the Pope and Fashionable Gays!

What a silly notion?  As far as I recall, the beating of bats on pavement in a vacant parking lot…the chatter and laughter behind cupped hands…and, the look of judgment and ridicule; Are not fashionable decisions!

Coming Out as, gay, bi, tri, trans, etc., is the most possibly destructive spiritual… decision one can make!

Pope Francis is “concerned” about what he described as the “serious issue” of homosexuality, saying in an interview published Saturday that being gay was a “fashion” to which the clergy is susceptible.

“The issue of homosexuality is a very serious issue that must be adequately discerned from the beginning with the candidates,” the pontiff said with regards to would-be priests.

“In our societies it even seems that homosexuality is fashionable and that mentality, in some way, also influences the life of the church,” he says in the book ‘The Strength of a Vocation’, released in Italy on Saturday.

“This is something I am concerned about, because perhaps at one time it did not receive much attention,” he said in the book, a transcript of an interview which will be released in ten languages.

The Roman Catholic Church’s position is that homosexual acts are sinful and the pontiff’s stance on homosexuality in the clergy is not new.

A decree on training for Roman Catholic priests in 2016 stressed the obligation of sexual abstinence, as well as barring gay men and those who support “gay culture” from holy orders.

The barring of people who present homosexual tendencies was first stipulated by the Catholic Church in 2005.

“It can happen that at the time perhaps they didn’t exhibit [that tendency], but later on it comes out,” Francis said.

“In consecrated and priestly life, there’s no room for that kind of affection. Therefore, the Church recommends that people with that kind of ingrained tendency should not be accepted into the ministry or consecrated life.

“The ministry or the consecrated life is not his place,” the Argentine added.

Gay clergy were urged to be “impeccably responsible” in a warning over bad behaviour that was notable for its silence on heterosexual clergy who break their vow of celibacy.

We “have to urge homosexual priests, and men and women religious, to live celibacy with integrity, and above all, that they be impeccably responsible, trying to never scandalise either their communities or the faithful holy people of God.

“It’s better for them to leave the ministry or the consecrated life rather than to live a double life,” Francis said.

In 2013, just months after assuming the papacy, Francis said: “If someone is gay and is searching for the Lord and has good will, then who am I to judge him?”, signifying a softer tone on homosexuality.

thelocal.it

 

Sometimes, I think…

“If desire were a immorality…And, imagination, a sin…Where would I be?”

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Doubt as sin. — Christianity has done its utmost to close the circle and declared even doubt to be sin. One is supposed to be cast into belief without reason, by a miracle, and from then on to swim in it as in the brightest and least ambiguous of elements: even a glance towards land, even the thought that one perhaps exists for something else as well as swimming, even the slightest impulse of our amphibious nature — is sin! And notice that all this means that the foundation of belief and all reflection on its origin is likewise excluded as sinful. What is wanted are blindness and intoxication and an eternal song over the waves in which reason has drowned.

 ##Friedrich Nietzsche

 

Black Sheep…Broken Throne

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I have been thinking about…sin, as of late.

When it ends?

Where it begins?

How it hovers around from within?

A snap of the bony spine that breaks when seated.

Why did someone else place their misdeeds…in my mind?

Why the cheating hearts of childhood passed down a broken a throne?

Madness Child?

A title handed down…for me to own.

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I have been thinking about sin…as of late.

How it is meant to control.

How it is a hand me down…stunting the soul,  as it grows.

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A Door Within…A Door

As vast as it seemed, it had only been a dream.

Murky and vague, I awoke and had become…

everything my mother had hoped I would be.

The joy in her eyes had been a prosthetic.

The sins she had always shared…

were no longer kinetic.abandone 1

Slowly fading from sight…

Her wish.

Our dream.

Freedom from our bondage, once again, turned pathetic.

Before this delusion slithered from my specter.

I caressed sleep from my eyes.

And, awareness back to a falling figure, fetal on the floor.

With less came more.

Disappointment lay beside me…

as it had, a thousand times before.

My awakening had been just a dream within a dream.

A door within a door.

 

 

 

Cycle of Abuse: Out of Wedlock

There are a sundry of reasons we ourselves from neglect.  Pretend to face the violence but turn a deaf ear….Reasons and excuses, self proclaimed…about abuse and, therefore, life wasn’t that bad.  That during the most prolific and cognitive years.  Verbal, emotional and physical abuse appeared…but ‘things could have been worse.’

As a victim of child abuse, I often wanted to believe that my mother was loving.  My father responsive and caring.  That in the 70’s and 80’s when I played softball or sang in folk group…my friend’s parents were akin to my own.

