, to the ones who react with snarls and maybe ever disbelief. I think disbelief is a very valid stance, and I don't think bad thought if you just can't believe it. Believe me, I went through that, too.

But this energy, it is of the mother, they mama, and it is through her, who soothes all, but inhabits some, then, from that blessed relief that, I guess, is called balance, everything becomes benevolent, and things soften.

And I write this to those who also know these things. Not to anyone else, and it is important to say it this way, clearly, for all of us, a declaration of sorts, something that has been singing I n my veins now for two days, a sort of super-charged internal active peace. That's the best way to put it. Active peace. Being on-line, like when something analog goes digital.

And in my theory, which is just my heart song, you guys are her with me. I have met some, and some who are just now catching up, but many of us have not felt it necessary to examine it like me. I have two masters of love in my life, real saints, living love, and neither of them look so deeply into this stuff, are not as well versed in as much as I am, and have no interest in new age philosophy. Three friends, actually, one that actually sort of snarls at it. But these humans are selfless. They are benevolent. Some generally, some more specifically, but they are benevolence itself. And then, as I look up, I cannot see a human being in my mind's eye who has not known compassion, and no one in this sea of humanity has not been compassionate, many at great risk.

And then, it is easy to see my beloved in every person's face, and to see the joke in everything, and to see myself winking at me in every conversation.

Is this madness? I say it is bliss, and this is my proclamation, for all of us, if you want. If it doesn't fit, toss it and never return, no skin off my nose. It's not for you, then, and that's all.

Here it is.

On this day, the 11:11 of this, our first year as conscious co-creators, I speak to my heart, and say what it wishes to bless me with.

This is my time. I came to this reality for this moment, and from this day forward I am one with my creator.

Today is the day I have chosen to enjoy the fruitful fact of the creator's eyes being mine, my heart is my creators, and my creator is my heart.

I am a benevolent god, kind in my ways, honorable in my dealings, honest to all, always to self, aware, and willing to expand, always, awareness, never saying no to the all, knowing a no is a tug, and tugs are best dealt with in good, in divine, timing.

I trust myself above all from this day forward. No more with quibbling about identity and style issues. All are their own creator. Those who wish to judge are avoiding their puzzle, and that is all. Let them say what they will. It really is irrelevant.

And today it is said, for all to hear, for the all to appreciate, from this time on, it is safe to be in the open. It is time to trust that we can modulate with others. We are beginning to feel the blend. The resistance is gone, and it is fine to come out.

This insistent thought, just seeing things so neutrally, undefendedly, but with good common sense, and not being troubled with the times I am moved to say things I, at one time, would never have given myself permission to say, oh this has been grand, and it is only getting better, after today.

I declare recollection of all the teachings I have had part in, I declare that I can now access any conversation I have ever had, with anyone, at any “time,” and am saying to my amnesia, to my but more, to my higher perspective, it is safe to come here now and be with me. Let me see through your eyes, always. Give me more light, always. Give me as much as I can handle, I say. My arms are outstretched and I am naked on that hillside I have seen so many times, and I am just now realizing it is a nice spring day. The winds have come and gone. And I have a vague recollection of once being a cold and wet and lonely lighthouse. I was all alone in the worst storm I've encountered.

But this is odd, now. I remember that, and it's easy to begin to think those memories are real, but it just isn't possible now. Because it doesn’t really apply, does it?

I mean, I am seeing, knowing myself to be an almost leonine woman, naked and luxuriating under a grove of apple trees in a gentle summer day. I am. And so easily does this image morph, for me, into something else, something more. And I am that something more. I am a physical creature, yes, and an exalted one, from this day forward.

And I understand this is strictly due to DNA, intent and plan. I am only one of so very very many. My family.

I don't know what my future holds, and so, I write, because I figure it is best to just keep putting messages in bottles, and maybe that's just me, and maybe it's not that bad a thing.

This theory extends to the multiverses, but it starts inside a human heart who hears a gong go off, and the lights start coming on, and, then things are just different. It's a tumultuous journey for the first group, and it's this popping up and out of the karma and agreements we used to have, and walking into this new life, that I wish to close with.

I once write an essay entitled, “How I Think Ascension Will Play Out”. I had strong words of almost admonishment for those holding the belief that ET's were going to come down here and intervene on our behalf, that early in the game. I explained about the first and only rule of the game: it is a free will zone. The human is sovereign. Instead, I think there will be people switching on, all over the world. One by one, people will just start lighting up, maybe they go away for education, maybe it happens in their dreams, but one by one, they become have what others can see are the attributes of ascended masters, that celebration.

And there is our ascended master, getting onto the Hampden ramp to I25, spilling coffee onto her ascended master uniform pants, his Versace suit, his shorts. In all sorts of cars, and uniforms, and bodies, all over the world.

What would it mean to you, I asked myself, if I could have access, on the phone, to someone who was consistent kind, non judgmental, wise, balanced, funny and deep and serious and surprisingly candid? How would that change me? Would I want someone I could have coffee with to tell me the theories he holds, and would it be ok if none of it even seemed to make much sense to me, but they felt so good, and were always calm, and never got mad, and sometimes would cry, but usually, they just couldn't get ruffled? They saw deeply into anything at all, but could be as light as a feather?

What would that mean to me? How could my life change if I had really good counsel?

That's what we are. We are a family of folks who have gotten there, and there is a relative term, one some of us have exposed. You get there any number of ways, and we are in many religions, many walks of life. It is important to honor each other. Recognize each other. And know that at no time are we physically alone. We are one with the beloved now, and see ourselves as we, many of us. I like the feeling of multiplicity, and forget about it still, when too linear. It's a focus, I think.

So I guess, for me, I am proclaiming this real for me, and that's is why I equivocated as long as I did. I just want it made plain that I'm aware some people misbehave when they are too out of synch with this energy. Everything is so much different.

I will close on that note, a love letter on the 11:11. I am the kind who, when things get weird, sort of tilty and odd, you know, when things in your life get extreme, when things change? I like that. Always have. I don't mind structure, and I thrive in it, but it is hard for me to maintain, and really hard to attain at all, at times. I like it when things are weird. I'll make it clear. I'm a nurse by trade, and there are only a few items when someone in front of me was trying to die, and didn't want to. So the extremity begins, and things, suddenly, get real, real good. Things are somehow complete, time moves much differently there, and people behave differently there too. Everyone goes calm. Everyone's focus goes to the one mind, then, in some ways, and teams work as one, doing much, much different things, but to one purpose, only one.

And that's what I like. And then, there is resolution, and we all break out into the bitching, ungrateful, fatigued people we were previously.

That is how it used to be for me. I liked that other place. I never go out looking for it, it's an organic entity you get to crawl into from time to time, but, see, it's that tilty energy that I have been feeling!

I feel tilty all the time, but, see, to me, tilty means balanced. I like not knowing what to expect, and reading the news and being surprised, genuinely surprised, at how things are progressing. It's crazy town out there, for a lot of people. Things are changing for many people, and it's my theory that this is not getting better, this is now a larger population getting used to what we, many of us, have studied since childhood. I have. Have you?

