Happy New Year everyone. My best wishes for all that the year 2012 will bring an abundance of peace, good health and happiness, and that those victims who are struggling will find the courage and strength to come forward and a family member or loved one who will walk by your side every step of the way, and that those who have come forward will reach out to help those who struggle.
May the year 2012 be a year in which justice and truth will prevail, in the Church, and in the courts.
And, what else but a little Irish Blessing for the New Year
May the raindrops fall lightly on your brow.
May the soft winds freshen your spirit.
May the sunshine brighten your heart
May the burdens of the day rest lightly upon you.
And may God enfold you in the mantle of His love.
My thoughts and prayers are with all this New Year’s Eve, particularly those of you who are or are feeling alone.
Till 2012
Sylvia
Sunday, January 1, 2012
A new year has come.
I cried and shed many tears. My tears are safety valves. After wiping them away, I do eventually smile and realize my inner strength is there. That inner strength was block by clouds of pain, anger, injustices, and many at time even by self pity, a party of one…that’s me.
I do feel alone at different times, no one listens, REALLY listens to me. I’m invisible to those who want to shut me out or shut me up. They have their reasons. After all, the world doesn’t revolve around me.
Usually, this tiny opening from a ray of light finds its way to me, reminding me I’m not alone. The one I do not see with these earthly eyes of mine is there providing me wisdom in the ministry of love. It’s so complicated to understand and somewhat there is this need for me to believe this, so I can continue on with my life.
After picking myself up, yet again from another mode of despair, I continue this amazing journey I’m on.
There is no need for me to end my life. No need for me to leave notes for the coroner to read about the details of my early demise. The gift of life that was given to me is precious and I will do everything in my power to protect it.
I’ve learned detours in life are just another way to keep me moving on forward and yet to proceed with caution in those certain risks I take. There is a time to speak up and a time not to speak.
I keep trying to stay away from toxic sadness and doses of regrets. I’m not perfect and I should not be so hard on myself. Life is not easy and it’s essential for me to get rest. I’ve put my pride aside and received professional medical help.
For those who want to stop me from speaking or writing for whatever reasons with their blockade of so called hurdles and stones of intimidations. You want to wish me away and wish me gone. Silence can be good but sometimes my silence inside me is too loud. You may try to forget me in that hiding place somewhere in that mind of yours. Nevertheless; my words will find its way back to you…any time, any place, especially when you see me face to face. Remember…your words, your eyes and your body language has revealed certain secrets.
My reality, right here and right now….my faith in the Roman Catholic Church has left me broken and shattered so deep inside me. The inner healing process will take time. I will learn to live with those scars.
Some peace has come to me by this link to this mysterious one called God.
Life is full of hellos and goodbyes.
Best wishes in the New Year to all, no matter who you are.
Lina
Lina, you keep on writing. It’s all good to do. It’s been good for me. I knew personally a couple of priests who came into my class, as a well as a Bishop, who have been abusers. Men I trusted. Men I entrusted with my class and even my own kids. I can’t help but feel saddened and angry at the same time. My faith in God is not shaken; but my faith in the Catholic church and its priests is at an all time low. I personally think they will not recover from this. Who would have thought even the Church has gone down the drain. What secrets lie within the vaults of the Vatican! I’m willing to bet there are tons of papers and reports being destroyed as I write this. But it is too late. The truth is out and is getting out.
God bless you. Keep writing, Lina, and letting others know how you feel. Take courage!
Thank you MikeMc for your reply to my post.
I hope more clergy abuse victims are willing to come forward in this New Year 2012.
I’m grateful to this lady Sylvia to have this site. It is very important to all of us who care about the clergy abuse victims.
All those who want to cause havoc for Sylvia’s Site or even have it shut down for whatever selfish reasons they have, I pray that wish will not be granted to them.
The tragedy of Lahey now walking off to his little evening glass of sherry, to replay in his mind at will, in freedom, the pictures that are etched in his memory, and etched as well in the damaged memory of the saddened judge who had to look at the horror Lahey spilled on the world in his joke of a trial — that tragedy is symptomatic of what you might call ‘the 2012 condition’. This is articulated in the article below, so eloquently:
“Singing a Farewell Lament to Ourselves at the End of a World, and at the Birth of Another: Understanding 2012”
Posted on January 02, 2012
by Kevin Annett
New Year’s Eve in Nanaimo, as the rain falls quietly on a year’s memories, and on an unhurried dawn.
