Saviors Of Earth

The Unification Epicenter of True Lightworkers


PATRICK HEARS VOICES, CHAPTERS 12 – By Kathy Vik, 11-15-13

While writing this for all of us, a novel to and for and about lightworkers, I am asking for whatever financial help you feel moved to provide me. Private message me, or contact me at My PayPal account is under amissvik.

Follow my work at:



As I am re-writing, for continuity's sake, as I go, so I will post this as a book, in case you haven't been reading a long, but I'll do that at the end of this installment of chapters. It's fun to just read along, but also fun to read the thing in one block, if that's your thing.

And here were go.



“Oh, Bill, it felt real good, it was closure,” Ellie said over the phone, “and it just felt right. That paperwork, oh, Bill, it was the last straw.”

I can be there in twenty if you w ant me to help pack you up and walk you out,” offered Bill. “I'm presentable. I used my potter's apron today.”

“Twenty will be more than fine. I'll see you then,” said Ellie. She paused, then, and thought about the strange turn of events. “Bill, are you okay with what I've done?”

“Ellie,” Bill soothed, “I've been watching your discomfort with those surroundings build, now, for quite a few years. I think you've earned some rest, Ellie. “I trust you, dear. You know this.”

“I love you, Bill,” Ellie said. “if I'm not in the office, it's because I'm out looking for boxes. Just hang out.”

Their evening was spent in their cozy home. Judy was gone for the night, off at a yoga retreat, or woman’s retreat, something through her church. Bill and Ellie did what they always did, new every time, meaningful without ever trying to be, complete and perfect in all its imperfection. They stayed with the other, as friends, intimate in mind, naked in emotion, surprisingly humorous throughout. They celebrated where they'd been as a couple, and what might the future hold, and stayed, happily and lovingly, in the Now they consciously chose to create, especially when the winds howled and things could look menacing, if looked at from just the wrong angle.

They were both asleep by nine.


As fate would have it, this was the night that Patrick's life changed. It was only once the sun had set, an early 5:30, that he realized he needed to charge his phone. He checked the message service for the land line, and heard three calls from the hospice. His mom had taken a turn, and they'd put her on watch. The time stamp was 12:12 that afternoon. He'd slept through the call. The others were to tell him that they were doing for her, looking, he knew, for his blessing, his input.

He charged his cell while calling the hospice back on the land line. He asked for Diane, hoping she was on duty, but not knowing for sure.

There was her soothing voice, so southern, so lady like, so gentle. After telling her it was him, he learned quickly that his mom was really on her way out this time. Judy described it this way, “Hon, I'm glad you're rested up, I figured when we couldn't reach you you were either at school or home sleeping, so there's been no harm done, dear one. Your mother is alive, and has a little bit longer. Do not rush over here willy nilly. Drive over here thinking about last night with her, ok, hon?”

Patrick fought back tears as she spoke her words, admonitions she'd said thousands of times in her long career, meaning them every single time. He agreed to use a clear head to drive. “Traffic will be bad this time of day,” Patrick said absentmindedly.

“Well, if you can manage your temper in traffic, come now. Otherwise, you have some time. Not a lot, and I can't predict every time, but all signs says she may last a few hours. You understand I could be wrong, now, doncha, dear heart?”

“I can't change how far away I am. If she hangs on, she hangs on,” Patrick heard himself say. “She knows I love her and I'll miss her , but I want her to not have pain anymore. Please, just be with her until I can come, ok, Diane?” Patrick said.

“Patrick, you are wise beyond your years. I'll be right with your mom until you get here, don't you worry about a thing, sugar.” With that, Diane looked up and asked her partner Nancy for some help in dividing the tasks at hand.

Patrick arrived after a harrowing hour and a half in traffic. He'd had his headphones on, listening to that Krishna Das character he'd been introduced to by the Benz'. It helped, but by the time he got to the hospice, he felt jangly and nervous, hyper vigilant, and tired.

He walked right to his mother's room, and found Diane sitting by the bed, her considerable frame blocking Patrick's line of sight to his mom's face. Without looking to him, Judy said, “Dear one, I saw you pull up. She's gone Patrick. She just died,” she looked at her watch, “Three minutes ago. Please, sit with her, if you wish, dear Patrick.” Diane had her arms around Patrick then, holding him only as a mother can hold a child. He melted into her arms, she could feel him turning soft and young, like a little child, so many of them do, she thought, as she swayed with him, holding him.

He looked over at his mom's face, during that embrace, and saw that she had a smile on her face, as changed and hollowed as it had become toward the end. The side table lamp was on, the lighting soft, and she looked at peace, still. He noticed that she wasn't breathing, and this is what struck him as odd.

While in Diane's arms, he realized he'd never NOT seen someone, anyone, everyone, breathing. His mom wasn't he felt mesmerized by the sight, and then, the fascination abruptly ended. He turned away then, knowing this was real, it was over.

His mom and he had spoken honestly and openly about death. She believed in reincarnation and lots of stuff that his dad called pagan, and other words, too, but he liked her honesty and her fearlessness about her own death. They had their jokes about it all, even, he considered. She'd told him, once she goes, she'll be hanging around for a while, and she'd get his attention, somehow, arrange things in a weird way, and he'd know, just know, that she was right, that we just “go on,” as she called it.

He moved away from Judy, thanked her, and asked what happened next. She explained it all, and he remembered then that another nurse had gone through a similar list a while back, when she'd been sick the time before. He and his mom had talked. She'd released him from any and all rituals, as he saw fit. She knew they were important for the aggrieved, and so she told him he was free to do as much or as little as he saw fit.

He told Judy that his mom and he had talked, and it was fine to have her go to Feldman's as originally planned. He said, “I just want a few minutes here, and then I'll be done. I don't want to stay. Is that ok?”

Diane smiled and told him, Sure, and left the room, leaving the door cracked open.

Patrick spent a few minutes with his mom, and although these moments were important, and transformative for the boy, we shall pick up his story after those moments pass. Patrick would want it that way.


Valerie was coming out of Panera's when it hit her. She had to get in touch with Ellie. The feeling had been coming to her stronger for a while now, but this realization, as she juggled her purse, a huge bag of food, and her car keys, it hit her like a lightening bolt. “I need to go see her. It's past time for calling,” she said out loud, settling into her old beater.

Valerie and Ellie went way back, back to third grade, in Lakewood, just miles from Valerie's ranch.

She'd retired in Evergreen, close to her childhood home, on property her first live-in girlfriend had bought when such things could still be done reasonably. The boyfriend was shed years ago, but as a parting gift, he'd given her the property. They'd laughed through their tears over it, the day he handed her the deed.

Through the years she'd upgraded the simple cabin, putting on additions, gutting the kitchen, always improving, year after year, until it was a real mountain home, her home. Her role in all of it was to be the visionary, have the ideas, dream bigger. Then she'd hire or barter with locals who'd do the work. She had a rule with contractors. She preferred to know where they live. It's harder to con a neighbor, she always said.

She'd since gone through many relationships, living, at times, down in town, with whomever she'd lent her heart. She'd not found her it girl, but she'd had a hell of a good time, and was what one of her friends called “an elder” in the gay community. There's little that she hadn’t done, Olivia cruises, PrideFest volunteering, facilitating groups at The Center, all sorts of “gay stuff,” as her straight friends called it these days.

She'd lost touch with many of her breeding friends, disinterested in the drama of family life and child rearing. She'd liked Ellie, and tried to connect with her, about ten years previously, but they'd met just the once, and although they'd had a nice talk at a neighborhood cafe, neither of them pursued the other again.

Why the sudden need to see her, to physically see her, it was beyond Valerie. She filed it away under “Things I'd Prefer not Doing Tomorrow,” and realized that tomorrow was another “have to” day. She tried to schedule no more than tow or three of these a month. Have to do laundry, vacuum, get my oil changed. Have tos. Valerie snorted as she turned the engine over. Tomorrow's have to's can wait. It was time to get home, light a bone, and wait for Elaine. She was teaching night classes this semester.


Patrick's dad called the school the day after his ex-wife's death,and excused him for a week. Patrick told his dad he had a lot of things to get done as a result of his mom's passing, and his dad bought it. Patrick was saddened that his dad just let him do his own thing, but didn't know how to ask for help from him. His dad liked working, was a big attorney downtown, and felt justified for the sixteen hour days. The usual freedom Patrick was allowed felt like a thick blanket to Patrick, in those first few days, stifling him a bit, containing him. He wanted to be among friends, people who loved him. He didn't know, at first, who that might be.

The day he picked up his mom's ashes, as he was getting into the car from the mortuary, Ellie called his cell phone.

“Patrick, do you have any questions for me,” Ellie asked, once introductions were out of the way.

“What do you mean, Mrs. Benz?” Patrick asked.

