We are making great strides towards health here today and Mr. Moon is actually on his way to Publix to pick up a few items and I won't even tell you what was on that list I gave him except to relate part of a conversation we had about it which went like this:
Him: Do you want yellow or chocolate? I want fluffy icing.
Me: You just pick out whatever sort of cake you want.
We're at that place where we're hungry but nothing sounds good (with the possible exception of cake) and the idea of cooking makes me want to cry a little.
So I watched most of a documentary about the Catholic Church sexual abuse problem (problem! Haha!) called "Mea Maxima Culpa, Silence In The House Of God" because I'd already seen the episodes of Shahs of Sunset which Bravo was offering.
I have one thing to say.
The Catholic Church needs to be destroyed.
I mean, really. That's the only humane, Christian thing to do if you ask me. Not just because they've been covering up the sexual abuse of children by priests for thousands of years but because it is a twisted, fucked-up, sucker of money from the poor all over the world. That and oh, you know, the way they discriminate against women and refuse to admit that condoms save lives and so forth.
I cannot believe that anyone takes those gowned and capped old white men seriously, much less believes for one second that they are holy and that the most ornately gowned and capped old white man of them all has the capability to tell us humans what GOD wants us to know.
What fucking crap.
Here's the trailer of the film.
Pretty powerful. But you know, as the film points out, the Catholic Church is the most powerful organization on earth. So I have little hope for any sort of real justice for any of its victims, whether they be women in third world countries who die in childbirth with their tenth child in nine years or whether they are adults who will never, ever be right in their hearts, their minds or bodies because of being sexually abused.
Okay. That's my rant for the day.
It's been a quiet, laid-back and laying-down sort of day in Lloyd, Florida. It rained on and off all day and I've never seen as many birds at the feeder as we've had lately. We found Miss Baby's latest secret cache of eggs in an old flower pot in the pump house and there are now a dozen beautiful, small, pale ivory eggs in the refrigerator. She'll probably find a new place to lay now that we've taken these. She is such a wild thing, that little hen.
We are in less pain today, we are recovering. The viral illness has done its work in our bodies and soon, its presence here will be just a bad memory. Okay, maybe a memory worthy of a little PTSD but still- we'll get over it.
But some things no one can ever recover from. Not entirely.
And I thought about that today, as I watched that film, as the horror of the sickness of the Catholic Church was documented before my eyes. But I will say this- every one of the incredibly brave victims who are still alive and who come forward to face their abusers (which, believe me, is one of the hardest things in the world to do- I was never able to directly do it), are helping to perhaps, maybe, possibly, make it impossible for this sickness to stay hidden, for those who cover-up to retain any sort of comfort in their roles as enablers.
One can only hope.
And, I guess pray. If one does that which I do not. Because believe me- it's not JUST the Catholic Church where the power of the pulpit allows for such hideous abuse.
Within any religion wherein the power is centered on a few, there is bound to be misuse of that power and it is always the most innocent who are harmed.
Which is why I worship trees and babies and oceans and stuff. Or, well, really like them and get my spiritual needs fulfilled by them.
Be well, y'all.
P.S. My abuser was not a priest but a stepfather. Which is incredibly common. And I think about the fact that priests are addressed as "Father" and I shudder.