What are we supposed to do?

What are we supposed to do, living in the end times? Should we drop everything and try and help people, or should we rest and build up our strength?

Around me are people in various different stages of denial. I myself am mostly in denial, swept away periodically on waves of panic as the world unravels piece by piece. The math doesn’t lie. The signs are present. All of the pieces are moving into position. What am I supposed to do?

The world, once solid, is shaking. It was solid for me at least. Each day more or less predictable, each event more or less banal. Some people were born and raised in apocalyptic conditions, but I — an Essex girl and London immigrant, have lived my life in the polished cocoon of western civilization. I don’t feel competent to live in these times. The gushing tides of fear that crash over me these days when I dare to look at the news are something from a world I do not recognize. It’s a world that needs warriors and saints.

Yet I feel more peace in myself now than I ever have before. Why worry about trivial things now? Sometimes I feel brave. Sometimes I feel like I know what to do. Different mind-frames drain in and out of me like a Possession.

Other generations have faced war. They must have drifted into it like we are now — I suppose there is no other way to go into it.