Field Notes is for anyone, everyone, who has a question about this new energy, but only, and always, from my perspective. I am no one's guru, and I am writing this still unrealized, undiscovered.

I have no idea who'd want to read this first draft, but I know, just as I know with Deeply Awake, and Patrick Hears Voices, this needs to be written. There has to be a place for people like me to go.

See, that's the weird part.

The lights go on, and certain things become self evident, and then, one by one, through the blogs, I've had confirmation after confirmation. It has been an echo chamber, reading my counselors on line, nearly always mirroring something I'd just encountered, or, at times, introducing heart-melting new ideas that I recognize as true.

And we have the same beliefs, and they are really beyond argument, a few things that just are, and sure, there are lots of spins of it, but keep winnowing, eliminating those who just feel wrong for you, and there you can see, there are voices from all over the world, all individually knowing the same things. Consistently. And they act in a consistent manner. And you just know them.

That's family. And we have awakened. We did a while ago, and I know I am being a bit presumptuous with the “We” stuff, but, I know I am not the only one. I will not accept that I am some lone madwoman. It is not so, and I wish to beat that awful naysayer into submission, really. I know that belies too strong emotion, telling me there is something I need to come to peace with, but for today, let's as one, just admit that this stuff is real, and it is finally safe to come out, the veil is thin, the curtain separating us turned transparent overnight,and we can see, feel, hear, even touch each other now. WE don;t need the internet, though it's nice.

Some are repelled by those life and death scenarios, and fall apart in a code. Some have to leave the room. And then there are those who come by to breathe in that energy, and those I have great disdain for, those who love, flock, to the act. I am one who can meld with others and perform as one for a common goal. There are many like us, and there are some who now live in that state.

Call it what you like. I call it Evolution, and it is the every same energy that is unbalancing many that is helping us breathe better, see longer, and love more. Out time has come. Welcome to my second gift to you, my family, the Shining Ones, the Ancient Ones, the ones who will be the seedlings to the new world, doing once again what we have done before, evolving.

From this perspective, I leave you with a tantalizing thought, one to puzzle on until nest time.

Lee Carroll/Kryon's group says there is a group about 350,000, the originals, so to speak, the ones who have come from beyond, I guess, the seeders, the first group, here on earth, and we are awakening to take the project home, to ignite the planet. Bashar says that of the 7 billion people on earth, there is but a group of 300,000 originators, the original ones, and everyone is under these oversouls, their creations.

My teachers explained that there is always a first group, a first wave, when a planet ascends. The rebels, the specialists, the odd ones, the ones that have had exceptionally tricky lives, the open ones, and they start the ball rolling. Then things catch on and the second wave is activated. And then they all help the third wave. And those who still cannot move off the old dime,they choose to opt out of the experiment.

That this is the way of it, planetary ascension, ascended biological evolution, frequency shift, merging with the one, whatever you wind up calling it, it's all the same. I guess there are a lot of ways to explain the story, many myths and questions that come up, but this is, in essence the theory.

It scared me, at first, especially the way Bashar told it, but it is making more and more sense, now. I know it has to do with willingness and not holiness, it has nothing to do with worth in anyone's eyes but self's, knowing and loving and trusting self, where the all dwells, and there really is no lid on this genie bottle. Once you know that, what else is there to know? If you get there in a pew or on a rug or in a meditation retreat or in kirtan, on a mountaintop of on a walk, does it matter all that much? Let us see the beloved in everyone and just leave it at that, I think. That's the way to go, I think, when all is said and done.

And still, this need to tell you all about it.

I'll leave it there for today, my forever friends, my family.

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Comment by Besimi on November 16, 2013 at 7:19pm

FIELD NOTES - ANOTHER BIG CHANGE FOR THE BETTER 11-14-13

FIELD NOTES – ANOTHER CHANGE FOR THE BETTER By Kathy Vik, 11-14-13

www.deeplyawake.tumblr.com

There's a butt-tom of other stuff I could and, really, should be doing right now, just like a year ago, glued to my seat, far away and right up close, experiencing something extraordinary, and, after all is said and done, telling you about this is more important to me than clean laundry. I do look forward to going to the neighborhood laundromat today, though. I love the smell of laundry, and I love laundromats.

Anyhow.

It started yesterday. The energy was intense, what I wrote was intense. Really happy intense, not dark,not at all. Just very sparkly, very focused, light but clear, I guess.

And then, after zoning out to Community Season 2, Disc 4 and playing a fetching game on the computer, I had one of those things, when I get all weird feeling, like I'm going to faint, and my heart slows down, and I did not want to pass out at the table, so I called it a night and crawled into bed.

I slept in blocks. Anymore, when in a period of expansion, I sleep for just a little bit, wake feeling completely rested, look at the clock and can't believe so little time has elapsed. That's what happened last night. So I did what I always do, I go to the bathroom, get some water, and then return to bed for luscious other stuff. I know I'm going traveling, working, having fun, then. I get to go be active. And so, that happened until around 1, so two hours. And I woke up feeling extraordinary.

There's that word again.

So, I was immediately aware, not like I usually am, not groggy or resentful for being awake (sort of a problem I once had...) no, this was different. Awake, aware, all aware. I saw myself cleaved. I saw a big big part of me as diamond glittery, silver, and I was there, and I was surveying myself from there. I felt my life acutely, but none of it applied, none of it could be taken all that seriously. Odd. Not in a trivializing fashion, nor in a minimizing way, but as someone who is intimately aware of how the story is, in its totality.

It wasn't a conscious decision, not the end product of some breathing meditation or mud bath or homeopathy, just waking up and knowing things I didn't know before.

When I wrote in my journal, gosh darn it, it was frustrating, because everything I said sounded trite. Repetitions of stuff I keep repeating anyhow, but this time, I was inhabit those sentiments, those understandings, somehow. The words were flimsy excuses for what I was trying to get across.

I'll transcribe those notes for both of us now. I am very curious what I wrote. I will mention, the dictation was billowing at 1, and I really wanted to write, but I was tired and pretty disinterested, actually. When I woke up again at 3, I was physically very fatigued. I did the physical stuff one must do to get comfortable, and then, I wished I had asked my body to make up for all the work I did, really get me rested, but I neglected to do that...

OK, here are the notes...

“ 11-14

Split overnight. Woke up 3 times, 3 blocks. I saw my 3d life, all the stories, worries, I saw it like paper. Flimsy. Interesting, captivating but so flat. Then there was this other field, where I was, and I understood the 3d life is written by this biggerself. Embodying this larger mind. God. SO physical. I am CHANGED. I can't fear my 3d life and I'm not worried any,ore. This is not some kind of word play mind anesthesia. This is knowing that the setups and all are just that. Important but a by-product. But it's not what I saw as much as how I STILL feel. Detached and delighted. Like my “life” is beautiful. I'm OK. This isn't home, really, neither is India, South America. No. It's someplace I visit but it's not home. And yet I love it here, The Earth, I mean. I feel excited and as an equal when considering problems and questions and people I truly admire.”

Truth be told, all I want to do right now is go take a nap.

