January 3, 2026
The ill, the elderly, the infirm…Sometimes they emit an involuntary, mournful humming, something between a whimper and a sob. An undercurrent murmur of subtle grief.
In nursing facilities, assisted living homes, and private homes around the globe, the murmurous message insinuates itself into the surrounding airwaves. For those nearby, the inescapable and seemingly never-ending chorus reverberates with pain.
With those believed to be afflicted with dementia, assumptions are made. They must be emotionally distressed—scared, lonely, anxious. Who knows where they are, in time? Since a physical cause can never be ruled out, medical personnel nod wisely and affirm: Something must be painful, but they can’t say what, or where.
*****
I have another theory. I suspect that this murmurous grief underpins the humming of the Earth. They’re tuned in to something the rest of us can’t hear or sense.
They understand, somewhere in a fuddled brain that anchors an all-knowing Soul, that the world is collapsing. The old is sifting away like broken monuments settling into vast planes of sandy dust.
Those we might call lightworkers, spiritually aware, godly inclined, populate the swaths of elderly around the world. They are walking toward their graves with resignation, or perhaps fear and resistance. If they believe their mission on Earth to be that of lightholders or wayshowers, their distress must be deep.
I have failed. I am not staying to witness the New Earth. My time has run out. The years that I spent holding higher frequency have been wasted. All is still dark and dissolute.
Is it any wonder they sway and keen softly, even in sleep? The magnitude of their grief is beyond imagining, beyond what one body could hold. Like a teakettle boiling too long, they quietly shriek that they are done, done, done.
They hear, they know, the heaving and rustling and rumbling of Earth, and with a brain that can no longer parse the spiritual truths they’ve always known, they can only believe that all is lost for Earth. No wonder the sounds they emit are so wrenching, tears spring unbidden to the eyes of those who hear.
*****
Perhaps my fancy has no basis in reality. Perhaps there is an unknowable reason, or no reason at all, for the sonorous calling of grief.
That chocolate pudding after lunch didn’t sit well. A too-rapid heartbeat from undiagnosed tachycardia frightens them. Most likely of all, their body aches in too many places to mention, the scourges of arthritis and innumerable disorders like fibromyalgia pressing on them with a torturer’s glee.
*****
I like to believe that the afflicted ones are performing a service requested, but not demanded, by Earth, by Ascension, by the All That Is, itself. Their weeping is a release valve for all who don’t realize they should be weeping.
I’m not sure what the rest of us can do for these souls. Their light is as bright, but the encasing body clouds their clarity and purity. A simple hug, I love you whispered from the heart, a smile that says you are good, you are safe, you matter, can provide ease, which no pill ever could.
Known or unknown, familiar or stranger, this is a service we can provide. It eases us as well as those we comfort when we do so.