“Well, I imagine you must be wondering why I'm not at school,”” Ellie explained.

Patrick paused, not sure he wanted to let this stranger into his loss. If he said he didn't have a question, she'd think he didn't care. If he said he did have a question, it implied he'd been to school. And if he told the truth, then he'd have to deal with other people coming into this feeling he had, of being adrift and alone. He wasn't entirely sure he was done feeling that way.

“Um,” Patrick said.

“Patrick,” Ellie asked, “Are you OK?”

“I'm good, I guess, but I can't really talk right now, Mrs. Benz.” Patrick surprised himself with his answer.

“We were just talking about you this morning,” Ellie said. “Bill was wondering what you're doing for dinner. It's Italian Feast day again, you know.”

“How is that possible?” Patrick said, marveling at the impossibility of such a thing, “that's weird. I could have sworn it was longer.”

“I know what you mean,” Ellie said. “So much has happened in seven days. Can you join us tonight, Patrick? You really can come by any old time.”

“Actually, Mrs. Benz,” Patrick said, “I can't think of anything nicer, just now. Can I bring anything over?” he looked down at the passenger seat, holding a box packed with packing peanuts and a sea-green and red enamel urn. “Food, I mean,” Patrick clarified, unnecessarily.

“I know we're out of salad greens. I'll pay you back. Can you pick some up and bring 'em with?” Ellie asked.

“If it's ok, I'll go do that now, and be over in, oh, probably less than an hour?” he looked at his watch. It was only noon.

“Well, sure, Patrick, that sounds just fine,” Ellie said, not thinking to ask why he wasn't at school, or if it crossed her mind, she did not let on. “That'll be a treat. Maybe we can go for a walk once you get there and settle in a little,” Ellie said hopefully.

“Sure, Mrs. Benz,” Patrick said, feeling hopeful, “I'd like that a lot. I'll see you in a while.”


Patrick stopped for greens at the King Soopers tucked between Downing and Corona. He often when there for lunch breaks, if he knew he'd be making dinner at night and needed supplies. He greeted Jules, the green grocer who loved stacking things. He'd watched this guy work, and there he was again, this time stacking golden delicious apples, very artistically. Patrick was overcome with a feeling of futility today, walking past Jules, heading to the organic section. What's the point, Patrick's thinking went. He picked up a six pack of Coke too,and then checked out, still feeling bleak.

Ellie met him at the door, as did their dog and cat. She looked tired, he thought. He was still getting used to the idea of seeing this grown-up from school talk with him while dressed in blue jeans and bare feet. He liked it, but found it weird, still.

She invited him into the kitchen, and he took a seat in the breakfast nook, watching her work at the sink. KBCO was on the radio, and a cat was on the counter. Patrick turned, and looked out the window, overlooking the backyard. He could see Bill in his studio, the windows open. He was dancing, and looked to be singing, too. He wondered what it was he did out there besides sing and dance.

“Cider, Patrick,” Ellie said, more a command than a suggestion, as she slid a big clay mug of sweet smelling nectar his way.

“Thanks, Mrs. Benz,” Patrick said.

“Ellie, Patrick. It's just Ellie, if you're alright with that,” Ellie said, patting Patrick's arm.

“I try, but if Mrs. Benz comes out, is that ok, Ellie?” Patrick asked.

“Of course, dear,” Ellie said.

Maybe it was her giving him permission to do things wrong, and maybe it was that her “dear” reminded him of when Diane called him that, or maybe it was just everything, but Patrick quietly began to weep, right there, in front of his new friend.

Ellie got up and took the seat right next to Patrick, and put her short arm around his huge shoulders as best she could. She stood up, and sort of draped herself on him, and held his face in one cupped hand. She said, “There, there, dear one. It's ok. You aren't alone,dear friend.” Ellie wasn't sure what moved her to say the words she did, but as she languaged them, she meant each one, and holding his fuzzy cheek in her small hand felt more right than anything she'd done all day.

She straightened up as his crying eased. She got a couple of paper towels and handed them to him, telling him they were out of Kleenex. He gathered himself slowly, sipped some cider, sniffled, and then looked up at her.

She was looking at him now, expectantly, indulgently, from the sink. She'd started scrubbing potatoes again. “I've changed my mind about dinner. I decided potatoes were called for. More grounding,” she said, while studying his face. “I can see now that was good thinking. You wanna talk about it, Patrick?”

“I think I need a walk, Ellie,” Patrick said. Isn't there an ice cream shop around here? Lickety something, isn't it?” Patrick was already anticipating the fudge brownie he was wanting to devour, hoping they had such a confection.

“It's about wight blocks away,” Ellie said.”You up for it?”

“Oh my God, I haven't moved that much in a week. I think that sounds like a great idea.”

They gathered their overcoats, Ellie got the leash and calmed down her ancient dog by hooking him up to the leash, and they were off.

On the way, Ellie chose to not ask Patrick direct questions about what was going on. Instead, she started their walk by telling him, “When you're ready to talk about what's going on for you, I’d be honored to hear. I trust you are in no imminent danger, and are instead in distress. You strike me as a young man who knows himself. When you're ready, I'm here.” They'd walked to the ice cream shop in silence, not uncomfortable, but pregnant, both of them feeling something building between them, something that would, by virtue of its own strength, come out to be discussed in due time.

Ellie was surprised and intrigued to find Patrick not talking about whatever it was that brought no his tears, on the way home. He held the dog's leash, seemed to enjoy this, and Ellie took the time to notice the trees lining the streets she loved.


Kevin was in the kitchen when Patrick and Ellie got home. He said, “Hi,” in a general way, and went back to cutting up apples. On the stove was a stock pot, steaming, boiling water waiting to make the applesauce Kevin was known for within his circles.

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Comment by Besimi on November 20, 2013 at 2:28am

PATRICK HEARS VOICES, CH 22-26 NaNoWriMo, By Kathy Vik

PATRICK HEARS VOICES, Chapters 22 - 26 , By Kathy Vik NaNoWriMo

While writing this for all of us, a novel to and for and about lightworkers, I am asking for whatever financial help you feel moved to provide me. Private message me, or contact me at My PayPal account is under amissvik.

Follow my work at:



As I am re-writing, for continuity's sake, as I go, so I will post this as a book, in case you haven't been reading a long, on my wordpress site. It's fun to just read along, bit by bit, but also fun to read the thing in one block, if that's your thing.

And here were go.



By seven, the hall was filled and there were a few folks seated on the floor. A few were sipping coffee, others were already meditating.

A calmness came over the gathering, and folks naturally became still, having stowed away their refreshment in that odd place between not being ready, and being ready.

Kevin came from the lobby area then, and slowly walked up the aisle between the folding chairs. He looked at everyone's heads, and began to feel more and more expanded as he walked.

By the time he;d taken his seat on the stool, his vision was blurred, and he could appreciate huge colorful hazes coming from each of the participants.

He'd been told by what he called The All, to say his prayer out loud. It was important, she'd written through him just recently, for others to see how it is he communicates to The All.

He settled himself on his stool, smiled, got every person's eyes for just that one moment of connection, and then, he closed his eyes, and began to speak.

Afterward, he always felt invigorated, almost giddy. So far from his usual social stance, it had taken time for the others to trust his altered demeanor. Within about an hour, the energy seemed to dissipate enough to become more reigned in, less enthusiastic. Kevin found that enthusiasm worked best on established friends. He'd found early on that he overpowered folks unaware of his abilities if he didn't dial it way, way back. He'd taken to the gifts of silence, and it was only after a transmission like this that he felt no filters, no social constraint.

He was just coming off this state when Patrick came to him, looking troubled.

“How did you know?” Patrick asked.

Kevin remembered little of what had gone on this night. He'd been called away, farther away than usual. “I'm sorry, Patrick, but I have no recollection of what was said, at the moment. Some of it filters back to me with triggers, but it's inaccessible to me at present.” he studied Patrick, the relief that seemed to wash over him. “Do you want to tell me what was said? I'm always curious, when I get so knocked out. You telling me is the only way I have of recapturing it, sort of.”

Patrick was considering this when Kevin added, “But, hey, don't tell me anything you don't want me to know. It's yours, if I'm gone. You own the message, I'm just a messenger, you know? Some letters from home you just don't feel like passing around, I get it.”

Patrick saw how Kevin’s face seemed to glow, a happiness crowning him somehow. His eyes glittered, in that simple building, with its retro lighting and weird grandma smell. He wondered just how much he should let Kevin into his own mind.

Patrick thought, then, about the message he'd been given, and he felt a stirring he could neither explain nor argue with. Without editing himself, without worrying what Kevin might think of him, he began.

“You were explaining The All, and this beautiful concept that The All is The One, and The One is The All. It was so beautiful. And then,” Patrick hesitated, thinking on the event, “You opened your eyes, looked right at me, and told me things only me and my mom know. It was like she was in the room. I could smell her, man.”

