In the great sweep of cosmic history, absolutely nothing significant will happen in the coming year, as nothing significant happened in the past year.
For a few brave people, however, the end of the Mayan calender will come. In fact, the end of time will come, as it always comes, for a few brave people who wake up in the present moment and say, 'To hell with the future.' It is then, if we are brave, that we notice the unique and special gifts that every person shares with the world, and the marvelous things that our neighbors are doing in this life, today.
Most of us, though, will repeat the same old fears and fantasies in our heads, regretting what can't be undone, anticipating what will most likely never happen, always with a sense that something either (a) other-worldly or (b) disastrous approaches, depending on the melodrama that each little "I" plays over and over in its thoughts, while in the terrible sweet suchness of the actual world, true sacraments of beauty and goodness blossom all around us, unnoticed in the radiance of the ordinary - not the least miraculous of which is this breath, this very breath received by grace perpetually now, from a cool and healing spring of mysterious Presence that is, for most, an ever missed opportunity to finally be done with fear, with care and weariness, and merely bravely wondrously Be.
Therefor I resolve this year to quit paying attention to the shadow-theater of the past and future, which only exists in my head, and to notice the colors of the world, the tiny rites and ceremonies of the insignificant: to notice a crocus blossoming in snow, the screech of a molting eagle over the estuary, a maidenhair fern unfolding its delicate green galaxy in a sun-gold patch of forest, and the changing seasons of light in my neighbor's eye.