ASCENSION FIELD NOTES – ADAPTATION BY KATHY VIK 3-10-14
I’ve missed you. Driving home from work today, I realized that I miss you enough to do something about it today.
Prior to the end of January, I had an abundance, an over-abundance, of free time, great, unwieldy blocks of it. I had two years of waking up at 6am and having no plans, and no money with which to pursue interests requiring cash. I wrote a lot.
Now, I have small chunks of free time, and although less maniacally territorial about my time off, I sense a generalized rushing, a generalized push, that I did not before. I think it has to do with being tied back into a clock. Weeks went by when I did not know or care what day of the week it was. And then, prayers were answered, blocks removed, and I came into a good job. I am adjusting.
But the adjustment is not because of work. This is of central importance. I had always seen work itself as a font of relief, the nexus from which everything else flows. I have had to rethink this stance.
What I am beginning to realise is that what I am experiencing internally has so very little to do with where I find myself, what I find myself doing. How I feel, what I am thinking, what I am focusing on, this drives the experience, any experience, and calls to me all experience. I know that now.
It’s hard to believe it has been nearly two months since starting this new position. I have found I am a highly immersive problem solver, and this is what I wish to spend a couple minutes on, but just a couple.
I have recently realized just how obsessive I am, when faced with what appears to be unsolvable problems. It has been a revelation to become immersed in a system, learning from its participants just what is seen as impossible and what is not. Learning everyone’s capacities, their willingnesses, their blind spots. I have become acutely aware of my sensitivity, and have found, the last two months, that I can take what I I
intuit to the bank. I can feel into problems, and into people, and seem to be a balm to most people I encounter. There are a few who are resistive, but they do not consume me as before.
The obsessiveness was brought to my attention Saturday morning, when I awoke in inner silence. The stillness was in stark contrast to what had been in my head, and with the absence of all that thinking, I began to realize some fundamental things.
I realized, in my stillness, that obsessing, immersing oneself, this is a style, and it can therefore be altered. After a disconcertingly still and peaceful day at work today, on the way home, it dawned on me that what I had done today was to live out the “What If,” that had been visiting me Saturday morning. What if I could work without guilt nagging me? Without problems getting turned up to Volume 11? What if I could solve issues as they come up and remain internally untroubled? Because, today, all those things happened.
But it goes deeper than that. A few months ago, I woke up from a night of sleep, a witness to the strangest re-populating of a reality I’d never expressly asked for. I woke up, to my shock and amazement, completely blank. And maybe it was only for a split second, but in those brief moments, I had NO preconceptions, and seemingly, no memory. Then one by one the situations came to me. Laid down on me, in my fields. Then the people. And then the feelings. Oh, it was then, when the feelings came rushing in, that I realised that how I feel has more to do with what I think about something than anything else.
So, this blankness. I felt it more acutely than I expected today.
I felt absent, emotionally, from work today. I felt a cushion of sorts. This morning, all the way to work and in the car, readying to walk into my day, I felt, again and again, such comfort. I felt like I was leaning back into a loved one’s arms. I felt so completely loved, comforted, stilled. I leaned back in my car, one leg in, one leg out, leaning into this feeling. Warm, loving, encompassing, palpable. I felt like I was leaning back into the arms of love.
I chalked some of the blankness up to feeling pulled, energetically, to other situations which are not work related. No one at work needs to hear about my bizarre family situation, my dad’s dying girlfriend and his concomitant troubles. No one needs to hear about how my son wept last night, confessing to me the presence of personal demons which paralyze him with fear and dread. No one needs to know how I am stalled with my writing, feeling weird about not wanting to do it, feeling nervous about what could happen to my psyche if I don’t No one needs to know it.
And having a day like this, it just softens my heart to others, those I work with, those I meet at the store, that others may have even more complicated problems than mine. And they may not even have some of the skills I do. A day like today reminds me of the importance, the mandatory-ness of being kind, of not being needy, of being clear.
I knew, somehow, that even though I felt more and more blank as the hours progressed today, I could feel as if the biggest part of me was not absent, but occupied. I felt I had just enough focus to do my job well, and not enough to obsess. Was it because others in my life are having problems? Or is it just the way of it today?
I realized a while back, when my son was asserting a new truth, that all I really can do for the people I love is to love them. I do not know what lessons, what realities, my son has lined up to experience while here. I do not know what ancient wounds are being opened, or healed, by my dad’s girlfriend’s death. It’s not my walk, they are not my burdens, and I am only peripherally responsible. What Sam has set out to know and do this lifetime is between him and his god. All I can do is love him unconditionally.
I realized, while having this thought, that so very much maternal guilt could just slide off of me. Certainly, the old adage of apples and trees applies, and it is easy to imagine that one’s child’s issues are caused by the parents’ lack of knowledge or compassion or sense, but really, I had things I had to know, do, be this lifetime. No one was going to talk me out of these directives. No one can, to this day. To give this sort of freedom to another is, I think, part of the exercise.
So, I was going to say, a few paragraphs back, that I had felt blank today because I was worried about my loved ones, but that is a false statement. I don’t worry about my loved ones. I don’t fear for them. Not one bit. I know they have each called to them the experiences they are grappling with now. They need what all struggling human beings need. They need love. If I can assist in lightening the burdens they carry, I feel joy. If I can’t assist, I feel love.
The sense of completion I have felt lately has been good to experience. Feeling old, old story lines come together and being overjoyed that even the oldest tale is being told so much more happily, this has been a huge discovery, a great source of joy, and power, and peace.
I have learned to give folks lots of room. To be messy, to be scared, to be ineffective, to be miserable. Loving, this is the way of it now, just loving it all.
I understand now that the stories, they will keep on getting told. Events will continue to occur. Unthinkable things may occur. Moments of great love, great compassion, they will keep coming. Situations will arise.
I guess I am beginning to see that a lot of it has nothing to do with me, intimately. So much of what I witness now, I can see as opportunities to cut someone slack, show them a way out, get them to smile. Life has become simpler, but that doesn’t mean that hard things are not going to darken my doorstep. If I were in this alone, maybe those events, feelings and thoughts would not visit me. But I am in community, and I realize now that what one person is dealing with affects all, and that we are at the mercy of one another. How we play out the situations which confront us, or the ones we love, this is where the test is performed.
So, now, I have written, but I still feel blank. I feel good, just unperturbed, maybe just a little sad, sort of tired. It is a good evening to eat, watch some TV and go to bed early.
I will be swept by this current without fear, and maybe, in the end, that’s what this blankness is. No fear. Leaning back into the Ancients’ arms, knowing I have a place here, even when I feel I don’t, this is what the blankness might be hinting at.
That this has been a monumental time of change is an understatement. It’s just that, until I wrote this, I didn’t really get how big all of the changes have been.
I have missed you, and I am glad we had a few minutes together today. I feel scattered, though, just not all here, so I will end this now, stay in meditation, as I do now always, and ride this chunk of energy out. I love my life, I love my god, I love that I have fewer questions than answers about life and god, and I love your willingness to let me tell you about it. I am wishing you every happiness from my granny chair in Denver, Colorado.