Patrick shook his head, and continued. “You told me, or she told, or, oh my god, I don't even know how to talk about this stuff!” Patrick exclaimed in frustration.

“Try this,” Kevin said. “If you feel it was your mom's essence that talked to you, you can just say that. Or just say 'she.' That's fine.” he patted Patrick's shoulder and urged him to continue.

“She looked at me and told me she wanted me to have proof that we go on. She said she wanted to be dead before I got to the hospice, so that she could embrace me as I found out. She told me her nurse and she used to be married, and she wanted to spend those moments making things right with him.” The words tumbled out of Patrick without filter, one long rush of disbelief.

Patrick took Kevin's hands then, and asked with all of his heart, looking inky those murky eyes of his, “How?”

Kevin disengaged from Patrick, shrugged, and said, “I don't know. I'm willing, I guess. I'm glad you got a direct message. Usually things aren't quite so pointed. It's unusual, really. Are you doing ok?”

Patrick smiled broadly, and told Kevin exactly what was in his heart, “I don't think things could be better, Kevin. I really am ok. Thanks for this, Kevin. Thanks a lot.”

After Valerie and Indra got done cleaning up the kitchen, stowing the coffee urn in its moldy spot in the broom closet, they joined Kevin and Patrick folding the last of the chairs. The building was chilly, the heat having been turned down a half hour ago.

Indra said, “That was quite a time, Kevin. I don't know how to thank you.”

This never ceased to puzzle Kevin, in a vague way. Kevin was asked to do for them something he so enjoyed, he knew in a real way that he lived just week to week, session to session, on some days. He felt honored for being invited, and here was someone thanking him!

“Really, honestly, the pleasure is all mine,” Kevin said, as he bowed low, like an English gentleman.

They locked up as a group, and walked over to their parked cars, the last four in that part of the parking lot. The liquor and grocery stores were still getting traffic, but at this end of the mall, businesses were already closed for the night.

“Oh, say!” Kevin said, “I forgot to bring in the applesauce I canned. Would you girls like a few?” he pushed a button, and his Jeep beeped, letches unhinged, and the lights came on. He popped open the back, and took out two huge Ball jars filled with chunky applesauce. He handed them to the Indra, and then went back for two more. “I've got more than this, if you can eat it.”

Indra laughed as she said, “Kevin, I'll give you forty bucks for six. Not a penny less.” She turned to Indra and said, “This stuff is amazing. I don't think I've had any around for you before.”

He walked a box of six over to Indra's car, spoke to her and hugged her, Patrick saw from the jeep. Valerie was hanging around with Kevin, although she didn't know why. She was tired, and had an hour drive ahead of her.

Kevin returned empty handed, smiling. “That's quite a girl you've got there,” Kevin said. “You want some applesauce now? I have plenty?”

“No, Kevin,” Valerie said. “Indra and I live together. I'm set. I like baking with it.”

“You're not into this channeling stuff, are you, Valerie?” Kevin said, as he was closing the back of his jeep.

“I can take it or leave it, really. I think it's all just rearranging chairs on the Titanic. It makes people feel like they are doing something purposeful, but, really, they're just trying to calm themselves in the midst of disaster. But,” she said, “That's just my take on things.”

She said good night, and thank you, but the conversation had been over with the word “disaster.” Neither Kevin nor Patrick felt welcome in her presence after her speech, and they excused themselves politely, Kevin then pointing to Patrick's car and mentioning his long drive home.

At the car, Patrick asked Kevin how he felt about what Valerie had said.

“To each their own. There's a lot of people living in despair, and it's nearly always impossible to argue them out of it. I just wander away. It gets to bouncing off, after a time. She's mad at something, but it ain't me.” Patrick smiled, liking this old guy more and more as the evening progressed.

“Why don't you come by the house this weekend?” Kevin said. “I mean, Ellie's house. Bill is a basketball fan. There's always a game on.”

“I have to get back to school on Monday,” Patrick remembered. “If I can bring over my books, I'd like that. I have an essay due, and I've been putting it off.”

“What's your dad doing, kid? Would he like to join in? Sports fan?” Kevin trailed off.

“He works on Saturdays, all day, and on Sunday he golfs all day,” Patrick said, suddenly aware of his situation. Now that mom's gone, he thought, there was little for him to do, outside of hanging with friends. But there was no one in his circle who felt equipped to deal with what Patrick had been facing with his mom. A few had grandparents who'd passed on, but no one he knew had lost a parent yet.

Kevin's invitation was accepted, plans were made, loose ones, and they shook hands. Patrick lingered in his dark car for awhile after everyone else had driven off. It was a full moon tonight, and he looked at it through his windshield. He thought about what Kevin had said, what she had said, his mom, tonight.

He slept deeply that night, using his old cat Pal like a farting pillow, and dreamed of worlds he was yet to see.


“What the fuck?” Bernie said angrily, as she slammed her laptop shut.

“What the fuck, what the fuck?” answered a heavily accented, deep voice.

“Oh, there's an eBay seller who sold me a broken camera,” Bernie explained, “and now she's moved the goal posts regarding her return policy. Shifty little bitch.”

“How much was it?” Daniel asked.

“Three hundred and change,” Bernie reported, matter of fact. “It was a relic of a Kodak. Here. It's in the box.”

Daniel picked up the thing, and played with it, unlatched a gizmo, pulled a couple things, and the camera looked as it did in the eBay printout lining the box.

“There's your problem,” he said in his measured way. “That, and your temper.”

“Whatever, old man,” Bernie said flippantly.

“Oh, I see how this is going to be today,” Daniel said, coming up behind her, putting his arms roughly around her waist. “Old man, am I, today? Luscious.” He nuzzled her neck. “Just luscious.”

“Old,” Bernie said, her words catching in her throat, “old and twisted.”

The two had been on and off again lovers since the mid seventies, day trippers, in and out of psychedelia and new sciences. He traveled in a more esoteric crowd. They rendezvoused once a year at the MUFON conference, and got together whenever his traveling permitted. He lived in New York, summered near Avesbury, and lived most of his time on the road lecturing about ancient civilizations.

They had dinner that night, on the 16th Street mall downtown. He'd wanted pizza, she'd wanted Subway, so they got their food and ate on a bench. They ate watching passersby, listening to steel drums playing a couple blocks away. It was chilly out tonight, but spring was in the air, something neither one of them wanted to ignore. It had been a particularly harsh winter, in both of their home towns.

Bernie knew that Daniel liked to go the bookstore to visit his own publications. He swaggered even more than usual after such a visit. Bernie just happened to dig him even more when he swaggered.

What was not well known about Bernie was that she was a bit of a groupie. She took the guru thing just a bit further than most, and most people she idolized wound up feeling the same about her. She'd followed rock bands, comics, intellectuals. She'd been able to travel a lot, and had more stories than most decent people have. She was usually proud of her accomplishments, until she hung around someone like Ellie's house guest, Judy. Judy took one whiff of Bernie's story and shut the door. She'd been called a starfucker more than once, and Judy seemed to secrete this word into every conversation they had.

She looked at Daniel, and knew that what was contained in his navy pea Coat was just a scrap of what she was in love with. He was connected. She could feel it. She loved being around him, and others like him. She lived for it. Judy, she thought, can go fuck herself.


“What are you smiling at?” asked Daniel.

“Just thinking about a friend,” Bernie replied.

They each had an armful of books by the time they'd made it to the ground floor of the massive building. Bernie went to an unoccupied counter and rested her books there, as the patrons in front of them wound through the ropes, shuffling toward one of just two cashiers manning the downtown Barnes and Noble.

Ahead of Daniel was a severe looking woman, dressed in a flannel shirt and work pants. Daniel bumped into her while moving forward in line, and the woman looked at him with distaste. She said, “excuse you” to him, and went back to gazing out into space.

Daniel and Bernie looked at each other and smiled.

At the counter, the pimply clerk ran the lady's cards, and handed her a slim bag, telling her, “You saved ten dollars today, Valerie.”

Daniel and Bernie left the store with four plastic bags, and headed for the train station.

Waiting for the train heading west was the rude woman at the bookstore. She saw Daniel and Bernie approaching, and muttered, “Aw, shit.”

Bernie and Daniel leaned against the handicap ramp, happy to poke through their bags while waiting for a train back to their car.

“Excuse me,” a voice from behind Daniel called out.

Approaching them was the lady from the line, Bernie saw. What joy, Bernie thought to herself.

“Say,” the woman began, “I really wanted to apologize for my behavior back then.”

Daniel stood from his bags and extended a hand, “Not to worry,” he said, in his lilting Scottish brogue.

“Ireland?” the woman asked.

