I’ve been chronicling my life in a journal almost daily since I was seventeen. I consider this a personal pact for exploration and soul connection as well as a way to remember who, and what, and when.
Since I started posting on Golden Age of Gaia in February, 2021, I have developed another pact. To publish writing for others to read, rather than to simply scribble personal ramblings that never see the light of day.
It has become important to me to write blog articles regularly. For public consumption, for sharing. So when there’s nothing that feels like it’s worth sharing, something is off kilter. An aspect of my communion and commingling with humanity loses its outlet.
Some would call it writer’s block, a malady I’ve never understood. There is always something to write. But is there always something worth saying?
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If I am somewhat representative of awakening humanity, we absorb news or speculation from our alternative sources, take whatever action feels appropriate as our contribution to the awakening, and then…
And then, what? There’s only so much that can be done to move forward in this moment of suspension between the worlds. The world that was and the world that will be; an empty space between lies and truth. It seems we are now in the world that is becoming, but not yet to where it is firmly established as everyone’s reality, not just as the longing of our hearts.
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Curiously, I find I’m more interested in rummaging through recipe boxes for favorite cookie recipes than rummaging for writing topics. I wonder if that in itself indicates some change that has slipped through the back door and quietly snuck into my daily life.
Right now, that means cookies, not mask and vaccine mandates. After all, the cookies, I can bake right in my own kitchen. Other than attending rallies, which I elect not to do, there isn’t much I can physically do about those mandates.
There’s a dormant garden personality as well, daydreaming of vegetable boxes for spring and seedlings to start. Even though I’ve never started seedlings in my life.
Have I stopped caring about the woes of humanity? Am I now indifferent to five-year-olds wearing masks to play outside or, even grimmer, lining up for the controversial shots?
In a word, yes.
I feel as if I overextended my empathy gene and need to dial it back. Reel it inward, ready to deploy, perhaps, when closed minds are painfully wrenched open.
Or so I imagine. Who knows what is happening right this moment, what will happen shortly, and how people will actually react? I certainly don’t make that claim.
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Maybe I’ll subscribe to a pioneer woman newsletter.
I simply don’t know what will happen this month, or next, or next. More than one commentator has noted that there are only half a dozen people in the world who do actually know the plan for humanity (and not the dark plan, which we see playing out chaotically all around us).
Since it seems there’s no point in trying to wake up friends or neighbors to what I believe is happening, this gives me permission to keep my selective blinders in place.
The main reason is to share the goodness, the abundance, and the love baked into the goodies.
Love. The reality that can’t be denied, covered up, or mandated out of existence. Maybe my gesture could start a block-wide cookie exchange, where there’s no talk of deadly pandemics or making sure everyone is “safe” under masks. No requesting vaccine paperwork before accepting a cookie. Just unafraid, neighborly people, trusting each other and ourselves in a way that’s been nearly pounded out of existence in many quarters around the globe.
I’m going to visualize that, anyway, and who’s to say it might not happen sooner rather than later? Small miracles that pave the way for the greater. One cookie at a time.