But the reason I interrupt that programming is because I have been able to sustain that feeling now, from since I woke up. When just coming to the last time, that sensation was a lot stringer. In the sort of woozy moments I had that last awakening, I ask for a key word, to make this key word be encoded with the whole thing, so that I can access it with just one word. Of course, this was a good idea, so it was done.

I can't remember the word now.

Silly goose.

So it will come back to me at the right time,but in the meantime, this feels good.

At the elevator, heading back to the apartment after dropping Sam off, I felt sort of like I was nicely vibrating. I thought, I wonder if this is how Lemurians felt. Is this old stuff? I felt good, and I kept feeling/running this light,this sliver ghost behind me. And at the elevator, I invited the ghost, this bigger entity,to spin with me, from me, so that we could be together and not apart, and I felt the silver come through me, getting onto the elevator.

I closed my eyes on the way up, wondering if this is how it will be now, being able to do this with my eyes open. I know I have been doing that for a while, but not like this. Not like this.

I'm bound to settle down. Funny how tasks can be sort of soothing, doing repetitive, mindless tasks. They soother me, sometimes. Usually they anger me, that I have to do them at all. But if I can get into the right groove, doing stuff I don't really like to do because it's boring and repetitive and necessary,but now I am feeling gratitude for it. It is grounding, you know?

I wish I knew what other people's experiences are. I've been more interested in channeled stuff lately... Meline LaFont's one today just blew me away. It felt so good, so pure and true, for me. I was glad of it.

I am going to go and attend to my business now, but I wanted you to know what is happening. I like the feelings and thoughts I am having, and realizing more and more that there is something very special going on here, very auspicious indeed.

And that's really all I have to say today. Thanks for tuning in, dear friend.

Comment by Besimi on November 16, 2013 at 7:17pm

FIELD NOTES - ANOTHER BIG CHANGE FOR THE BETTER 11-14-13

FIELD NOTES – ANOTHER CHANGE FOR THE BETTER By Kathy Vik, 11-14-13

www.deeplyawake.tumblr.com

There's a butt-tom of other stuff I could and, really, should be doing right now, just like a year ago, glued to my seat, far away and right up close, experiencing something extraordinary, and, after all is said and done, telling you about this is more important to me than clean laundry. I do look forward to going to the neighborhood laundromat today, though. I love the smell of laundry, and I love laundromats.

Anyhow.

It started yesterday. The energy was intense, what I wrote was intense. Really happy intense, not dark,not at all. Just very sparkly, very focused, light but clear, I guess.

And then, after zoning out to Community Season 2, Disc 4 and playing a fetching game on the computer, I had one of those things, when I get all weird feeling, like I'm going to faint, and my heart slows down, and I did not want to pass out at the table, so I called it a night and crawled into bed.

I slept in blocks. Anymore, when in a period of expansion, I sleep for just a little bit, wake feeling completely rested, look at the clock and can't believe so little time has elapsed. That's what happened last night. So I did what I always do, I go to the bathroom, get some water, and then return to bed for luscious other stuff. I know I'm going traveling, working, having fun, then. I get to go be active. And so, that happened until around 1, so two hours. And I woke up feeling extraordinary.

There's that word again.

So, I was immediately aware, not like I usually am, not groggy or resentful for being awake (sort of a problem I once had...) no, this was different. Awake, aware, all aware. I saw myself cleaved. I saw a big big part of me as diamond glittery, silver, and I was there, and I was surveying myself from there. I felt my life acutely, but none of it applied, none of it could be taken all that seriously. Odd. Not in a trivializing fashion, nor in a minimizing way, but as someone who is intimately aware of how the story is, in its totality.

It wasn't a conscious decision, not the end product of some breathing meditation or mud bath or homeopathy, just waking up and knowing things I didn't know before.

When I wrote in my journal, gosh darn it, it was frustrating, because everything I said sounded trite. Repetitions of stuff I keep repeating anyhow, but this time, I was inhabit those sentiments, those understandings, somehow. The words were flimsy excuses for what I was trying to get across.

I'll transcribe those notes for both of us now. I am very curious what I wrote. I will mention, the dictation was billowing at 1, and I really wanted to write, but I was tired and pretty disinterested, actually. When I woke up again at 3, I was physically very fatigued. I did the physical stuff one must do to get comfortable, and then, I wished I had asked my body to make up for all the work I did, really get me rested, but I neglected to do that...

OK, here are the notes...

“ 11-14

Split overnight. Woke up 3 times, 3 blocks. I saw my 3d life, all the stories, worries, I saw it like paper. Flimsy. Interesting, captivating but so flat. Then there was this other field, where I was, and I understood the 3d life is written by this biggerself. Embodying this larger mind. God. SO physical. I am CHANGED. I can't fear my 3d life and I'm not worried any,ore. This is not some kind of word play mind anesthesia. This is knowing that the setups and all are just that. Important but a by-product. But it's not what I saw as much as how I STILL feel. Detached and delighted. Like my “life” is beautiful. I'm OK. This isn't home, really, neither is India, South America. No. It's someplace I visit but it's not home. And yet I love it here, The Earth, I mean. I feel excited and as an equal when considering problems and questions and people I truly admire.”

Truth be told, all I want to do right now is go take a nap.

But the reason I interrupt that programming is because I have been able to sustain that feeling now, from since I woke up. When just coming to the last time, that sensation was a lot stringer. In the sort of woozy moments I had that last awakening, I ask for a key word, to make this key word be encoded with the whole thing, so that I can access it with just one word. Of course, this was a good idea, so it was done.

I can't remember the word now.

Silly goose.

So it will come back to me at the right time,but in the meantime, this feels good.

At the elevator, heading back to the apartment after dropping Sam off, I felt sort of like I was nicely vibrating. I thought, I wonder if this is how Lemurians felt. Is this old stuff? I felt good, and I kept feeling/running this light,this sliver ghost behind me. And at the elevator, I invited the ghost, this bigger entity,to spin with me, from me, so that we could be together and not apart, and I felt the silver come through me, getting onto the elevator.

I closed my eyes on the way up, wondering if this is how it will be now, being able to do this with my eyes open. I know I have been doing that for a while, but not like this. Not like this.

I'm bound to settle down. Funny how tasks can be sort of soothing, doing repetitive, mindless tasks. They soother me, sometimes. Usually they anger me, that I have to do them at all. But if I can get into the right groove, doing stuff I don't really like to do because it's boring and repetitive and necessary,but now I am feeling gratitude for it. It is grounding, you know?

I wish I knew what other people's experiences are. I've been more interested in channeled stuff lately... Meline LaFont's one today just blew me away. It felt so good, so pure and true, for me. I was glad of it.

I am going to go and attend to my business now, but I wanted you to know what is happening. I like the feelings and thoughts I am having, and realizing more and more that there is something very special going on here, very auspicious indeed.

And that's really all I have to say today. Thanks for tuning in, dear friend.