“Scotland. Live near Avesbury now,” he added.

“Well, I'm sorry for being such a jerk. There's something about lines in stores that makes me put my hackles up,” Valerie explained. “I'm Valerie. And you are?”

“Daniel Wheeling,” he introduced himself, “And this is my lovely companion, Bernie.”

“Nice night for it,” Bernie said, lighting a smoke.

“Could I bum one while we're waiting?” Valerie asked.

“If you don't mind unfiltered. I took these off my brother,” Bernie explained. She turned to Daniel and said, “While you're in town, we should go see Ellie. Kevin called me last night and told me they're all getting together tomorrow for, for sports viewing. I know that's not your thing...”

Daniel smiled and thought about The Light House. “I haven't seen Ellie in, wow, has it been two years already?” Daniel said. “Yeah, that sounds good, in the afternoon, though,” Daniel said, smiling what Bernie knew to be a wildly wicked smile.

Valerie boggled at their conversation.

“I'm sorry to intrude,” she said, “But are you talking about Ellie Benz?”

“Yeah,” Bernie said. “She's my sister.”

“You're probably not going to believe this, but,” and with that, Valerie explained of this odd urge she'd been having to call Ellie, go see her, this insistent thing she'd been putting off doing, much like she'd since been putting off her laundry.

By the time the train had arrived, they'd made arrangements for the next day. Bernie insisted Ellie had an open door policy on game days, and Valerie was free to bring a guest.


Ellie long ago made peace with Bill's sports fanaticism. She'd drawn the line at sports radio, but everything else was fine, including letting the weekends be game day at their house.

She used the weekends to work on the house, doing odd projects and major makeovers. When her kids were small, they'd had modest homes, many of them rented. Once they moved into the Light House, Ellie came to discover her love of decorating, puttering, and DIY'ing. She'd gotten all the kids involved, when not doing things with friends, as they began to mature. Those who found themselves at home learned to make wreaths, sand dressers, clean carpets and shop.

Ellie and her kids frequented ARC's, Goodwill’s' and Salvation Army's on weekends, taking advantage of weekend specials, when projects were less compelling than finding a good bargain. Even when the family was no longer living paycheck to paycheck, their passion for deals continued.

Today was not a shopping day for Ellie, but she and Judy had plans to rummage the next day. Today was a game day, and the sooner she got cooking, the sooner she could do her own thing.

Although Bill was the official cook of the house, Ellie had perfected a few recipes, and because they were crowd pleasers, she made massive quantities of them on Saturdays. Visitors usually came with something in their hands, more often than not beer, and it had become the norm that Ellie would provide food for those who strayed over, until 7. The house closed up at 7, that was her other rule.

Today she was making Spam sandwiches, an old family recipe, that tasted incredible even though it shouldn't, and even though everyone knew they were eating Spam, she nearly always ran out on game day.

She ground the Span with her ancient steel grinder, and wondered to herself what she should do today. She'd finished a waterfall dresser last, and it now held the mail, leash and two drawers full of junk, in the foyer. Something fun, she thought, something no one might even see. Maybe I should try watercolors?

She removed her rings and kneaded the pink mixture, her hands red with ketchup. She smiled, thinking how her mom only made these sandwiches for “company.” They were like our good chine, Ellie thought to herself.

She'd started a stock pot of French Onion Soup first thing, and was just going to make a couple boxes of cornbread mix, and then that would be that. She thought she'd go poke around in Bill's studio for supplies while things were cooking. Once the sandwiches were wrapped and in the oven, the meal was on auto-pilot.

Although she'd made enough for twelve today, she really just anticipated a quiet day with Kevin, and maybe, peripherally, with Judy. Bill and Ellie had discovered that Judy preferred her own company when at home, but spent most of her time elsewhere: at adult education classes, church, the rec center, the library, the Y. She'd become more vague with Ellie about her various pursuits as the months had passed since Judy'd moved in. The last time they'd talked was over breakfast a week ago, and Ellie realized Judy was looking like a different person these days, relaxed and unworried. Ellie idly wondered when Judy was going to be moving out.

The doorbell rang, and thankfully Bill answered it, elbow deep in Spam as she was. She looked at the clock and was surprised to find it was already 11. It felt to her, suddenly, as if she'd just gotten out of bed ad dressed. How could it be 11? she asked herself.


She was washing her hands in the sink when Kevin and Patrick came into the kitchen. Patrick was holding a grocery bag full of vegetables, and Kevin came with two pies.

“How goes it, guys?” Ellie asked.

“I'm doing better. I saw Kevin channel. It helped a lot,” Patrick said, surprising himself with his eagerness.

Ellie wondered what condition Patrick was referring to having seen improvement. She didn't push the boy, but let conversations about these sorts of things be guided by his openness. She was glad he was so comfortable with their odd world.

Kevin made another pot of coffee as he talked about the evening he'd channeled. He'd let Ellie into his channeling after he'd established himself at the Temple. He’d given her one of his notebooks and had asked her to look it over, one night last year as he was leaving after a game day. She called him later that night, and they'd had an amazing conversation about Kevin's abilities. Something had settled between them, from that conversation to this day, something even stronger than the family bond they'd once had. They both liked the change, and encouraged it now, when they spent time together. Mostly, Ellie thought to herself, it still comes down to letting him be mysterious. Ellie grinned, and went over and hugged her brother, just because she was moved to.

Ellie's cell phone rang. It was Bernie, she saw. “Hey, sister,” Ellie said.

“Hey, I wanted to let you know me and Daniel want to come over today,” Bernie said. What do you want us to bring over?”

“What time?” Ellie asked.

“Say 4, give or take.” Bernie said. Ellie could tell Bernie was happily distracted.

“Looks like you get fruit,” Ellie decided. “Just buy it whole and come by 4:30 so I can make it into a salad, ok?”

Ellie heard Bernie muffle the phone and talk. When Bernie came back on the line, she sounded like she was in the bathroom.

“You're not going to poop while you talk to me, are you?” Ellie asked.

“I can wait,” Bernie said. A god-awful sound echoed. “OK,” she said. “We met a woman last night who overheard our conversation at the train station. She says she knows you. I forget her last name,” Bernie hesitated while she flushed, “Wait,” she said.

“You know, that is just so gross, on so many levels,” Ellie said. “Why do you do that on the phone?”

“Poor executive function, I guess,” Bernie said off-handedly. “Anyway,” she continued, “Her name is Valerie something. I forget her last name. It's in my phone, but I don't know how to get at it when I'm talking on the phone.”

“Executive function deficit,” Ellie said, and Bernie laughed.

“I guess you're right. Anyhow,” Bernie said, suddenly bored, “She's short, dressed like a stone cold butch, in her fifties. Ring any bells?”

“A dyke named Valerie,” Ellie said affectionately. “Nope, no bells.”

“well, then, this could get interesting,” Bernie said. “I told her about game day. I guess maybe I should have called you first. I told her she could bring a guest and come over any time after 4.”

“Thank God for that. I'll have to think about it,” Ellie said. “What are you doing til then?”

Bernie was thankfully less graphic about her plans than she was about her bowel movements. Ellie knew Bernie would be more mellow than usual when she came over. Daniel had a wonderfully sedative effect on her sister.

“Well, have fun, Bernie,” Ellie said. “Patrick and Kevin just showed up, and I need to tend to them. See you no later than 4, Bernie, ok?”

Bernie was routinely late to events, and again silently thanked Daniel for being around. He couldn't tolerate being late. “Tell Daniel four sharp, Bernie,” Ellie asked. “I'm sure I'll remember this Valerie, but it'll be a lot less awkward if you're here to make the introduction, in case I don't know her.”

“Oh, I know you do. She talked about you, your house,” Bernie trailed off, “Well, I guess we'll just see. Bye for now.”

Kevin was in the fridge, looked for sandwich fixings. Patrick asked if he could set up his computer in the breakfast nook. “I don't study very well if there's a TV on,” he explained.

“Well, I'm thinking you might like to set up in the den, or the cabin. The cabin gets cold, but there's a lot to look at. The den is just off the TV room, but the door is pretty solid,” Ellie explained.

“How long are you going to be in here cooking and stuff?” Patrick asked.

“Well, I like to use my game days to craft,” Ellie said. “I was thinking about trying my hand at watercolors today. I like doing that in here,” Ellie pointed to a far corner. “I have a card table. It's in the mud room.”

Patrick seemed lonely to Ellie today. She saw him as a lost kid today, Ellie realized. She had trouble shaking feeling bad for the boy. She didn't know why.

“Let's work in here together, if that's ok, Patrick,” Ellie suggested.

Ellie turned to her brother, “What are your plans, Kevin?”

“Kevin took a beat up copy of a Carlos Castaneda novel out of his back pocket. “If you've got food and coffee, I'm good anywhere.”

