When all is done

When quiet words sing

When  breath calms to still                 

What then?

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Were the American criminal justice system to be applied to Pope Benedict, formerly Cardinal Ratzinger, and other heads of the Catholic Church, they  would be facing criminal charges and given the ever mounting evidence, convicted and jailed. 

Newly revealed internal correspondence from Wisconsin Bishops to then Cardinal Ratzinger warning that American Priest Lawrence Murphy molested in the neighborhood of 200 deaf boys resulted in a cover-up more concerned with protecting the church (from what?!!!!!) than protecting the children and turning the abusers over to the authorities, never mind firing them. And just to add to the horror of this anything but Christian group, the Murphy case was, according to the New York Times “only one of thousands (of child abuse cases) forwarded over decades by bishops to the Vatican office called the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, led from 1981 to 2005 by Cardinal Ratzinger.”

The Pope helped cover up the sexual molesting of children. Period. For the Pope and his cohorts to call themselves Christians is a disgrace and for the Pope to call himself the Vicar of Christ on Earth is beyond disgrace, it is criminal.

The millions of truly good and decent Catholics should make their voices heard and rid themselves of the Pope and all others involved in the perpetuation of the crimes against children and the cover up of the crimes. The Catholic Church deserves more respect than that. More importantly by far, so does Jesus.

__________________

These are bloodied skinless words, words pulsing live on the page, hearts beating. The white mug of coffee spinning slowly in cupped hand as eyes pensive watch the page, waiting. The next surge no doubt soon, and then, the cup stills and words jump forth. I read many words and spill many words and sometimes write but a few all the while hoping something emerges that will lean me back in the chair with a smiling sigh and sense, even momentarily, completion. Momentary only, because there are more words. Always more words.

Many years ago my friend Dane told me I was too patient with people. It was true then and it is true now. I plan on changing this. I am, for example, tired to death of those who proclaim friendship or, even worse, tell you that you can think of them as family and later turn out to be as steadfast as a reed in a windstorm. I am sick to death of getting betrayed. The Marines have a saying, When the going gets tough, the tough get going.  For the friend-family fly-by-nights another version is more applicable. When the going gets tough, the wimps flee.

Back to betrayal for a moment. In early 2008 several took runs at me and away from me when I refused to back off when people with disabilities were being denied their rights and when I uncovered the fact a contract employee with the state was misrepresenting his credentials. I remember talking to Brother Gregory Myles about those who both betrayed me and did all they could to plunge knives into my back. Brother Gregory is an extraordinary man. He  glows with integrity and strength and has a remarkable capacity to right-size a moment. When I told him about those who’d betrayed me he smiled and said, “Peter, people betrayed Jesus. What makes you think they won’t betray you?”  I smiled, nodded, and, with all my heart, thanked him.

As for those who still take runs at me, or send wounds via e-mail or voice mail, while I will surrender my sobriety for no one, not even you, cross the street when you see me coming, my words to you will be anything but complimentary.

Knowing there is not a dime to be had, not even enough to cover the monthly bills, or buy presents for others, Christmas around the corner, Mangus thinks, Better to pull the curtains and nest in my books and the remainder of coffee and keep still until this all passes.

Mangus shuffles from room to room like a toy with batteries fading he sees the soft of morning blue and the days first clouds and reminds himself they are there for him too. Like his books and music, the he is outside with his dogs now, their tails wagging, bundles of perpetual love. Not so bad he thinks as one washes his hands with his tongue. Mangus saying, Thank you, out loud, eyes filling up at the same time, moved by the animal’s kindness.

Looking at the dogs he thinks, sometimes you’re so poor you want to hide. He goes back inside.