Views: 2

Tags: ASCENSIONAWAKEDEEPLYFIELD,KATHYNOTESVIK

Comment by Besimi on November 16, 2013 at 7:16pm

FIELD NOTES - I CAN SEE HOME FROM HERE By Kathy Vik 11-13-13

FIELD NOTES – I CAN SEE HOME FROM HERE

by Kathy Vik

www.deeplyawake.tumblr.com

I am going to travel deep into the weird today, and I guess I wanted to say that to you up front, so that only willing passengers into the weird would tag along. This is not for everyone. If it doesn't resonate, put it down, k?

I have had a series of integrations, of realizations, I suppose they could be called, although that word is a little weak. It's like a settling into my bones, a shift in my center of gravity, perhaps, but a soul sort of gravity. A self kind of gravity.

It started on the 8th, while at work.

I was trying to write Patrick Hears Voices, and was stalled. I began to be hard on myself for having wasted so long in expository writing, wishing I was better at fiction, all that old crap. So, I decided to read my last two Deeply Wake’s. I felt there was something in them I needed, and re-reading happens most often for me when dwelling, once again, for as little or as long, in disbelief.

I re-read the last two, and was aware, during the reading, feeling the work acutely. By the end of the last one, I was crying, shaky, moved, unable to continue. I coughed, and, without turning, until my eyes dried, I asked if I could go on break.

I went to my car, and talked to myself for a half hour, alternating with meditation, praying. I understood something, then. I could feel something within me move. I don't know how else to describe it.

I drove back to the hospital, from the back parking lot that I've parked in for the lat couple of years on break there, and walking back in, I heard myself say, things are different. I felt different. I felt a cleave, a split, and I felt whole parts of me, their absence. That is the only way to describe it. All the set ups I walk through now, they seemed as matchsticks a big grown up walks through and breaks, Popsicle houses, irrelevant, playtoys, childish things.

I felt a wholeness, an integration, and an awareness that what has come before is not that which will come to pass. I was on new ground, walking back into my hospital, at 3 in the morning.

It had been a hellish night, people up all night screaming, calling out, begging, it was bad. And yet, as I walked out at 7:30, the first thing I was aware of was that tangy smell of fall leaves in the air. I stopped stock still, and I breathed real deep, and what came to me was the feeling I had had in my car, and walking in from break. The old is done. The new is here. This is all new. I am home.

What drove me into the arms of this new world was disbelief herself. Self doubt had me re-read my my work with a focused mind and heart. And I don't hear a lot about this self doubt a whole lot on the interwebs, but I do hear a lot of judgmental stuff about how we shouldn't trust our ego, and we are a house divided, stuff like that. I don't think it is true. And I think it is counterintuitive, an internalization of a misunderstanding, to distrust ourselves, to denigrate our own consciousness. Of course, discomfort leads to looking for easy to ease that discomfort, and when things get too uncomfortable, wither within or without, then we must recalibrate, examine, comply or disagree, but move we must, always taking in more of ourselves, appreciating the more of us.

It's funny to me that I am really quite eager to write more fiction, but this seems to be a pendulum thing. I have to get out this stuff that sounds unreal, but I know is real, and integrate it, before I can go run and skip in the daisies.

Deeply Awake was written for many reasons, but what drove me relentlessly to my little netbook, day after day, essay after essay, was this need to examine what had just occurred, evaluate it with a really keen eye, dissect it in writing, and see if it stands up. Many of the early stuff was just this. Taking new ideas for a stroll.

And things have changed now, for me, as a persona, and therefore, as a writer.

There are some things that I just no longer care to argue about, either in company or by myself. There are some things I understand that have been very hard won. Very. I have been striving for this clarity of soul since I was a girl. I never really saw the point in much else, in understanding. In understanding everything. Why? When? Who? How? These basic questions hounded, and sometimes, all they did, really, was make me sad. When I wasn't working on the puzzle, I was pretty miserable. But, see, I understand now, am beginning to appreciate, just now, that when things got challenging for me, as they have and continue to do with many many many, and believe me, I’m still not out of the woods in 3d land, all of the missteps and things I have criticized myself for, they were ok, deliberate, even. Purposeful and beautiful, opportunities to see the truth, to love, to forgive.

So, this fascination with cosmology, science, human nature, spirit, religions, it grew over the years. It expanded, to began to fully occupy metaphysical stuff, a larger mind there waiting when the lights came on in 2011, 2012. but I get ahead of myself.

In 1989, there was the Harmonic Convergence. Did you go? I made my sister. We went to Big Mac, rolled out of bed at some ungodly hour, found ourselves a seat in that cavern, surrounded with other like minded souls. At the proper time, we all lit candles. It was beautiful sight. I'll never forget it.

My therapist had told me about it, urged me to go. I'm not sure he went, but there we were, I was determined, I had to be there. Grateful for my friend, my sister, to travel there and hold this energetic shift. Richard was the one who taught me about multiplicity, who helped me give myself permission to use meditation to heal and understand and evolve. He told me once that it is true, if we called all your selves together, he told me once, and they converged, they'd overfill the biggest stadium in the world. We worked with each year, each age, each construct. He was a consummate healer, and a great and true friend.

This was the year of the seven, mastery. I was 26, an eight, responsibility in manifestation.

Let it be known that I am not a linear person. I can't automatically place stuff, it's more with my heart, or some body thing that I find my memories, always have, but there are dates that are not hare to remember, and not random. Not at all.

The next big thing was when the big shift came, the handing of the torch to humanity, to hold the ascended energies within ourselves. It is said that at one time, this energy couldn't even be embodied, it was the Ark of the Covenant. It was our own power, cleaved off from us, by design.

And then, more and more, the abilities grew, until we got to 1994. With the permission we granted in 1989, to evolve, to move into our full embodiment, the energy was given to us, to learn about and be with and cultivate, get to know.

1994 as a 5 year, change, change, change. I was 33. A six. This is my birth number. Note my age.

I focused on the 2013 numbers, today. 11-8-13 was a day much like 12-12-94, for me. Kryon is doing astounding work, so intricate, so detailed, so true, I know it, these are my understandings, the one I went looking for, all that time ago.

On 11-8-13, with the assemblage they'd gathered, and now, for all time, whenever one of us tunes in and participates, a quantum event that will echo for all time, thanks to technology, and Lee Carroll's willingness,and our native curiosity, this event is a big one.

I will let you listen to it, and I don;t want to spoil anything, but there are some things from it which I need to discuss, because all of this hit really close to home. And I am beginning to think that many of us, when we sit down and doth numbers, will have the weird synchroncities running through the biggies in their lives, just like I do.

So, this is a year of the six. Yet again. The 1994 date is so significant, because this was the beginning of the fractal we are in, the end of the Mayan calendar, the closing of an age. 18 years on either side of the centering of the whole system, which occurred 12-21-12. 1994 started it. And so, then I did the math for the end of it. That'll be 2020. A year of the four. Gaia. The beginning of a next cycle. The cycle of the sun, of the 44, the mystical 44, which I feel as this golden light of being, transcending light and ark, moving beyond all judgment, a golden age of compassionate action, of benevolent action, of merciful dealings, a golden age, symbolized in 44, we matching gaia, gaia matching us, harmony, integration, partnership, family, unity consciousness.