The three of them passed their day in relative silence. KBCO played, and each found it comforting to be around people who felt no need to fill the air with words. Each pursued their joy silently, happily.

Patrick didn't tell Ellie, during their quiet afternoon, just what had caused him to feel so peaceful. He felt odd about feeling so at peace with his mom's passing, and didn't know just how to bring it up. Ellie never pushes me, Patrick thought, as she began to put away her painting supplies, readying for the dinner meal.

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Tags: ascensionawakedeeplyhearskathy,nanowrimopatrickvikvoices

Comment by Besimi on November 20, 2013 at 2:27am



We greet you to the table of elders, we ask you come as light, imagine the body which you inhabit coming with you, rather than trying to split your consciousness, as is often done with meditation. Let what you can imagine be within your physical form, and allow this form to become living light. Come to the table as an equal, a family member in this family of light, we welcome you home.

The Great Central Sun is delivering, even now, in your time, a great transmission, the channel sensing this as geometrics and light, when able to see. This is nearly a plasmic transmission, and we wish to now highlight the truth of such things.

Many have sensed a ramping up or refinement in energies. Some are having profound changes occur within what they have come to identify as their psyched, and this is but one way these transmissions manifest.

The energy is constant, but has been refined, and yet, we wish to explain this as more of a frequency than a transmission. Although there is much information, all information, within these bodies of code, of coded, quantum, inferential and revolutionary information, because they exist at all, they exist eternally, and it is your interpretation of truth which you are then manifesting within you physical vehicles, your personality expressions, and this then translates for the individual in terms of questioning that which was once obviously true, and moving then to a place, oftentimes, of surveying that which you once found solidly accurate, regarding a situation, person, or reality, and you find these once cherished belief structures looking quite out of place, clunky, we can describe it that way. Perhaps comical, perhaps a little poignant, realizing, one by one or all at once, that what was once your vantage point, the place where you housed your perspective, many are now finding the perspective has shifted very dramatically, and new vistas are becoming clearer, daily, we tell you. Daily this is now occcuring for some.

We wish to reassure those who are remembering, or becoming aware of, their multiplicity, their oneness with expressions they now own as theirs, and have since discarded. Those who find themselves remembering profound truths, about your place, your history, so to speak,, your identity, the roles you have played, many are seeing a consolidation of personalities, and we say this plural, purposefully.

Do not fear this process. It is a unification of expression, and it was what many of you had heard would occur, a unification of timelines, it has been called. We say, better to describe it as a unification of self, many now able to hold multiple foci of awareness, while doing mundane or intricate things, these awarenesses are now yours. If they have not yet come to your awareness, this has nothing to do with worth, with deserving, with no judgment or comparison are these revelations given. But it must be said, these words of reassurance and care, for those experiencing such things. This is the way of it, and those having these revelations are calmed and relieved in hearing this is to be expected, whispering between each word, remember, remember, remember.

Returning to the concept of frequency, spin, wave, however it is most easily visualized, these frequencies or bodies of waves of information, love, divine love, are available to all, at all times. This is to do with preparedness.

Did not most of you read, years ago, in channeled messages, were you not party to teachers, be they strangers, acquaintances or paid guides, were you not told to prepare? To do the work? Do you remember the catchphrase, “If you're not working on yourself, you're not working?” Some took such simple adages to heart, and they did the work. They are now prepared to take in frequencies which are unattended to by those whose energy contains within it overlays from the past collective agreements, old energy patterns and thought/belief/emotional structures which have, at their heart, fear. The need for validation, the certainty of doom, these are overlays which obstruct the natural flow of these cosmic frequential fields more in step, so to speak, with a quantum, or entangled, awareness.

Be at peace, we pray, with wherever you find yourself, with whatever dilemma or puzzle remain. And if none remain, if you can see all as purposeful and benevolent, we tell you this is a valid and true place from which to create as you see fit. All will come to see the dilemmas and decisions in their lives in richer terms, but there are some without the karmic overlays you have carried from birth, and this creates not so much a wobble, but a need to tend, paradoxically, to the physical vehicle with tender care.

We urge you to see your bodies as divine expressions, durable and healthy, ready and clean, strong and wise. See this physical vehicle as your wise friend, someone who has protected and loved your consciousness so much, that it self corrects gross neglect, at times, borne out of the belief that the body has no voice, cannot be trusted, must be fixed, and is dying as it lives. Although a valid philosophical point of view, ta clarified attitude toward the body is essential in progression.

Consider the heavenly visitors you receive, the lights in the sky many are seeing now, the profound astrological messages that are being sent, consider these messages from source, and from your own selves, please, we ask for this larger perspective from those willing to hold it. Not only are these “rays” which are “downloading” information amplified by celestial events, but your consciousness, collectively, calls these events into significance. It is a cooperative effort, and it is important, we feel, to reiterate your part in this grand time. It is no accident you are here, doing precisely what you are doing. Many are living moment to moment is a deliberate, aware fashion, and this state, many are finding, is the seat of synchronicity itself.

Dwell here when you can, and do not criticize your consciousness when you find your attention drawn into the detail you are, in fact, placing within your own awareness. This is living deliberately, understanding that you are indeed one with all that you are aware of, and you are the sovereign of your awareness.

Many are finding breaks in significant relationships which might come as a surprise. If there has been unending conflict within a relationship, the see-saw of energy which made many feel incapable of self regulation, many are finding these relationships unplugged, and they are unable to relate to the drama in which they used to spin. Many have found they just “cannot go” certain places, toward habitual thoughts, behaviors and expectations. Things are not “sticking” as much, for many.

This is a change in energy that has been called forth for experience. Always there, always ready to be available, there have been changes within Gaia herself, due to your shifts in consciousness, and your express, spoken permission, and this allows you, your physical vehicle, your mind and pineal gland, your entirety, to access what had been waiting there for you.

Can you not see the benevolence in a system which has, and now had, built in triggers, built in releases and openings, which could organically change your receiver-ness, your abilities to appreciate them. This is a cooperative, organic effort in consciousness, and many are finding that these changes have made their former priorities and desires alter, and for some, this has been dramatic. If looked at with a glad heart, with a mind which has absorbed its training, it can be seen as nothing short of miraculous.

And this is how we wish to end it, by reiterating that it is you who allow this grand procession, and the level of permission by those who are naturally able to do this, is astounding. There is a very important point to this we stress now. The translation of this energy must, must, it must, be communicated human to human. You are now able, many of you, to contain the planet within your fields, in your most deliberate meditation,s eyes open or closed. Many can do this, but what matters more is the physical translation, human to human, of this energy. Your interpretation, your embodiment of a more cohesive DNA field, creating more and more opportunities for further activation, this is a fire which need only be lit here and there, and then moved around, wither with consciousness or in the physical. Many of you are doing work which would still boggle you in your physical reality. Your abilities are vast, as is your influence, and this contact you have with your fellow man, coming to all in peace, with laughter, with kindness and generosity, with forbearance, with permission, we tell you this is the balm, the act which relieves burdens.

The grid has once again sweetened, lightened, and you will find this work easier. Many of the resistances so many sweet souls found crushing has since been removed. Consider it an alchemy, please always consider this, you are participant as well as originator, creator. You have an effect on others. They are not pretend, they are not made up, they are not projections of your consciousness, except at the highest levels of energetics. Consider your fellow man and woman as fellow travelers, as grateful as you are to be held in high regard, regardless of what is said, or done, or thought.

You will have contact with those who have resistance, and what you will find that the resonance is such that your reactivity has been nullified, in many instances, and this can make dealing with those who are still entrenched in fear and the behaviors it generates, you much easier for you. See to it that you pity no one, and judge no one's progress, or what you might think is lack of progress. Each human being is valid, and having a profound conversation WITH THEMSELVES. As are you. See to it that your conversations, with one another, are harmonious. Do not hesitate to speak your mind, and do not doubt the guidance you will find helping you with difficult situations.

You are not alone, and your daily puzzles, activities and challenges can be handled joyfully and skillfully, by more and more and more of you.

We tell you, this is the way of it, a simple path which allows you to love that which is being expressed by your self, all the time, without end, in peace. This spreads, and through your mingling with, talking with, encouraging and helping others, all gain momentum, all stretch, all hear your song of home. It is sounding in your very cells, and we ask, in closing that you celebrate your song, cast any remaining worries aside, and understand the profundity of what you, as a human living in the time of this great shift, have done for yourself and your fellow traveler.

We are gratified you came to this table, and remind you this communication does not cease, it is only your changing, beautiful awareness which allows you access, as you see fit.

We walk with you in love.

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Comment by Besimi on November 18, 2013 at 7:52pm



There is much to say, here, sitting with you, on my bed, both of us in our jammies, eating our favorite snack, our favorite drink nearby. You and I talk about a lot of stuff, and today, I am telling you about this change I have noticed.

