Voluntary Blinders | Catherine Viel

By Catherine Viel, December 10, 2021

(Golden Age of Gaia)

December 9, 2021

He held my hand with a trembling hand.
“Come, let’s have a roof over our heads awhile.
Look, further on ahead, there
between truth and falsehood, a little empty space.”
~Amrita Pritam (tr. D.H. Tracy and Mohan Tracy), Empty Space



Wanting to write is not the same as having something to say.

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?

*****



As we wind our way slowly through what looks like a bumpy yet revelatory December, I am pondering what I still might have to say about these times. In some sense, chronicling a world situation that is apparently on the brink of massive upheaval seems quite pointless. It’s all going to change, why continue harping on it?

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.

*****

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.



Perhaps I am a bit like a horse with voluntary blinders, allowing myself to let what is at the periphery stay there, unobserved, uncommented upon. To focus on forward motion, what’s directly in front of me, this step, then the next step.

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.



I’ve had my fun, complaining about the masks and bemoaning the apparent ignorance of people rolling up their sleeves (and the sleeves of their children) to welcome experimental injections whose efficacy and safety status are in the red-alert zone.

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.

*****



There is something profoundly satisfying about taking care of one’s own hearth and home. Opportunities for gratitude are everywhere. Having a home and hearth, in the first place. And an oven to bake cookies. A future garden with thriving vegetables and fruits.

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.



I’m not saying I wouldn’t try to sneak in a dose of my truth with a plate of home-baked cookies. But that would not be the main reason for taking around such a gift.

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.