I'll be 69 then. Another six. Three sixes, glittering just there, connecting me to all sorts of glittery geometry,all of that going on as I tap tap tap these keys. It's a splendid thing, being split like this.

I'd felt a little bad about not having been able to be there with that little physical entourage, why the chips had not fallen a different way, me here with my expired passport, making do, but certainly not moneyed enough to travel... I sat with that, as it came up, the first time I listened to Kryon's recording, last night, 11-12-13.

As a side bar, I had understood, while walking to my car to go pick up my son yesterday, hours before listening to this recording, I understood that the 11-12-13 was very important, very auspicious, the penultimate of such numerological shows. There's just the 12-13-14, now. And then, well, that cycle is over. It's a big deal, and I was shown a hallway, but not a dark one. It was light and sort of celebratory, and I was told “well done,” and felt a lilt in my step, as I unlocked my car. I'd counted up the numbers out loud on the way to the car, the ones make 3, and 1+2+3 is 6. “A nine,” I said, then I humphed, and added more, and laughed out loud. “A nine.” I said. And out loud I said, “Well, that seems fitting.”

So, I hung with being down on where little me is right now, and then came to see this a whole new way. I had fancied myself different, and I sat today, also, with the thoughts I'd had last essay, about this little group who has been said to be around.

What I failed to mention last time is that I thought that if there is such a thing as a group like this, then it can be seen as a separating or elitist notion. And it so isn't. It might look uppity, but it sort of makes sense, I think. How many of us now are talking these things? How many are beginning to understand? It is a beautiful thing. But then, you see, there are some that lived it. And have the number confirming things, if only to them, written right there, next to the big dates, next to their birth name, their birthday. Some of us chose to be a conscious part of it, and even though I had my time in deep amnesia, we all did, and there really is nothing to be ashamed of the things we did when we were perhaps less switched on, less aware of the bigger picture, and usually reluctantly unaware of the truth of it, that we are creating this, this is a benevolent and loving creation, we are loved and worthy beyond measure.

And so I have come to think that some of us just agreed to have fewer filters. We have it built in, being awakened before. This is not our first rodeo. It feels good, to wake up, and it happened in stages, to be sure, and it was very messy, a lot of it, but it has all since been forgiven, and the memories now, they feel like a film, as I drive past the restaurants and houses and streets and landmarks I have driven by since I was 7. I can inhabit whatever is there, but instead, I thought yesterday while driving, I don;t feel compelled to. I watch my consciousness, now, dip in and out of linearity, and am always glad for its surfacing in the bigger ocean I prefer to bob within now.

That made me cry in Kryon's recording is a message he included to humanity, and to anyone listening, and by extension, anyone reading or hearing these words, for all time.

Don't fear the old soul. There is nothing here to fear. Within us is divine love, we are the embodiment o f compassion itself, and we remember many things that can be useful and helpful. We have always carried this knowledge, but it takes the ticking of the hand of linear time for this to play out, and so it has.

It is nice for me to feel as if I am finally complete. I searched so long for answers, for this riddle that was the riddler and the puzzler both, dueling often, making the other cry sometimes, evoking belly laughs from time to time.

I know what I know. I know I am one with the cetaceans, my brothers, the whales. I listen to their songs at home, in the car, sometimes for months at a time, and I understand their language, it is vast and varied and they are my family. I know this. I know we run the grids together, we are one. And I know this points to obvious conclusions, that I resonate more with our makers than with my personality self, and it speaks to origins, and mysteries, and the unknown.

I could dwell in the stories I have perpetually told myself, the explanations which seemed to make sense, but if I cannot alter my outlook when new information is presented, then what does that say about me?

There are just a few things I came in sure of. I was always sure, underneath or through or in spite of all the nonsense, I was sure of me. I was sure I was good. That's what caused the dissonance, you see.

And I was sure I was a writer. I knew I would wind up here, and I knew it would carry me as soon as I found it. I knew it was where I would wind up. 28 years a nurse, I've been an RN since I was 24. Another six. They're all over my history.

This is my personal year of the seven. Mastery. In the year of the six.

And so, I know that to get to where I found myself at all those critical junctures, working with and loving and sometimes not loving those in my pantheon of great play actors I have done fine work with so far, there is now 17 more years to go, in this fractal, in this grand opportunity.

I know that I have nothing to fear. I have nothing to fear. I have nothing to fear.

All is in divine timing, and it always was. We had, on 11-8-13, great souls helping us to participate in a ritual I could feel, and have since experienced again, in meditation. Today, while listening to the recording, again participating in the activation of Lake Titicaca, I understood that we are each suns, not children of the sun, but I could see so many of us as balls of sun, physically lit up, on the grid. It was beautiful. To understand we are solar angels, all of us, and some of us can now wink at each other.

It was a fine time with Kryon this morning. I felt moved to write, but was still weighing my options, when I put on my glasses ans was drawn to look out the window. At first, I just saw clouds, and then a white flashing caught my eye.

It looked like a big bird, but from that distance, the thing had to then be massive. And I remembered the merkahbah of angels I saw in the volcano's ashes, that big Iceland volcano, a whole flock of angels, and I saw another such photo, and there, out my window, I knew I was seeing an angel, I was being hailed. I was being loved.

I know that balls of light are more accurate of the way of it, and still, there, out my window, fluttering, and then gone, a very distant, huge, long white flashing thing, and I felt happy, because my eyesight is coming online, and I was seeing a friend. A miracle. A miracle, right there in my granny chair. A confirmation. A visitation. A love letter from home.

And so, is this the fiction, or is Patrick Hears Voices? I doubt I will have the answer to this for a little while. That's how this stuff works. I feel disbelief, chords of it, even now.

I have asked, in prayer, to have them strip from me certain character traits or fall-back responses. Go deep and go long, and pull them from my energy, from my countenance, like the rough twine they are, and let my energy then run smooth, free from discordance, free from contradiction of my innate self.

And so, I see I need to do this with this disbelief, language it as I have not before, so that all know I give permission to remove the last of it.

I know that this makes me odd, and that's why what Kryon said made me cry with gratitude. Don't fear the old soul. Know that it's the old soul who holds the love that will only enhance religious doctrine, can only bring peace, can only heal. Do not fear the old soul.

And so, I think I will take the Kryon's advice. I think it is the only right thing to do.

I will go within and I will stay within that admonition, that permission, and I will remove the last of it. The doubt, the awkwardness, the hesitance. What will remain is restraint. Wisdom. Patience. Tolerance. Kindness. Good humor. Perspective. Balance.

And I will bless the part of me who has interpreted all of this in a very unique and colorful way, and I will allow me to be as I am, and love all of me, all of my seeming mistakes, all of my longings, and all of my abilities. I'm good with it, with me, and I no longer need to defend or explain to anyone anything, nothing at all. It shows, you know. Has for a while now. Has for a while.

I am at peace, and I hope you also have found the peace which passes all understanding. I hope that you know that it is done, the prophecies fulfilled, the hard times are over, and things only get better from here.