The old adage is true, it seems: that as we age, the years come and go more quickly, but so do the lessons of our life. Tonight, they crowd me as I gaze out at the night, and at the faces of those who died and that which was revealed.
William Combes, Eyewitness, 1952-2011
Billie Combes was killed in a Vancouver hospital on February 26, having spoken too readily of the royal Thing that abducted forever ten children from a Christian internment camp in Kamloops.
Billie was a stumbling man of fifty seven, long lived for a street Indian, and he cried so easily whenever he remembered his internment, and the little ones he could never save. The last time I ever saw him, he actually smiled, and told me that I was his friend.
The crowned Thing Billie named barred me from England on May 29, with the kind of cold efficiency that once made it ruler of our planet. It gazed at me through the thick, banal lenses of a Border Agency cop who didn’t even smile at the jokes I cracked.
The African woman and her baby who shared my immigration prison cell weren’t laughing that night, either. Both of them were quietly crying. The world ends like this, says the poet T.S. Eliot: not with a bang, but a whimper.
Equally muffled cries arose from the hardened soil that I turned on November 21, near to the death house called the Mush Hole Indian residential school, built by the crowned Thing in 1832. I held in my hands the bones of unknown children on that day as one world ended, and another began.
Those three moments – the truth, the silencing, and the lonely vindication – blaze at me as this year ends, and we all wonder what 2012 will bring: not so much to remind me of the way things are, as to mark the termination of that whole trapped arrangement.
The lesson that it is all over has been yelping at me for some years now, and not because of a Mayan calendar. Frankly, I’ve been too intent on gnawing at the bare bones of injustice to notice what the lesson has been saying. Perhaps it was Billie’s death that paused my efforts, and made me able to recognize what finally came to rest in my hands – and what it all means.
I’ve done a lot of funerals over the years, and I’ve enjoyed most of them because of their inescapable honesty. The official mourners often seem mildly ashamed at their secret joy, of breathing while another lies dead in front of them, but what matters is that not one of them can deny what has happened. They all know the truth, and have to deal with it, somehow. Such are birthing moments.
The corpse makes them realize life, and its fragile perfection. Something is enlargened in them by facing death, and that awareness denies fear a place to enter, for in their mourning, there is vanquished the illusory hope that permits lies to take root.
Endings are what we mortals live for, because they define us. They are our most sacred encounters, for they sum up everything.
My Gaelic ancestors have a word for this summing up: Caoineadh, “the beautiful song”, which was traditionally sung at a chieftain’s funeral by hereditary mourners known as “keeners”.
The public wailing of these women was in fact the telling of the chieftain’s life story: his victories and his defeats, his character, and the purpose of his being. As his life was recounted, the soul – which was said to hover over its corpse for three days – took comfort and strength from the lessons of this latest life, for its next journey to another incarnation.
The stereotypical Irish wake – a happy drunk fest, according to British Imperial detractors – was in truth the pinnacle of community joy, for in their shared lament, everyone played a part in the completion of the cosmic cycle of one life, in the re-birthing of a soul imbued with wisdom and grace.
Their mourning was in fact the first gasping breath of a new existence.
That’s how I see our situation as 2012 dawns.
Typically, our attention as a people has been on everything but ourselves: on the Mayan cycle, or other people’s prophecies, and not on our own. Yet everything in us speaks a simple truth, known to us away from the clatter of life and our own worry, and that is this: we cannot be born into the new world awaiting us, because we have not yet learned that we have already died.
Our modern western world is like a wandering spirit that knows not that is has passed on, and is trapped and terrified in an illusory limbo world. It is small wonder that the Nuu-chah-nulth people where I live first called us Europeans the “mu multh nees”: ghost people.
We have been such a people for some time – but in our deep fear and denial of death, of what we have become, we have been blind to ourselves.
It’s hardly an accident that as our Christian culture became more psychotic and blood soaked over the centuries, its fear of death multiplied, for we see the world not as it is, but as we are.
Much as modern America’s terrorist-obsessed mind has no escape but in more violence because it sees everyone as a reflection of its own terror, the western world spawned by a “catholic” church that tried to murder Christ and his way can no longer know the life that comes after death. And so we can only fear and deny the fact that we have already died.
I’m not mistaken that we as a people are not simply dying, but are already dead. And here’s the simple proof.
A people who are alive respond with outrage, and action, when the lives of their children are threatened. They rush to protect the future generation. They cannot live alongside that which murders or rapes them.