Maybe it was on a facebook poster, I don't know, maybe someone really deep wrote it once on papyrus. Who knows. But I heard “The more time you spend there, the more you're there.” Sort of Ars Gratis Artis, the act is the reward, that sort of thing.

I see how this really is a telescopic thing, a fractal all on its own, the awakening process, at least for me.

My first real encounter with this amazing energy was when I felt gripped and pulled by a breathtaking love, forgiveness so thick I could hardly breathe, and I kept seeing myself go back and forth inside this moving tube of love, of light. It was stunning. I was not only eager but able to, in one shining moment that just kept coming and coming and coming, I could see the benevolence in each moment of my life, the beauty, the symmetry, the love, all the love, all the sacrifice everyone made, all of it there, inside me, but all around me.

As it was happening, I saw, shining and it kept going, once I moved to my room, sitting on my bed, still I could see it, it was just a fact, a galaxy shaped like an eye, red and blue and moving and alive.

This experience faded, and things changed, quite dramatically for me, after that. I had already had a couple big aha! Moments. I knew things were shifting, June of 2011, but my outer life was just about to breakdown, for all time, it would lay defunct, but I carried it along with me, examining it, trying to figure out how it ticked, until 10-31-13, the day I finished Deeply Awake. I had vowed, if I ever got to the place where I had it more of less good within me, I would demonstrate for a couple three essays, and then bag it. Done. Mission accomplished. Mission freakin' accomplished.

But since that time, I have written under “Field Notes,” and I have to admit, they were cryptic, at best, chaotic, unclear, abstracted, highly abstracted. I was scaling the tippy top of a mountain that had been my driving purpose, since sentience, is how I like to put it. Such a need to have these questions satisfied, about it all, and I am glad that I have found answers I can finally live with.

I mean, after all, the seeker would not be the seeker if they were satisfied with the answers they received, right? What makes a person hungry for this information, set on fire the first time they hear a certain word, or hear a certain concept. Distant whispers pulling you into odd conference halls, into the company of other seekers, not rebelling against, but having no interest in conventional answers, conventional stories, conventional questions.

What makes some of us follow the words of those who say that what they are communicating comes from something greater than themselves? And, we know this about ourselves, being told something, and agreeing with it, that's everybody's choice, all down the line. Some agree that this is a valid form of self development, learning from others, allowing others to trigger and learn from and teach, some in the physical, and some are not, and we are ok with this too.

There is a new wind blowing, and it is easy to breathe here, and here is the thing I need to say: the more I have been able to get here, spend time here, the more I am here, and this is a valid pursuit, a beautiful and synchronous and purposeful one. All is in good alignment, in divine timing, with benevolence toward all.

I spent a lot of time, while working on stuff, dwelling on such things as Monsanto, Dems vs. Repubs, aberrant, violent behavior, and I was hung up, really angry about, our surveillance, nanny, distrust-all-with-mercy-toward-none attitude seeming to grip the imaginations of those less willing to see good common sense, and because there was a bully, there was a victim.

And so I wrestled with that thing until I got it winnowed down, and came to understand and master fear. Fear is a test, there to shut you down just as pretty as you please, disconnecting you from all the good sense there is in the world, the obvious truth, that we have clean energy just waiting there to be developed, Agribusiness is in bed with the FDA who is in bed with BigPharma who is in bed with insurers, who are in bed with bankers, who are in bed with our elected officials. There's the food chain. So what. It's all coming down, so, now, I see these fear thoughts come up, about the poison of vaccines and pro or con on providing pretty shitty health care to everybody who will, must go through quite a few unpleasantries, just to get something as basic as getting an arm set if you break it.

It is ridiculous and unkind and corrupt and so over. It is a brutal, disrespectful way to live. Not sharing with others when you are gifted with so much. Shame on those who do not help their neighbor, just the one sitting right across from them. The way of it is to share, to keep currency flowing, to assist when you can, and to see everyone you meet is family, and you don't cheat or lie to family, when you know it'll just bite you on the butt and get found out, anyway.

See, that's where I live now, and in the beginning, it was just now and then, just now and then. I had that big psychedelic thing, and then months passed before another such an event. And those days were spent scraping by, paying bills late, trying to make ends meet, and always, scribbling, scribbling away about how everything is feeling so good, and wanting more than anything, by the act of writing, to prolong that energy, to be in it, understand it as well as I understood futility and despair.

I'll close by revisiting something I have been writing about now for a while, this idea of a group of us, the first wave, here to do this waking up thing, that we are early. A generation or two early for the big reveal, from the looks of it. But there are stirrings, there are stirrings. It's like in March, April, when the ground is warm on the inside, but not on the outside, and there might even be snow still scattered about, but if you put your hand on the earth, in a seam, you can feel it teeming. Just teeming.

Who is the earth, and who is doing the feeling, and what is teeming? These have been valid questions to ask, and to use this forum to answer, I think.

Bashar has a youtube video out about Comparing Yourself To Other People. It's the most profound 15 minutes of audio I have heard in a long time.

What I keep going back to is what he said about agreements. My old teachers always couched things in terms of “agreement fields.” He said, even when you have a similarity with another, it is only because you are agreeing to have those similarities.

And this is what I wish to end on. I think there are more than a few of us, now, who hold agreements which many do not hold, but when we get amongst ourselves, we agree, in principle, to whatever degree of minutia (and there's a ton of it!) on surprisingly core things. Things many of us have held in our deepest hearts and never told another living soul about. And have that happen a few dozen times, and bam, there you are.

I have thought since the beginning that there is some weird sort of joke being played out, one that I am telling, and it has always been a bit of a knee slapper, my life, let's be honest. For all the boo hooing I've done, it's been a pretty cool one. At least, that's the one I remember more and more, now. The old horrors and sadnesses are there, but I'm not as interested.

I worked really hard at figuring out a way to maintain the levels of ecstasy I've briefly experienced. I believe, since that last solid gold gift of seeing things as they truly are, made of, by, for and with benevolence, the whole thing sewn out of its cloth, we are breathing it, and cloaked in it, we eat it and excrete it and hope only to speak it, live it, because, baby, that's all there is, this is where I have been, and where I want to forever dwell.

I know you have had moments of bliss. I had them early, and often, but not like what I have know the past little bit here. These moments, where your heart just feels like it's gonna stop because you're so choked up, because it hits you hard, that you are loved, it is good, and it changes you, bit by bit, experience after experience.

I want to see through those golden eyes, be that happy and big and aware and loved all the time, and bit by bit, I keep staying in a place that is adjacent.

I always thought ascension was going to be some big aha, light up from the inside out moment, when I turn into light, burn off the bio suit, and come back a light being. And although I think that's the end product, we are nowhere near that now, as individuals, or as a planet. But there are varying degrees of awareness, ever expanding now, ever increasing. It's all there, just for the taking.

I find I inhabit a new place, and that's the puzzle. What I have come to know of this odd, overtaking bliss has been wonderful, and necessary, since I am a doubter, a skeptic, want things very concrete, very literal, very physical. I always tell “them” to dumb it way down, make it funny and gentle and sweet. Make it so I can't miss it.

I give up hope from time to time, get lost in thinking that all is lost, even now. Once in a while, it happens.

And that is the point.

Before, two years before, the reverse was true. The reverse. I weighed so much, was physically miserable, emotionally fragile, afraid all the time, all the time, hating myself so much, so disappointed in how I'd turned out. That was me.

So, it really is about doing it just as often as you can. Making shiny, sparkly moments, self indulgent, compassionate moments the rule. Seek them out. Seek out ways to give to somebody else, even if it's just a word of encouragement. Do it often enough, and you're there more than you're not. Things get easier. You might build in tests, like I did, to see if I could think from the heart, not react in anger or hate, trying to find the good, and it worked.

I think there are some of us who prepared for this. Who can think fluidly, who are not attached to a clock, and who are feeling as if their moorings are finally giving way, as if this big shiny ship is finally ready to make sail, move away from the harbor, discover itself by discovering what is around it, supporting it, feeding and guiding it.

The first day I had a sustained period of clarity, I think the Indians call it samahdi? Was Thanksgiving, 2012. Less than a year.

And the time of comparisons is over. I want to converse with those who have gone where I have gone, and I am willing to admit that I have gone many places, and have good stories to tell about what I have seen, what I continue to see, now more than ever.

Because, you see, I am there, more and more, and there is always, always, always, more.

And there, it is here, on this bed, talking to you, you indulging my love of cigarettes, incense burning, leaf blowers and traffic in the background. Just the sound of typing, and other people's activities.

I'm glad we spent time here together. It was good to see you again. I hope, more than you know, that one fine day, we can do this in person.

