Dimensional Dancing | Catherine Viel

By Catherine Viel, December 24, 2022

(Golden Age of Gaia)

December 23, 2022

Pity the poor proud dancer who can give
Death to her ease, so that the dance may live,
Who makes, with pain to every body part,
From perfect will power her imperfect art.
~Paul Engle, Dancer, Four Poems



Is Christmas decorating mundane and third dimensional? Or is it channeling the higher energies of 5D? I suspect it is both. Moving physical objects around in space seems inarguably tangible and rooted in physicality.

But what of the emotional energy we bring to it? I’ve experienced quiet but sincere delight over the last couple of weeks, arranging red and gold baubles on tabletops and mantels. Joy, even the quiet version, surely qualifies as fifth-dimensional energy, or at least a gateway to it.

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While driving the country highway to downtown Santa Barbara yesterday, and the main drag of State Street / Hollister Avenue returning to Goleta, an undercurrent of delight ran through me. I inhabit a stunningly gorgeous locale, and holiday crowds can’t spoil it. Tourists swarmed the sunny swath of lawn in front of the Mission, and people frolicked with dogs in the open space bordering the Mission rose garden.



My feelings about tourists are normally lukewarm at best. But I felt nothing but benevolence for these earnest folks perusing their electronic guidebooks, riding rental E bikes and cluelessly crossing streets against the lights. I was flooded with immense gratitude that I get to live in this incredible, global vacation destination.

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The sensation of peaceful benevolence is in stark contrast to how I usually feel at Christmastime. Even a series of alarming situations over the last two weeks—both cats ill at different times, broken garage door, burst pipe flooding the bathroom, broken furnace—hasn’t killed my good-spiritedness.



Perhaps, without conscious effort, I’m addressing outer issues from an altered inner domain. I’m still distraught and nervous when these problems surface, especially with the cats. I still engage in bouts of “woe is me” and tell the tale to any who’ll listen.

But I don’t automatically reach for the misshapen mental cake I typically bake when I’m upset. The dash of bitters, the mealy flour, the expired leavening sodas and powders—all the negative emotional ingredients I select from the pantry of self, are revealed for what they are. Optional flavorings that I don’t have to choose. I’d rather learn to waltz with the problems that roll through my life, and as soon as the music stops, let that partner go.

So I return to mindlessly satisfying decorating activities. I engage with family and others. I don’t experience a cosmic flash or a dramatic burst of energy. More a subtle but definite jumping the tracks from that which feels solely third dimensional, to that which is rooted in the third dimension, but stretches joyously into the intangible etheric energies of the fifth.