Similarly, a people who are alive defend their natural world and its sacred bounty and health, for their very existence depends on their doing so.
On the other hand, a people who have died do not respond to any of these threats, for they feel nothing. They cannot perform the most basic steps of self-preservation. They simply function, like parts of an unthinking machine, just as we are doing: but in our case, our actions as a culture all seem designed to actually ensure our own final destruction.
That is who and what we have become: denizens of Necropolis – the City of the Dead, which sucks the vitality out of all life on our planet. And the more we impact our world, the quicker the death we embody spreads, toxifying and radiating our world. And what we do to ourselves in the material world is an expression of a spiritual death that long preceded it.
How can we awaken our collective self – our higher mind – to our own death? By lamenting. We can sing to ourselves our own Caoineadh, the beautiful recounting of who we were and what we did in our life as a people – and how we came to die. And then our hovering soul will know it is time to release, and move on.
Tonight, I awakened to the fact that this is precisely what I’ve been doing since 1995: counseling my own people through their death agony by telling the tale of how something called European Christendom caused its own destruction, and those it conquered.
I called it an exorcism when I stood outside the Vatican on two occasions and compelled a dead spirit to depart from there. But then, as now, I was simply singing the same requiem ritual to that which is finally awakening to its own demise.
So what does all this mean for us now, on the first day of a momentous new year?
For nearly twenty years, I have described and documented the crimes of my people, and brought them to the world. And yet ultimately, all of these efforts have fallen on deaf hearts and ears: those of the dead.
There is no public reaction to all the evidence of murder and torture of children by church and state, because there can be no response that actually stops the crime from happening again. We have finally recognized what we are a part of: soulless institutions of the Lie, that have no heart or purpose save self-perpetuation. And so now, to quote one of my friends, it is time to “Leave the dead to bury the dead”.
It is time to let go of everything, and allow our collective self to dream its being into a new life, and begin all over again.
So I’m not worrying anymore about proving to the world that Mohawk children were murdered and buried on the grounds of the Brantford Anglican school. We know it happened. So does the Crown and Church of England, who caused the slaughter.
Instead, I am resolved to dismantle both of those institutions, and all those like them, so that they can do no more harm. Only thus can we awaken their inhabitants to their dead condition, and allow their souls to move on.
To do so, we don’t need another Tribunal, or an Inquiry into the obvious. For even with such an inquiry and its final proof that those who rule this society are mass killers, who would impose on these guilty groups any sentence? How can we enforce our verdict on the Genocide, without wielding our own force to make justice real?
We are faced, ultimately, with a question of power, and who wields it. We need therefore a spiritual and a political revolution, from the bottom up, to reinvent society so that the City of Death is no more.
To replenish itself, the land lies fallow every few years. So too must we now let go of a murderous social disorder to allow ourselves to regenerate, and build a culture based on the Great Law of peace and equality.
Thus, at the same time as we stop paying taxes and voting away our autonomy, and sever our economic involvement with society, we reclaim that stolen by a few, beginning with the land and our families. From the ground up, we fashion a republic of spiritual and social Equals in harmony with the earth.
So I turn my back on Canada, and its churches, and its corporate oligarchy, as I call you to do too, and on the City of Death wherever you encounter it.
I pledge myself in this year of 2012 to help begin our new life as a people whose allegiance is the Natural Law, by reclaiming our minds, our land, and our people from the death they have dwelt in for too long.
Now is the time for poets and bards to sing our captive hearts into a new reality, and for our true warriors to overthrow Necropolis and establish justice in the land, and the Natural Order.
We have sought fruitlessly for humanity from institutions that have none. Their time is over, and they will fall at our hands.
As Chippewa native elder Del Riley said recently,
“These churches that killed our people will not be allowed to legally operate on our territories anymore.”
The spiritual reclamation, and the material, has begun. And as that unfolds, the children who died, and those like Billie Combes who died in their defense, will begin to rest. But not before.
“Your wound is incurable, your injury beyond healing … But I will restore you to health, and heal your wounds’, says the Lord your God” – Jeremiah 30
itccs.org
The International Tribunal into Crimes of Church and State
Sadly, the above long story is far closer to the real truth than many of us will wish to concede !
Wander around a busy shopping mall and look at the eyes of those hurrying in all directions- they do not know why they hurry or where they are going !
Too many of us are soul-dead, and the Evil one takes advantage of our rotting- knowing we will be mostly silent.
Certainly what Lahey wants he has acheived to be parted from the lime light to do what he really wants to do pursue young boys.