The Turning at the End of Time

September 25, 2026

My propensity to wallow in problems ratchets up when there’s a perceived crisis (shockingly expensive new roof!). I also keep a few problems in reserve, in case I’m ever at a loss for worry-material. And two minutes scrolling the Internet can serve up a dozen more.

At the beginning of May, I dialed back on following Ascension and Truther information because I was allowing the unresolved issues and deadlines left in the dust to occupy too much mental real estate.

If there was a switch I could flip to shut down this tendency to obsess, especially over things that are out of my purview, I would flip it. But either through physiological hardwiring or cultural indoctrination, problems exert the metaphysical equivalent of pheromones. They’re so highly attractive, reaching toward them feels like an autonomic function.

*****

It’s beyond my ability to prove, but I strongly suspect this attraction to perennial problem-solving is egged on by the Dark Ones. Do they deploy destabilizing energy emissions, similar to solar flares or the Schumann Resonance, but artificially generated? Does it go farther back, to the DNA-embedded Archon implant or other tampering inflicted on humans from the beginning? 

It’s both ironic and exasperating that inability to stop worrying about problems is, in itself, a problem.

In this world of persistent duality, for every problem, there is a solution. However, despite repeated spiritual commands (“I dissolve worry over perceived problems, NOW”) or petitioning higher selves and the Beings of Light, I can only briefly lift myself from the trough of problem-focused living.

*****

Perhaps the only true freedom comes with what we ignorantly term “cognitive impairment.” My mum is not firmly anchored in present reality, although it’s not immediately obvious. She spends days paging through the same catalogs and magazines, reading choice bits aloud, commenting on flower bulbs or the color of that sweater. 

Most of the time, she seems untroubled. This is the benefit of failing that short cognitive test at the physician’s office, year after year. Who is the president? What city are we in?

Who cares?

Other than brief moments of “confusion” – confusing to me; her world makes perfect sense to her – she seems naturally serene. Smiling and chatting, giving and accepting hugs. Sometimes, when I’m mired in a “legitimate, big problem” – like financing the new roof – I feel exasperated and envious. Instead of a problem-solving family partner, I’ve got a carefree, 90-something Peter Pan flitting through Neverland.

Moreover, she will never have to worry about solving any type of problem. I expect she will either transition in the conventional way, or she’ll be around for med beds / Ascension. Whether she’s on the other side of the Veil, or experiencing 5D during this Earth incarnation, she won’t be dealing with physical, 3D problems like those I’m grappling with during this turning at the end of time.

*****

I call that cognitive freedom, not impairment. And for a little while, just by being quiet in her presence, I can bask in that zen-like serenity. 

Maybe I, too, can find myself on the Midwestern farm of her childhood, tossing feed to Mama’s chickens, tromping in the prickly corn kernels siloed behind the barn, imagining I’m in quicksand and yelling for my brothers to pull me out. 

We roll on the beaten earth floor, convulsed in giggles, knowing the cowbell will ring for dinner soon, and fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and piping hot sausage gravy will fill all the empty corners.