Bring an umbrella and a chair...
Berkeley Springs West Virginia, one time home of George Washington
Originally posted here yesterday
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Sunday: Vietnam Vets event, Berkeley Springs WV, Concert
.
Bring an umbrella and a chair...
Berkeley Springs West Virginia, one time home of George Washington
Originally posted here yesterday
Bring an umbrella and a chair...
Berkeley Springs West Virginia, one time home of George Washington
Originally posted here yesterday
Saturday, September 3, 2011
My answer to everything
.
To SNAP, the Church, and all of us pedophile priest victims I say:
Song starts 56 seconds in...
To SNAP, the Church, and all of us pedophile priest victims I say:
Song starts 56 seconds in...
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
My lawsuit filed in Chicago Aug. 2, 2011
.
And I'm staying incognito right now.
2 women sue archdiocese for alleged sex abuse
By Manya A. Brachear, Tribune reporter
August 3, 2011
Two women filed separate lawsuits against the Chicago Archdiocese on Tuesday, alleging they were sexually abused in the 1950s by a priest at St. Peter Damian Catholic Church in Bartlett.
In the suit filed in Cook County Circuit Court, Patricia Vestey and Kathryn Joan Ebeling, both in their 60s, say they repressed memories of abuse at the hands of the Rev. Thomas Barry Horne for several decades. It wasn't until they learned that others had accused Horne of abuse that their recollections began to surface, the suit said. Horne retired in 1973 and has since died.
Frederic Nessler, the Springfield attorney representing both women, said the archdiocese refused to settle out of court...
*****
Read whole article: http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/ct-met-repressed-catholic-memories-20110803,0,990086.story
Even though it only tells a small part of the story...
***
Re Comments here http://www.dailyherald.com/article/20110804/news/708049981/ at another story about the lawsuits: Two comments sound like they are from a guy who has cyber stalked me since February 2010, and the rest are by people who just don't get how a sex crime committed against a child affects the victim right into adulthood and yes even sicty years later.
I look back today on a life that would have been totally different, without this experience...
And I'm staying incognito right now.
2 women sue archdiocese for alleged sex abuse
By Manya A. Brachear, Tribune reporter
August 3, 2011
Two women filed separate lawsuits against the Chicago Archdiocese on Tuesday, alleging they were sexually abused in the 1950s by a priest at St. Peter Damian Catholic Church in Bartlett.
In the suit filed in Cook County Circuit Court, Patricia Vestey and Kathryn Joan Ebeling, both in their 60s, say they repressed memories of abuse at the hands of the Rev. Thomas Barry Horne for several decades. It wasn't until they learned that others had accused Horne of abuse that their recollections began to surface, the suit said. Horne retired in 1973 and has since died.
Frederic Nessler, the Springfield attorney representing both women, said the archdiocese refused to settle out of court...
*****
Read whole article: http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/ct-met-repressed-catholic-memories-20110803,0,990086.story
Even though it only tells a small part of the story...
***
Re Comments here http://www.dailyherald.com/article/20110804/news/708049981/ at another story about the lawsuits: Two comments sound like they are from a guy who has cyber stalked me since February 2010, and the rest are by people who just don't get how a sex crime committed against a child affects the victim right into adulthood and yes even sicty years later.
I look back today on a life that would have been totally different, without this experience...
Monday, July 4, 2011
Dream July 4th that wakes me up at 2 AM so I write it down and post it
.
I'm accompanying (friend*) to a meeting with the archdiocese in a Beverly Hills, CA, office buioding. She’s going there for something to do with a pedophile priest lawsuit.
We get to this auditorium and sit in theater like seats with other people who are there to conduct other kinds of business with the archdiocese.
One of the known pedophile priests is in the auditorium wearing a janitor's uniform and carrying out work around the room, emptying trash cans, things like that. Behind me sit two women with a very Midwest middle class look to them, and soon the priest-janitor sits next to them. (His name in the dream is something like Michael Phelan.) He knows the two Midwestern women and I overhear their conversation.
The women are cooing to the janitor-priest, with very honoring tones in their voices, and my friend and I roll our eyes. Then in their conversation I overhear one Midwestern woman say, “So we'll meet you at two o'clock and all go to lunch and the movies together.”
I turn around and holler to them, “What's the matter with you, are you crazy?”
The two women bristle and Father Phelan in his blue janitor jacket kind of sinks down in his seat.
I scream at the women: “Do you know who this guy is? Do you know why he’s not a priest anymore?”
The two ladies shake their heads "no, we don'tn know" and I turn to the shrinking Father Phelan and holler louder: “You mean you didn't tell them!?!?!”