I have no doubt, not a one, that there is nothing but good for us from her on out. Sure, things are bound to get slidy. This is big stuff, potent, and everyone interprets it their own way, based on their plan, their preferences, their choice.

I am celebrating that you and I am are not arguing about this, not pulling it apart, not finding things wrong with it. For me, that time has come to an end, and I consider this and this alone a privilege from the cosmos. To understand. To have my questions answered, just for me, just for me.

I wonder how this works, how to manage, now, in the land of deadlines and goals and comparisons and sales. With a big hole in my jeans and pumpkin coffee in my favorite mug, watching the traffic, hearing the workmen outside my door sanding our apartment's doors, I think that it is fine, for this moment, to just be here now, and be quiet in this now, and be full in this now. I am sooooo covered. I am so loved. I am so tended to, tenderly loved, beloved of my beloved.

And so I leave you with an understanding I think I wrote about a while ago, something that came to me in my travels one day.

If it is true that everything I am and everything I am aware of is of the beloved, my concept of a benevolence so boggling to actually be physicality itself, then if I find fault or trouble with anything, within or without, if I fight against or argue with anything, inside or outside, then I am arguing with, fighting against, and fearing that which I love and am. And that is a silly thing to do, says I don't understand, says I am not trusting the benevolence of it, not seeing things as they are.

I could see how we humans are emanations of all that is, and then we emanate all we are aware of. So to tell myself mean or scary or unloving stories about any of it, well, it just says that I am missing the truth of it, not seeing things right, forgetting.

I'll end it here because it is a better place than when I earlier was arguing for my limitations.

While filling my mug with more coffee, toward the end of this thing, I thought about that, after listening to what I was thinking. I found it repetitive, and, in the end, optional. I heard myself muttering my story, my explanations, my expectations, and it was sort of like automatic muttering, compulsive, in a way.

I thought, well, there it is. Why am I so convinced that what I think I should expect or do or accomplish or have accomplished is even accurate? Does it feel good to keep thinking and saying this to myself? Is it exalted? Is it hopeful? And does it take into account all that I now know to be true and accurate for me?

I returned to this essay and this is the result. And those particular voices in my head have calmed, swimming now, in the sea I am finding calm, now, warm and fragrant and familiar, and from here, I can see home.

Comment by Besimi on November 16, 2013 at 7:15pm

PATRICK HEARS VOICES By Kathy Vik, NaNoWriMo, 11-12-13

PATRICK HEAR VOICES BY KATHY VIK CHAPTERS 5 – 8, 11-12-13

CHAPTER FIVE

The holidays passed quietly through the Benz household. Judy went to Vegas and Laughlin with a group of older women she'd befriended in yoga class. Bill and Ellie spent a quiet season cobbling together new traditions, as this was the first year that none of their kids were going to come home to celebrate. Each had compelling reasons, exciting reasons, for staying away, and neither of them could do anything but feel more and more pride, as one by one their kids checked in to tell them of all the new, budding projects each were engaged in.

Ellie was glad for the first day back to school. She liked the structure, having somewhere to report, every now and then. Her office was cold, and the coffee pot moldy, that first morning.

At the sink, scraping out huge mold flaps from her Proctor Silex, she heard a knock at her door. She turned to see Patrick's hulk standing awkwardly, leaning into the office ever so slightly, clearly, it seemed to Ellie, vigilant against the slightest sense of not being welcome.

Ellie smiled broadly, and, wiping her hands on her black jeans, she walked over to Patrick and patted him on his arm. Patrick smiled, and asked, “How are you, Mrs. Benz?”

“I am very well, Patrick,” Ellie said, “I was hoping I'd be seeing you after the holidays. Do you want a seat?”

Patrick made his way to the chair he sat in the first time they'd met. She relaxed into her chair, and asked him what was on his mind.

“Well,” Patrick began, “I think I need a little bit of help with this, Mrs. Benz. I really want to feel that good again, as good as I felt when I was standing at my locker that one time, but,” he bit his lip and looked away, “I just don't know how to get there.”

He looked out the window absently, and Ellie let him settle, finish, quiet.

He said, “Really, ever since I had that happen, I've been feeling so homesick. I wish I could tell you what for. I wish I understood any of this.”

“I'll bet you feel mighty lonely sometimes, huh?” asked Ellie.

“Gosh, Mrs. Benz,” Patrick said quietly, looking at his hands, “I know I have no right to, but I've always felt lonely. It's just that it's worse now.”

Ellie studied this big kid, sitting in a tremendous heap in her chair, and felt such absolute excitement. She knew she would have to work to get him to see this in a different light, so she got up and went to her bookcase as she talked, “There's a hypnotherapist based in Arkansas whose work you may be unfamiliar with, but I think she has something for you.”

She returned to her seat and handed Patrick a fat softcover book. This lady has helped more people than she could ever have imagined she would, people like me, and people, I think, just like you. May I tell you a story, Patrick?”

Patrick nodded.

“Have you heard about folks who are convinced they've been abducted by something, a liens, something, but they just don't know? They have missing time, weird memories that won't resolve, odd dreams. Have you heard of this phenomenon?”

Patrick said, “My dad watches Ancient Aliens. Is that what you're talking about?”

“Well, sort of,” Eillie continued. “Dolores began working with people who had seen other hypnotherapists about missing time and what not, and she developed a system to go really really deep into the subconscious. Lots of these people recovered their memories, but Dolores' work began to change, the more contact she had with these people.

She discovered that many of the people coming to her, particularly in the last couple of decades, were able to go to places while in hypnosis that had never been charted before. And what is amazing is, when in their deepest states, it's really as if there is just this one mind that does the answering. It's odd. There is a consistency with people’s experience.

Anyway, her work progressed and she has placed her findings in a book called “The Three Waves of Volunteers.” That's her book on it.” Ellie pointed to the book sitting on top of Patrick's backpack.

“I have an idea, young man,” Ellie announced. “It is highly irregular, and not in keeping with established therapeutic protocol, so you can, of course, say no, but, I would very much like to ask you to our house for dinner tonight.”

Patrick looked up, trying to shift gears as quickly as Ellie seemed to be able to.

“My kid sister and brother will be there, and Judy, our house guest, so they’ll be plenty to do. No one will make you talk if you don't want to. Wednesdays are Italian Feast days, and we wanted to really celebrate the first day back at school, so my husband is making a couple of fancy pizzas from scratch. God love him,” Ellie said, shaking her head, “The man just loves to cook. We have a dog and a cat, a back yard and lots to look at. It might be fun. And we can talk more about this stuff, it you want.”

Patrick had never been asked over to a teacher's house for supper, but his dad was working until nine, and all he had to look forward to in the fridge was leftover meatloaf. Patrick agreed, and went back to class with Ellie's big book stuffed inside his already jammed backpack.

CHAPTER SIX

Judy parked her Prius in her alley spot, and took off her boots in the mud room. She could hear voices through the old misaligned door leading to the cavernous kitchen. She did not like what she heard.

Judy only then remembered that it was Wednesday. She prepared herself, and walked into the warmth of the kitchen she most enjoyed alone, in the wee hours.