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Comment by Besimi on November 17, 2013 at 10:00pm

PATRICK HEARS VOICES, NaNoWriMo, Ch 17-21 By Kathy Vik

PATRICK HEARS VOICES, CH 17- 21 By Kathy Vik 11-17-13

While writing this for all of us, a novel to and for and about lightworkers, I am asking for whatever financial help you feel moved to provide me. Private message me, or contact me at My PayPal account is under amissvik.

Follow my work at:



As I am re-writing, for continuity's sake, as I go, so I will post this as a book, in case you haven't been reading a long, on my wordpress site. It's fun to just read along, bit by bit, but also fun to read the thing in one block, if that's your thing.

And here were go.



Kevin was in the kitchen when Patrick and Ellie got home. He said, “Hi,” in a general way, and went back to cutting up apples. On the stove was a stock pot, steaming, boiling water waiting to make the applesauce Kevin was known for within his circles.

Ellie made the three of them lunch, and joined the boys in the TV room. They'd put on a documentary about wolves. Ellie sat with them, and actually got into it. Turned out there was a marathon of documentaries on the wildlife of The America's, and by the time they'd all had dessert, Kevin and Patrick were asking if Patrick could stay and watch. It reminded her of her days as a mommy. Sure, Ellie heard herself say, that's fine, sure.

Kevin had run lunch and dessert out to Bill, who preferred to work through creative impulses. On this early afternoon of an early spring-feeling day, Ellie now checked on Bill.

Through the short hall with its tiny bathroom and closet, into a cramped but charming log kitchen, and then through to the studio, a greenhouse, in some respects. In the middle of the room was a half-realized hunk of fused metal bits. Ellie liked watching projects come together, thinking on her time with them as snapshots. The finished project always stunned her. She was curious to see how he was going to pull a rabbit out of a hat with this, though. It was in an awkward phase, certainly.

“What medium is this, Bill? Are these bits of nuts and bolts?” Ellie asked.

“Time intensive thing to do, but, yeah, I got some junk yard stuff, played with it, sort of like tossing a salad, and then, there's this.” He looked at his work so far and frowned, looking puzzled, and frustrated.

“Where do you see it going, honey?” Ellie asked.

“Hell if I know,” Bill said. “I want to go look for some copper. Joseph has a great supplier, but I'm not sure the discount would be extended to me.” Bill came over to Ellie and gently brushed bread crumbs off her blouse. “Thanks for lunch, my sweet Ellie. How goes it with you?”

“Patrick's here. He's troubled. He wept in the breakfast nook. I held him like a big kid, and he hasn't wanted to talk about it since. I don't want to push.” Ellie looked into Bill's eyes, and felt that old familiar calm, a certainty, a joy. Bill. My Bill.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Bill asked.

“I think it's best to have Kevin hang with him. They make a good pair. They're watching Animal Planet together. I think they're going to order pizza later. It's a marathon, I think” Ellie said distractedly. “Are you going someplace now, or are you going to stay here?” Ellie asked.

“I'll go see Joseph, see what I can work out. I have a couple ideas. I should be home by six or so, I think” Bill said, looking at his watch.

“I'm going to go upstairs, then. I think it's Chinese for dinner tonight, ala carte. At least,” Ellie smiled, “At least, that's the plan.”

“Spoken like a true retiree,” bill said, giving her a little goose as she left his studio.


There were many things about Ellie that only Bill knew. And then, there were things that only she and someone else knew, but, she reflected, always, upon entering her meditation room, always, there was one person who was always there. “I was always there,” Ellie said, while removing her shoes. “I have always been. I shall always be. My moment is This Now Moment. I am that I am.”

She then walked to her little altar, made from a discarded bookcase and a fancy tablecloth, touched her little icons, and said her word for that feeling, of before, after and now. She said, “Seylah.”

She'd never heard anyone else use that word. But it meant worlds to her, and she used it before she sat in her meditation room to think.

It was a simple place, with bright murals and colorful tapestries. She liked Song of India incense for these times, when she was going within deliberately.

She needed to get right with something that had been bothering her since walking out of East High for the last time.

She considered her blessings first. She'd long since reconciled with the notion that she was on a vacation now. She had had difficulties, but not horrible ones, and she'd known true happiness and peace, more and more, since all those years ago in college.

She considered her marriage, her deep sense of sexual satisfaction, she thought of her home, her absence of debt, her positive bank account. She thought on her unusual, colorful friends. She considered it all, sitting there on that march day, and realized that she was blessed, that she was loved by something so benevolent, sometimes when she thought about it too hard, it made her dizzy.

She felt her life breaking off, into two worlds. She was done with even part time work now. She is retired.

“Now what,” she asked silently, in her room.

She had to admit that her imagination had been slumbering. Somehow, having a place to report had satisfied her, and she realized only now that she'd said “no” to many friends and opportunities, just because she wanted to be at a job, among kids, helping.

And she'd rarely asked what might come next. She'd been happy to be surprised, up until now.

And yet, here she was, mind suddenly busy, thinking on images of what might the fun to do next, flooding her with imagery and even a few whiffs of foods she began to feel a hunger for, music she'd never quite imagined.

She opened her eyes, and looked at her favorite “thing” in all the world, a four feet high ceramic Ganesha that her friend Pauly had shipped her while he was over in India. It was so satisfying to her. She felt full, centered, clear, in this state, looking at that statue. Pauly had said his guru had blessed it. Ellie liked the thought.

“Tell me now, Babaji, tell me, what do I do now?” Ellie asked the glittering idol. “I know you to be me,and within me is the remover of all obstacles. It is my intent for the next bit to be reveled to me. Let me see things bigger, and show me what you all know of my path, what I need to know, where I need to go. Be loud, be clear, be humorous, be gentle, to everyone involved. Allow timing to run smooth, and Babaji,” Ellie said, “Give me the gift of divine patience in the meantime.”

She felt better, after her prayer, but was aware of no new plans, no visuals, no words. Silence in the house, Ellie could feel the stillness in the house.

She allowed herself to become this stillness. She shed all ideas then, unfettered from what she bemoaned she knew all too well.

She soared, and become a crackling, surging column of light then. She bathed in this, as she was it, it her, and she suspended each and every thought, every care, each concern, puzzle and worry. They were meaningless here.

She returned quiet, still, serene, once again ready to argue for the compassionate action in each situation, once again only able to see benevolence, unable to recognize anyone but the creator's eyes in everyone she met.

She went to her little window, opened the cold latch, and let the chill of march's new air bring her to life. She saw the old Oak, just now budding again, once again, my dear old friend, she said quietly, in her mind. Now she began to feel expectation, the curious sense of opening she sensed each and every spring. She breathed it in, bent her head low, and laughed out loud. She looked up again, at the clouds now, and realized she was famished.

She was ready for whatever came next, now.


The group had decided on using her shredded potatoes for latkes, and they'd eat pizza for dinner. They watched two hours of animal documentaries in the evening. Bill received a call during the last commercial break of the evening, taking it in the library, off the TV room. Ellie gathered dishes and boxes as the last segment aired, a nice recap of all the creepy crawlies living in a Californian desert.

Patrick followed Ellie into the kitchen, and helped her load the dishwasher.

“Did you have a good night here, Patrick?” Ellie asked.

“It really hit the spot, Ellie. Thanks for letting me stay.” He hesitated, and then asked, “Are you sure I wasn't a bother?”

Ellie had been repeatedly struck with how hesitant and unsure of himself Patrick seemed to be. She was glad to know he was open to mothering, and that this was,in fact, what helped draw him out of his shell.

“You were the opposite of a bother. Had you not been here, lad, “ Ellie said, “We'd have just sleepwalked through our usual routine, with the exception of the change in cuisine.” Ellie handed him a huge casserole dish for the bottom rack. “It was wonderful having you here, it was a gift, kiddo.”

Patrick blushed and smiled as he rearranged things for this huge pan.

“Let's just run it, Patrick. Here's the soap,” Ellie said, handing him a big bottle of sweet smelling goo. Patrick squeezed, closed the door, and searched the console for the “On” button. Bill had insisted on state of the art appliances two years ago, and now Ellie herself often forgot how to get the things going.

“I have just a few more things to hand wash, and then I'm free,” Ellie said. “Do you want to stick around, or are you headed home, Patrick? It's getting late.”

Patrick checked his phone. Nearly nine. He'd forgotten to call his dad. “I need to go, but thanks again for everything.”

Ellie walked him to the front door, and watched him walk to his car. She waved at him as he drove away, curious what thoughts Patrick didn't feel he can share. Let him be, Ellie heard. Let him be. He'll be back.

Kevin was loading his Jeep when she made her pass through before going up to bed. She gave him a kiss and a hug, and watched him drive away, too. Locked, still, silent, the old house stood, feeling contentment, feeling full, somehow, Ellie thought, as she made her way to their bedroom.


