When the Beginning of the End Began | Catherine Viel

By Catherine Viel, April 27, 2021

(Golden Age of Gaia)

April 26, 2021

Something has changed that has changed everything else,
has overtaken you like a memory of the future
that appears at your side winking as if to suggest
A new arrangement…
~ Philip Schultz, Change

When Accountability seemed like a series of potential actions that didn’t affect me in an immediate way, I didn’t think about the “when.” When it comes, it comes. All those bad players would be corralled and neutralized and, in conjunction with Disclosure, the truth will set us free.

As for day-to-day life, I could complacently exercise my amazing powers of patience in terms of Accountability. It was Out There and it’ll be here in its own good time. It wasn’t hurting me to wait.

Over the course of this last year, however, I have come to believe that without Accountability, the outside world that affects me directly—in a way that is very much not my preference—is not going to improve. Few truths and little freedom are to be found. It is hurting me to wait.

Complacent patience is but a distant memory. I can’t wait for Accountability to arrive, and the better world soon after. Where the heck is it?

*****

I hear the gentle clearing of the communal throat, and a diffident murmur: My dear, you do know that you create your own reality, yes?



Yes, yes, of course. In my reality, I am absolutely free and the world is wonderful.

That works until I step outside my own door. Physical reality literally encroaches on whatever reality I believe I inhabit.

At which point, the diffident murmur of the Spiritually Enlightened returns: My dear, you do know that nothing affects you unless you allow it to, yes?

And we’re off and running on the circular logic track. I create my reality, I experience only what I allow in, and so on.

*****

Sacrilegiously, in my tiniest of hearts, I’m quietly committing the dreaded psychological sin of Wanting Others to Change.

I want “others” to stop doing what they’re doing that infringes on me in every possible way, and I want those fetters, visible and invisible, to clank off and fall on the cobblestones to be crushed by the wheels of enlightened progress.



Goodbye and good riddance.

It seems Accountability, from one perspective, is about wanting people and situations outside ourselves to change. Wanting outer realities and forces to come into alliance with what most would call a kinder, more inclusive, workable, and benevolent world.

A world where I don’t have to imagine and co-create that all is well because I declare it to be so, but all is well because it is so. In outside, physical reality, kindness and benevolence are the rule.

*****

Meantime…meantime…since I can’t realistically get others to change, what can I do?

Stop in my tracks. Know that all is well. Keep looking for, and finding, the good wherever and whenever I can. Find the progress that can’t be denied.

Just as I vow to look for this progress, I come across a heartening video posted on Golden Age of Gaia about thousands of Londoners thumbing their noses at authority and marching (without masks!) to end the mask mandates and stop the vaccines.



Did one tiny corner of outer reality just morph into what I actually want to see in the world? People standing up for freedom and their civil liberties? Thousands breathing freely, without the suffocating absurdness of the mask?

Maybe there really is something to this notion that I make my own reality. True, that march didn’t happen just this minute. But I did come across it just this minute.

I saw that encouraging bit of news because I was looking for it. Hoping for it. Believing, beneath my cynicism and world-weariness, that it was there, somewhere.

Perhaps already the thing has changed that will change everything else. Perhaps that London march was a mystical tipping point, some fulcrum of light and dark weighting itself irrevocably toward brightness and beauty.

Who knows what beginnings look like? We may not know until whatever happens is over. And then, obvious as the driftwood you stubbed your toe on, rearing coyly up through cold, wet sand, then, then, we see how the beginning of the end, began.