“Oh! Look! Judy went shopping!” a booming voice said, feeling a little overwhelmed by all the commotion. Judy immediately braced herself for the bear hug she expected, and got.

Bernie was Ellie's sister, a frequent guest at the house, and someone Judy just couldn't fully understand.

Bernie was just five feet high, built like a terrier, solid and muscular, with only one or two places on her that seemed soft. Her hair was a tangle of dreads, and her clothes almost mannish. Today she was sporting a tie dye t shirt and ripped jeans, Birkenstocks and white socks. Seemingly unable to read social cues, Bernie barreled over to Judy and gave her a tight hug, while saying softly to Judy, “I hope it's going well for you today, sister.”

Cutting vegetables on the kitchen;s marble island was Kevin, Ellie's other sibling. He was quiet, so much so that it was others who told her how to deal with him. “Don't sweat it if he doesn't talk,” Judy had been told, “He means no harm. He's just quiet,” was what Judy had been told when she moved in, happy to discover this huge gentle man lugging in her boxes at twice the clip of anyone else.

“Oh, I'm good,” Judy said, politely extricating herself from Bernie’s hug.

“You really don't cotton to me, do ya, friend?” Bernie said.

And that is why she did not like Bernie. No filter, that woman has no filter.

“I like you just fine, Bernie,” Judy said, straightening out her shirt. “I'm just more sedate than you, that's all.”

“Ellie invited a guest tonight, Judy. A kid from school, Patrick. Have you heard about him?”

Judy said she hadn't, and started for the door, wanting to put away her purchases before lending a hand with supper.

“Oh, please, don't leave without letting me see what you got!” Ellie said, “I see 'Coach' on one of those shopping bags. You know I'm a big softie for purses!”

Judy was sheepish about these latest purchases. She knew she was going just a little nuts with her money, but didn't feel a need to change her ways until her divorce was final.

She reluctantly showed her friends what she'd picked up at the Outlet mall in Castle Rock that day. She had Kevin go out to her car and bring in two pieces of ceramic ovenware she'd found for bill and Ellie. Once all the purchases were “Ooh's and ahh's over,” as Ellie called it, Judy was released from this crush of attention, and spent a few minutes alone, readying for the evening.

“I like Judy,” Bernie said to no one in particular. “She's fussy, in a good way. She is a real lady, you know?”

Ellie poured her sister another cocoa, put on the radio to KBCO, and then excused herself for the bathroom. In her absence, Bill told Bernie where the schnapps was. “You OK with MC Yogi?” Bernie asked the boys. Bill told her to put on what she wanted, and started loading his pizza with the goodies Kevin had been cutting up.

“So, what more do you know about this Patrick fellow,bill? Bernie asked.

“All I know is that he's a kid who had an experience at school that Ellie thinks is really special. She tells me he is just awakening, and needs some instruction. It doesn't surprise me that you're here for his dinner with us.” He smiled at Bernie, and tossed her a fat slice of Portabello mushroom.

“Yeah, well, always the explorer, right?” Bernie answered lightly.

“What is that cat doing on the counter, Bill?” Kevin asked.

“Spaz is allowed anywhere we are allowed, Kevin, but, yeah, it's sort of gross at dinner time. Shoo!” Bill responded.

“SO,” Bill said, “all I really know is that Ellie thinks this Patrick had an even like all of us have had, you know, the lights sort of going on,” and with that each of then smiled quiet, knowing smiles. “She doesn't know what sort of support he has, what sort of teachers he has had before now, and she just really wants to help him.”

“All right,” said Bernie. “I'll tone it down for our new friend.”

Bill slid two huge pizzas into the oven, and came up saying, “i know you get in Judy's face because you see her as fussy. I know you're a gentle one, Bernie. You can't fool me.”

Kevin wiped his hands on his embroidered apron and went over to Bernie, then, and gave her a big bear hug.

CHAPTER SIX

Ellie found herself in her meditation chair, in her beloved bedroom, before dinner. With all the bustle below, it seemed, perhaps, counterintuitive to meditate, but she'd long ago stopped arguing with this urge.

Living in the attic afforded her silence, no matter what was happening in the house. Although she could feel, as if they were points of tremendous light or power, the other souls in her home, up in her attic, all of it went to a dull throb, a throb of pleasure, really, knowing her home was alive again with others, but here, here she knew peace.

With a breath and a smile, a settling occurred. She asked to feel loved,to feel embraced, and she asked her family to come and sit with her.

She saw her dining room table ringed with glowing beings, each with a different scent. This was new, and she enjoyed inhabiting the scents of her guests. Patchouli, Jasmine, Pine, Sage, these smells crescendoed and became a singular note of rose, and then something happened.

She saw an old one standing by the table, casting into the space a certain sense of calm. She found herself then standing next to the ancient one, and asked him questions. Of course, nothing was said aloud. She stayed with this vision until she felt complete. Then she got up, changed her clothes into her off-duty uniform of jeans and an oxford shirt, and padded downstairs.

On the second floor landing she heard MC Yogi rapping “Ganesh is Fresh!” and heard her loved ones rapping back. The house smelled of garlic and curry and cucumbers.

She got to setting the table, and Judy joined her. Judy knew about presentation, and Ellie watched Judy transform the table into a space fit for a king's feast. A bit of cloth, some candles, proper placement of things just so, oh! She loved to watch Judy work. They finished and took to what Ellie called “The cabin,' a little sun room off the front room constructed with whole logs, and huge panels of glass. Ellie fetched some wine for the two of them, and they watched the traffic stream past them. Neither talked, and neither felt alone.

The dog was at the door before the bell rang. Buttercup was an old Golden Retriever, nearly blind, older than dirt. Patrick was here.

CHAPTER SEVEN

After school had let out, Patrick had spent the intervening time at Tattered Cover on Colfax. He lived in Aurora, and didn't like traffic. He'd been reading the book Mrs. Benz had given him, and had nearly been late for dinner, so engrossed had be become.

On the short drive to the Benz house, Patrick formulated his questions. He figured Mrs. Benz knew more than she was saying about all of this, and he felt surprise and delight, the closer he got to her house.

The house was built up on the side of a hill, as many old Victorians were in this neighborhood. The stone steps leading up the her house were shallow and poorly lit. He'd looked up bounding up the stairs and saw Mrs. Benz and an older woman sitting in wing back chairs in a room overlooking the house. He waved, but they'd not seen him.

He was welcomed in to a house that was at least a hundred years old, he reckoned. It was in good repair, and had a lived in feel. It was a whole lot bigger from the inside than from the outside, and it smelled like heaven.

A dog slobbered on his hand, a cat bumped his legs and meowed, and he was greeted by four adults, all smiling at him and happy to see him. Curious.

They led him into the kitchen, and Ellie gave him a tour of the goodies they were going to eat. Pizza, some curry dish with rice, a fruit salad, a vegetable plate, all prepared like he expected a fancy restaurant would do it. He felt uncomfortable when he realized this spread was to celebrate his presence there.

