RANTS AND RAVES: THE CATHOLIC CHURCH
I wrote this article in anger and despair, then decided not to publish it. But only today this article appeared in the Washington Post.
Here is another article which should sicken everyone, especially a parent.
How could my piece possibly relate to writing? Easy, it is life. And even when writing fiction, the roots of reality take hold and form the story.
I was raised a Catholic, my children were raised in the church, but I no longer attend mass. I was frustrated, then sickened as I sat on Sunday morning listening to discussions I could not challenge. Being told statements that were not true, or not researched. Making no sense to what I knew to be the truth.
I once found comfort in the presence of the church. The physical building offered peace. Even the smell of the church, in quiet moments of solitude, I found solace. Now, I question this source of salvation I once held dear. Wondering where the truth ends and the lies begin.
My faltering began with the first exposure of child abuse in this area of Pennsylvania, by priests. I could not wrap my mind around such an announcement. I realized that I was expected to confess my sins to someone, who potentially, had committed acts worse than I could imagine. When the Philadelphia Inquirer published their first article about these unspeakable acts by priests from the pulpit we were told not to read the article. As it turns out, this heinous crime was being committed by thousands of priest all over the country, then revealed that this practice was committed by priests all over the world.
I know that if I had committed these acts, I would have been jailed. When released put on Megan’s List, and my life ruined. Yet when the holy commit these crimes, they are transferred to a new parish where they could continue these unholy acts.
During one mass after the revelation of these crimes, I listened to the celebrant tell us that pedophilia was a disease. I would say a disease that should have been dealt with before too many innocent lives were ruined. In reply, I would ask this question, “Does the church consider homosexuality a disease?” For most of these acts come under that definition. Now every time the church I once attended plants small white crosses in the soil representing the thousands of children aborted, I wish they would also plant little black crosses to represent the thousands of children, living children, whose lives have been damaged by those they pictured as the holiest of holy.
I am sickened by an institution I once held dear. I did not write this article gain attention, but rather, to explore a past my life once held important, but now causes nothing but confusion.
A FRIEND GONE, SALLY
A companion, living most of the past months on my lap, Sally is gone. I have mentioned her in this blog before.
Originally my daughter Lynn’s cat, an SPCA rescue, but as education and work took Lynn to other locations, Sally stayed behind
At the age of nearly 16 her kidney failure overpowered her. She left this world on March 8, 2016, barely able to stand. I had to make the final decision. She had bounced back numerous times in the past, but this time was different. There was no bouncing back.
I never thought I would be become a ‘cat person’, but I did become a ‘Sally person’. We shared many nights together on my recliner, and many mornings when her hunger wanted me awake. I miss her. She won my heart, and I will always remember her.
THE GIVER BY LOIS LOWRY: AN OPINION FAR FROM THE USUAL
The other day I was getting my seasonal haircut, when I began discussing books with my barber and authors she enjoyed. During our conversation she mentioned The Giver. I have read this book and the books concept remains a sore point for me. I found it lacking in belief, even for fiction.
I know who am I, a totally unknown writer, and who am I to detract from a classic, but here it goes.
I had no problem with most of the story until the fact was revealed in the warped world of The Giver, all you needed to do is cross a bridge over a river and enter the world of normality. Salvation was just on the other side of this bridge, yet no one dared cross it. I find that unexplainable. Perhaps my readers can tell me how my thinking is wrong. My barber said they did not cross the bridge because they had been brainwashed. I feel it should have taken a lobotomy.
I shall now boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone.
I shall suggest an alternate ending to the novel. I would have preferred to see the novel take this turn. On the other side of the bridge there exists a sinister forest constantly cloaked in darkness. In this forest reside malevolent beasts, some part human, who kill and devour all foreign life they find. The journey through this forest would be dangerous beyond belief, but I feel some barrier must exist for the souls inhabiting the land of the Giver, to overcome.
Beyond this forest is another bridge over another river which these monsters of the forest dare not cross. Beyond this bridge lies a normal society. Those who risk the forest will find a fulfilled life.
That’s how I would have ended the story.
Comments?
THE BIG BANG: THE MEETING OF GOD AND SCIENCE
have spent countless hours pondering the Big Bang.
I write science fiction and have for years been working on a short story, The Event, closely associated with the Big Bang. Someday I hope to get it published.
Now, back to the primary subject.
I am not a Hawking, no one is, but I am still in wonder of what the hell happened at the moment of the birth of the universe. Was this the first time this event happened?
Hawking proposed the Higgs boson as the culprit starting the process of the Big Bang. The existence of this particle has now been confirmed. This discovery is also referred to as the ‘God particle’. There I feel science has found the mingling of science and God.
I have always wondered what existed before the Big Bang. Even time should not have existed. Then the entire birth of everything began. I thought that matter could be neither created nor destroyed, getting that from somewhere.
If the Higgs boson started the Big Bang going, how did it produce matter from nothing?
Who created the Higgs boson?
THE GIVER BY LOIS LOWRY: AN OPINION FAR FROM THE USUAL
The other day I was getting my seasonal haircut, when I began discussing books with my barber and authors she enjoyed. During our conversation she mentioned The Giver. I have read this book and the books concept remains a sore point for me. I found it lacking in belief, even for fiction.
I know who am I, a totally unknown writer, and who am I to detract from a classic, but here it goes.
I had no problem with most of the story until the fact was revealed in the warped world of The Giver, all you needed to do is cross a bridge over a river and enter the world of normality. Salvation was just on the other side of this bridge, yet no one dared cross it. I find that unexplainable. Perhaps my readers can tell me how my thinking is wrong. My barber said they did not cross the bridge because they had been brainwashed. I feel it should have taken a lobotomy.
I shall now boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone.
I shall suggest an alternate ending to the novel. I would have preferred to see the novel take this turn. On the other side of the bridge there exists a sinister forest constantly cloaked in darkness. In this forest reside malevolent beasts, some part human, who kill and devour all foreign life they find. The journey through this forest would be dangerous beyond belief, but I feel some barrier must exist for the souls inhabiting the land of the Giver, to overcome.
Beyond this forest is another bridge over another river which these monsters of the forest dare not cross. Beyond this bridge lies a normal society. Those who risk the forest will find a fulfilled life.
That’s how I would have ended the story.
Comments?
HARUKI MURAKAMI: HIS EARLY EFFORTS
This Japanese author writes the type of story I love to read. His tales describe a mundane Japanese life, but include an element of fantasy and unreality.
I have read a great deal of his work, beginning with Kafka on the Shore, then journeying into his beyond and past works; a career with efforts I have never found disappointing. Wind/Pinball were his first attempt at writing. If only I could have reached this level in my first attempt, or for that matter my last. I feel there is something that exists in writing which defies explanation. These stories are a prime example.
Please read this work. For if you are a first-time Murakami reader you will become addicted to his style. If you are already an addict to his work, you will see the beginning of a voice destined for greatness.
POEMS & FLEETING THOUGHTS: HANDS
I gaze at my hands,
Withered, once firm,
Remembering what
They have done,
And wonder
At their future.
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