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That the love and comfort, other parents, provided in the split ranch homes up on the hill…rang true and similar to our little white house on South Main street.

As previously written my father’s incarceration at New Hampshire Hospital…held little recourse for him.  That he (in many ways) lived, interacted and became one,  with life, society…outside the fences of a psychiatric facility for the criminally insane.  His psychologist, Mr. Hawkins, with little regard for the future, allowed my father to farm the land, sow the row, and make acquaintances…during weekend passes in Warner.  Even though my father had just savagely killed his first wife.

Mr. Hawkins had been my father’s new best friend, and roommate.  As well as, Mr. Hawkin’s family and his farmhouse being his only form of punishment.  That a certain, Mrs. Elizabeth Tynan Bowley’s death; In some ways, seemed unimportant.  Harold, in all his abusive, compulsive, violent ways, had been allowed to walk free.

Had this been the only untruth I had to discover on my own…age, 45?  Had this been a good enough explanation for the beatings with a belt, the smack down with wire brushes and the constant threat of ‘there’s more where that came from…’  Perhaps, I could learn to let go.  To forgive.  To live in the bubble that my sister lives in.

However, Sybil is my half-sister, and her story is not mine.  My story is not simple.  Being the product of two severely challenged state hospital patients.  Being conceived behind the walls of lobotomies, deep down in the tunnels of regret, down in the depths of the water treatment passages.  Passages that many psych patients found and, used for one nightstands.

Being in the constant state of…not being. Harold and Janice, rendevousing with white coated workers politely looking the other way. Had this been the only deception…I could relent.

So, I had been born out-of-wedlock!  Indeed, who really cares?

So, my parents needed a weekend pass from the hospital to wed.  So, Harold and Janice, stole away one Saturday to Vermont…under the watchful eye of Mr. Hawkins, to make my up coming birth seem more or less…innocent.  Innocent and free of sin.

But exemption on my part as an adult…had begun to turn to bitterness.wedlock 3

I could understand my mother’s wanting to pay homage to the catholic church.  After all, not more than four years before, she had been studying to be a nun.  And, though, their wedding was more shotgun and less bible…Janice could at least say, she was married at the moment of my conception.  Which of course…is a complete fabrication!

Understand, forgive, forget….Come on.

Sitting in the dark, current day 2012, fuming over ancestry.com.  Knowing the next day, I would return to the log cabin house in Canterbury.  Return and care for aging parents.  Return to the child I was decades before.  Return and watch the abuse and the despondency.  Knowing more…understanding less…

The long and sordid tale just kept rolling on.

My mother once told me of how frightened my father had been when I had been born.

You see…I had been deathly ill at birth.  Born with many extra parts that were dysfunctional, I had emergency exploratory surgery, one month after being hatched.  One month of ICU.  One month of knocking on, in an infantile manner, heaven’s door.  Many of my intestines were rebuked.  Had been rescinded.  Should have been returned to…sender.  Bile clogged my veins and my blood.

Doctors in and out of desperation, and, quite ahead of their time, could make only one provocative decision.   I received a nephrectomy!  Born with 3 kidneys, 1 3/4 were silently…killing me.  The little bile buggers were removed!

The scars, physically, remain with me to this day.  From the sternum to the pubic area.  But the story of an emotional Harold.  Lingering over me.  Not wanting me to die in his arms?  All lies!  He, in matter of fact, had not been released from New Hampshire Hospital.  He, indeed, had been weaving in and out of psychosis.  While I lay not three blocks away…dying!

Why lie?  Why tell me that my strong parents accompanied my every procedure?

When, in truth…in 1967, my mother was out of the hospital trying to get her other two children out of a orphange.  While my father was fulfilling his narcissism!

Born out-of-wedlock.  Conceived on state hospital grounds.  No parents around during near death experience!

What next?  Nevermind the murderous rampage my father conducted on his first wife.  Excusing the idea that I have a half-sister out there.  Someone unfortunate enough to have my father’s blood.  Excluding my mother’s numerous attempts at suicide.  And, her willingness to offer her children into the hands of a violent man.wedlock 2

What next?  Would my parents try to pull off the greatest trick of all?  Would they rush my father through catholic class?  Have his Baptist upbringing baptized in catholic waters?  Would they really think that by having Harold converted to Catholicism and therefore, baptized, he could change!  Rinsed of sin.  Cleansed of murder!  That being going through the motions in the eyes of ‘their God’…All lies, killings, abuse, would be absolved!

But of course!  For that matter, I am my father’s godmother.  My brother, Bud, is his godfather.  And, all in the eyes of Jesus Christ Superstar…is forgiven!