He responded the only way he knew how, he got quiet, shy, and let the loud ones take the lead. They started their meal almost immediately upon his arrival, and for that he was grateful. Ellie seemed to look out for him, as each of the grown ups introduced themselves, and then became increasingly interested in discussing the politics of the day.

What Patrick noticed was these people didn't so much argue as build on the points the others were making. He'd never seen adults be quite so collaborative. They asked him about school, about his family, and he offered a few stories, but a rather incomplete version of his life so far.

The mood continued to be light and fun, all through the meal, and he noticed that none of them drank more than their first glass of wine. He kept waiting for them to get weird, but they didn't.

He liked Bernie. He sat between Bernie and Mrs. Benz, Ellie, he was told to call her outside of school. Bernie had so many stories. She'd been everywhere, it seemed to Patrick, listening to her tales of traveling and discovery. He didn't believe half of what she said she'd done, but that was only because he'd never met anyone quite so colorful.

“So, me and Graham camped right outside of the Zone of Silence, you know?” Bernie was saying, over fruit and ice cream. “I wasn't convinced it was such a good idea, but he couldn't be argued with. I think it messed with his head a little, being there.”

The group was silent, now, listening to Bernie's story.

“Graham knocked out right away, but I had a hard time getting to sleep that night. Finally, after midnight, I drifted off.

The next thing I knew, I found myself on a bluff overlooking the Zone. Graham was still in the tent, I saw, and then, the most amazing thing happened. I saw this big fire ball come down from the sky, and it sat there on the desert floor, burning and crackling. Just this big orange ball of light. It sort of looked like fire, through, you know?”

Bernie took the last gulp of her wine and continued, “Then these little balls of orange light emerged from the big ball, and they floated up to the bluff I was on. I felt more and more excited and happy as they came up, and by the time they were right next to me, I felt this incredible bliss.”

She sighed, her eyes glazed, and she sat there, quietly, reliving the thing.

“Then they turned into whales, for some reason, which made no sense to me, so I asked them if we could go get in the water. The next thing I knew, were were under the sea, and they'd called to them this big delegation of their fellow beings. But then the scene morphed, and we all were human again, and in an underwater cave where we could breathe air. It was a classroom, actually, part of a big university, they told me. I don't remember much after that, but, the next day, I felt different. We left the Zone after a week, and every night these orange beings came to me in my dreams. The bliss was so intoxicating.”

By this time Krishna Das was on the stereo, singing God is Real, the last cut on a pretty album Patrick had decided to download when he got home.

“It's probably a good thing Judy wasn't here for that,” Bernie concluded. “She doesn't strike me as someone who appreciates this sort of thing. How about you, Patrick? What do you think?”

“Well, I don't really know Judy...” Pa\trick trailed off.

“Actually,” Ellie said, “Judy is a very fine woman with traditional belief structures, but, you know, Bernie, not everyone has to believe this stuff. You and I have always gone round and round on that point.”

Bernie's smile was misshapen by the huge wad of bread she'd just put in there. “I know,” she answered with a full mouth. “I don't really care how people get there, anymore, though, sis. I have loosened my expectations. You know I think it's unfair that those death cults focus on that one bad day of his, instead of all the teaching Jesus did, but I know my take isn't compulsory.”

Patrick watched these women banter, volleying big ideas back and forth. He'd never had so much variety in a dinner conversation, and he was enjoying watching it all unfold. He was not convinced he had an opinion on any of it quite yet.

“Say, Patrick,” Bill asked, “You wanna watch the game? Broncos versus Cowboys tonight. Set to start in a few minutes.”

“Actually,” Patrick said, while checking his phone for messages and the time, “I still have a couple things to do tonight, but I play for East High. I'd love to watch the next one with you, if that's alright.”

They nodded to each other, smiling, and the table got quiet, a natural lull in conversation.

Ellie decided to bring up the book she'd given Patrick, “You haven't had a chance to look at that Dolores Cannon book yet, have you, Patrick?”

“Oh my God! Grandma Cannon!” Bernie declared. “I went to her training. She's amazing.” Bernie turned to Ellie and asked, “Which one did you give him? Convoluted Universe Three?”

“No,” Ellie said, “The Three Waves of Volunteers.”

“Good call,” Bernie said, while she lighted a smoke.

Kevin said, “You're supposed to go out back with that, Bernie. I'll go with you.” He fished an unfiltered Camel from his shirt pocket, got up and followed Bernie through the kitchen. Patrick followed them.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The evening had wound down, Bill was watching the first quarter of the Bronco's game, and Patrick began to feel restless. He had somewhere else he wanted to be.

He'd been relieved that no more was said about Dolores Cannon's work. He liked what she was writing about, and wanted to have the book come alive for himself, didn't want anyone's interpretation or spin on this. They'd stayed light the remainder of their time together, and had excused himself once the idea of charades had come up.

At the door, Ellie and Bernie stood, making sure he was zipped up and his keys were out. He liked being mothered, and let them fuss, until he'd thrown his huge backpack over his shoulder.

In the car, he turned the radio to the game, and drove twenty miles in the opposite direction of the house he and his dad shared out on Tower Road. At a light, Patrick texted his dad, telling him he'd be home after school tomorrow, and then called ahead, asking if his cot could be made up.

He was parked outside the hospice before bedtime meds, and for this he was grateful. When he made unplanned nighttime visits, if he arrived too late, he had to wait until the deep hours before his mom stirred.

He stood outside her room, 223, and looked at her, quietly breathing, more skeletal that a month ago, impossibly alive, after everything she'd been through.

She and her dad divorced before he'd reached preschool, but had become friends, as he grew up. He'd never known the details over why they split, but trusted them both when they both told him they'd simply come to the end of their path together.

As he made his way to his cot under the window, he noticed the room smelled sickly sweet, but not in a flowery way, more of in a body way, a smell that did not sit right to him but he didn't know how to discuss politely.

He was as quiet as he could be, and slipped into his bed still dressed. He fished his transistor radio out of his backpack, and placed it on his pillow, once he'd found the game.

He layed on his cot, thinking about his odd new friends. He rubbed his belly and scooted his hips over, his frame overfilling the thin bed frame. Without wanting to, he let a tremendous, billowing fart.

From his mom's bed, he heard a reedy voice, “Good one.” he looked over, and saw that his mom's eyes were shining in the moonlight. A few tufts of her red hair stuck out of her pink turban. She was smiling.

So was he.

“I thought you were sleeping,” Patrick said quietly.

“Oh, I was, I think,” Lucy answered. “The radio is nice.”

She held out her hand. He reached over and held it, until Judy, her usual evening nurse, came in with bedtime meds.

Lucy reluctantly took them, crushed and bitter as they were, knowing oblivion would soon overtake her. For some reason, the whole thing made her sad just then. The illness, that her son had to sleep this night on a little aluminum cot, that little rectangle she'd come to know as home, and quietly, she cried, trying to hide it from her son.

He'd gone to the restroom, and found her dabbing her eyes.

He asked, “Mom, is it OK?”

She answered, “Yes, my dear, please.”

She shifted her spent body just enough, and Patrick, her baby, her big man, crawled into her bed, covering her like a living shroud, and she drifted off.

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