The next evening, Patrick drove to a little building tucked behind a strip mall on Colorado Boulevard. The meeting as at seven, but Kevin told him to meet him at Sunrise Sunset diner at the north end of the mall. They would have dinner, and then go to Kevin's event together.

Kevin and Patrick had gotten to know each other between TV commercials at Animal Planet marathon at Ellie's the day before. Patrick had felt reassured by Kevin, sensed him as a kind and solid man, and, locking the car, he hoped he was right.

Kevin took a booth two doors into the modest restaurant, and when Patrick showed, a low, “Right here,” was all that was needed to hail the kid. Kevin didn't like to call attention to himself, and was glad to find someone similar in Patrick.

“I'm glad you showed up,” Kevin said. “The food's good here.”

Patrick squeezed into the booth, tried to look comfortable, and looked around for a waitress.

Kevin said, “You know, these tables are too skinny. Do you mind if we move to a table?”

Gratefully, Patrick agreed, and awkwardly extricated himself from the booth he'd squeezed into. A table felt more exposed, but would be easier to sit at comfortably.

“I had your bulk once. I played college ball. CU. We did the usual damage to CSU while I was there,” Kevin smiled, considering telling Patrick about his senior year championship, but he held back, wanting the kid to feel less self conscious. Patrick said enough to let Kevin know he followed college ball.

“So, tell me again what it is we're going to tonight,” Patrick asked, after they'd put in their dinner order.

Kevin gave himself permission to speak, something he often withheld. Patrick looked like he could handle it.

“Every week, a group of us meet over at the Temple of The Third Eye. Norma Henges, she's an old psychic who started the thing going on thirty years ago.” Kevin began. “It's a Theosophical Society. Do you know anything about Theosophy?”

When Patrick said no, Kevin fished a think book out of his inner coat pocket and gave it to Patrick. “I don't... I'm not...” Kevin stammered. “Listen, kid, this is just one way to go, and I don't take any of it too serious, but I thought I'd bring you something from White Eagle. Norma gave me one of their books the first time I went to a meeting there.”

In Patrick's hands was a thin volume with a colorful dust jacket, called White Eagle, on The Divine Mother.

Kevin got out his phone as Kevin flipped through the book.

Patrick was drawn to a passage in a chapter about Mary.

“See the glory of the original Light, itself like a sun, the most beautiful light and radiance. See that which has been conceived and born from previous systems, from a previous cosmic life. Imagine the whole cosmos in the form of light and radiance and life.”

Patrick let these words fall through him, felt himself heat up, and, without calling it to him, he began to feel, once again, how he felt for those few minutes, in front of his locker.

Patrick studied Kevin then, trying to get a handle on what this fellow was up to. He was balding, wore glasses, an overbite, and a thick, solid body. His clothes were worn, and his yellow coat looked like it needed to be retired.

“Find something in there that speaks to you?”Kevin asked.

“I did. This is really nice stuff, Kevin.” Patrick said.

The food arrived, and they ate in silence punctuated by talk of baseball, college basketball, and Kevin’s work. Kevin explained he was a plumber by trade, a handyman now, living down the street from Ellie as an apartment building sup.

Kevin paid the bill at the counter, got them both a packet of Lifesavers Pep-O-Mints, and walked to Patrick's car.

“I prefer walking over to the Temple from here,” Kevin said. “It clears my head. My car's over there.” Kevin pointed to a silver Jeep three cars down. “Never had a problem just parking it here. Come one with me.”

On the way to the Temple, Patrick asked about what to expect.

“Well, I thought you might need some guidance. You strike me as ready,” Kevin began. “But, I'll tell you, it's not for everybody.”

Patrick let this statement hang in the air between them. He'd tried three other times to get Kevin to tell him something concrete about this “meeting to like minds” Kevin had asked him to attend. In the distance, a tan clapboard structure was coming in to view. Patrick again asked for specifics.

“OK. Patrick, do you know what channeling is?” Kevin asked.

“Channeling,” Patrick said. “No, I can't say that I do.”

“That book I gave you was channeled. White Eagle is an energy that comes through people, and they feel moved to write the words that come to them, when under that influence.” Kevin said. “You know all those books people refer to as 'the word of god?', the Bible, all of it? Channeled, I think.” Kevin fished a Camel out of his coat pocket. “I don't think God came down and wrote those books. Men did. Men who were channeling.”

Patrick tried this thought on for size, and found he didn't have a problem with it. It seemed to make a lot more sense than taking words in a book literally. He liked how roomy Kevin's thoughts were.

“So anyway,” Kevin continued, “A couple years ago, I kept being moved to start a journal. I don't write, and I don't like journals, but, there I was, sitting in front of a notebook I found lying around the house. I started to write, and what came out, with some practice, was pretty surprising.

I showed some of it to Ellie. She encouraged me to keep at it, and I did. I started to get comfortable with it. I found I was sometimes really surprised at what came out. I'd sit, start writing, and then, a couple h ours later, I'd have pages and pages, and it all made such good sense.

I'd ask real specific questions, sometimes, and I started to take the advice this voice gave me, when I came to the notebooks with specific, like, life questions. And that led me back here.”

They were standing in the parking lot of a simple building, a weird orphan of a building. Between an upscale neighborhood to the north and a busy strip mall to the south stood n incongruously simple structure, nicely ringed by fir trees.

Kevin finished, “I'd not been here for a long time, busy with work and stuff, but I came back one night a while back. Norma's daughter runs the place now, and I handed her my last notebook. She put me in front of everybody that night, and I've been coming back every week, now, to channel for folks. And for myself.”


The meeting hall smelled faintly of smelled of mothballs. There were twenty or so beat up chairs lining the hall, pointed in the direction of a little altar. On the walls were large portraits, in bright pastels, of people Patrick had never seen before. He wandered over to the artwork. St. Germain, Archangel Raphael, Sananda, the brass plaques read.

Kevin went up to the front of the room and put his coat over a bar stool that stood to the right of the little altar. He went over to Patrick, studying a portrait of St. Francis of Assisi. “I want to go find Indra. I want you two to meet. If you want coffee, there's some right past those double doors,” Kevin pointed to the meeting hall's lobby. “Indra usually has some snacks set out, too. I'll go find her, and see you in a minute.”

Indra was a tall, athletic woman in her mid forties. Her graying blonde hair was in a tangle of dreads, and the simple blue shift she wore was part of a nice set she'd scored at Nordstrom Rack. She was a study in sharp contrast, and never failed to confound Kevin. He liked her contradictions, and enjoyed her company.

“I'm so glad you came early, Kevin,” Indra greeted her friend. “I wanted to see if you'd be up for a psychic fair I'm putting together for the solstice. Do you have plans for it yet?”

“I hadn't thought that far ahead, to be honest,” Kevin smiled. “I'd be honored. Are you having it here?”

“Actually, we scored a bigger place. Jeff has gotten us the conference space at Denver Center for Exploratory Awareness. Have you ever gone there? It's called the DC, for short.”

Kevin had been going to the DC, on and off, with Ellie and Bill, for years. Kevin had been there just the week before for their monthly drum circle. He was surprised they were letting little groups like theirs join in.

“It's sort of a conference of all the smaller groups around town this year,” Indra said, seemingly responding to Kevin's thoughts. This often happened in her company, and Kevin had gotten used to it. “It's gonna be two days of channeling, classes, tons of food, lots of music. Jeff and the band are going to do a kirtan, even.” And with that, Indra sang a little bit of a favorite chant of hers, moving her body as she quietly sang, mischievous smile on her face.

“Oh!” she said, “Look who's pulling up! This is quite a night, Kevin! Come see!” She led Kevin by the hand, out to the parking lot.

Valerie saw Indra from inside the building, talking to a an overweight, balding man who looked like her uncle. She lit a smoke and waited for her girlfriend, leaning on her car, waving at the two of them as they approached her. The sun was setting, and the colors were gorgeous tonight.

“Valerie,” Indra said, almost a prayer coming from her lips. “How was your drive, sweetheart?”

Kevin watched as the two women greeted each other with hand holding and smiles.

“This is Kevin. He's out featured guest tonight,” Indra told Valerie, while presenting Kevin with a flourish.

“I've heard about you,” Valerie said. “Indra refers to your channeling quite a bit at home. It's good to finally meet you.”

Kevin shook Valerie's hand, and then remembered he had also brought a guest. “You know, I could use a smoke before we get going,” Kevin said, “But I left my friend inside. You mind hanging out til I go check on him?”

Valerie nodded, mentioned something about not minding another one, and Kevin went back inside to find Patrick.

Patrick was sitting on a couch in the lobby, reading his White Eagle book. “Why don't you come outside for a little bit, Patrick?” Kevin asked. “I want you to meet a couple folks.”


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