He shakes his head no so I turn to the two Midwestern ladies.
“He’s Father Michael Phelan, a pedophile priest from San Francisco, and the reason he’s not up there being a priest anymore is he raped- what was it Father? Fourteen little boys?”
Father Phelan nods, the two Midwestern ladies are shocked. Their body language says they don't want to go to lunch and the movies with the Father Phelan anymore, and I continue my tirade.
“The only reason Father Phelan is here now in this cushy job doing maintenance in a Beverly Hills office building is because the Mon-SEE-gnors arranged it.”
I say, “Monsignor” like the syllables are three separate words, with loud and drawn out emphasis on SEE, so it's “Mon-SEE-nyor” and while I'm saying the SEE part I take on a pansy frilly gay man queen tone to my voice, so it's Mon-SEE-nyor like a sneer, like all the anger and frustration and shock and rage I've been feeling now for about five years at these people is all summed into that one word. Indeed I wake up with a start soon after and I'm repeating over and over again in my head, “Mon-SEE-nyor” "Mon-SEE-nyor" in that same sarcastic tone. It's that word and all the rage when I say it that makes me feel I have to turn the light on and boot up the laptop to write this dream down, in my head I'm still hearing myself in all that rage saying, “Mon-SEE-nyor, mon-SEE-nyor.”
But that wasn’t the end of the dream.
I'm standing over Father Phelan. (I don't believe there is a father Phelan anywhere in the documents among the ten thousand or so American priests who’ve been credibly accused of raping children, but that's the name he had in the dream, sort of a generic pedophile priest.) As I stand over him, I'm like The Sea Witch in The Little Mermaid, now risen from my place at the bottom of the ocean and coming into full power, towering over Father Phelan raging at him.
“You didn't bother to tell them?"
He squeaks out the words, "Well by law I don't have to. The bishops took care of it."
I shout, "I don't care what the law says. Screw the law, these are real people here. From now on you have to tell them who you are and what you did. You don't make plans to go to lunch and a movie with innocent people not letting them know who you are and what you did.”
Father Phelan is now curled in a fetal position totally depleted because as I stand over him, my voice alone has the power to deflate him. In my hands I'm holding this golden thing, sort of like a Holy Grail, and I'm threatening to hit him over the head with it, just threatening enough for him to end up beneath me on the floor, shaking and frightened. I say again, “This is not about what you can get away with under the law. These are real human beings. You have to tell them who you are and what you did.”
Father Phelan shakes out, “Yes, I will.”
I leave with my friend and we're crossing the street to go get coffee. I'm wearing a business suit, about a size two, and tucking my hair into a hat, noticing in a mirror, "I look a bit like Faye Dunaway." And we laugh. (When I woke up I had this certainty that when I wrote down the dream I had to include that detail: I suddenly was in a size two business suit looking like a movie star.)
The dream continues. I'm writing notes in a little notebook, which makes me feel professional and competent again, like I'm doing what I should be doing, and I say to my friend, “Man, I can’t wait to write this whole story.”
She turns to me and says, No, I'm not sure I want you to write it now, and I'm thinking, oh no, not again, as I don't know how many times this happened when I was doing the blog. I'd be in the moddle of working on a story and the person I'm interviewing suddenly doesn't want to do the story anymore.
I say to her with the same determination I had when talking to Father Phelan (but not the expressed rage) and say, “What do you think I did all this research and got dressed in this suit to come down here with you just for the fun of it? We had an agreement, I was going to write your story, that's why I'm here.” She's still a little hesitant.
I say, “Look, no one will know it's you. I’ll change the names, dates, details, so no one will know it's you. But this story has got to be written.”
She agrees, but we don't seem to be friends anymore.
And that's the dream. I woke up thinking, I’ll have to write this down in the morning, but then realized by morning I’d probably forget the dream, so instead fired up the laptop and wrote it down.
Now posting it here at the blog because that's what I do.
City of Angels Blog is dark, or on hiatus, for a few more months, but don't be surprised if in 2012 we are up and running again.
*Friend in the dream looked a bit like the woman who drives me to the grocery store once a week from the local Senior Center. Not a survivor at all, not a friend either, just a generic person who showed up in a dream...
.
I'm accompanying (friend*) to a meeting with the archdiocese in a Beverly Hills, CA, office buioding. She’s going there for something to do with a pedophile priest lawsuit.
We get to this auditorium and sit in theater like seats with other people who are there to conduct other kinds of business with the archdiocese.
One of the known pedophile priests is in the auditorium wearing a janitor's uniform and carrying out work around the room, emptying trash cans, things like that. Behind me sit two women with a very Midwest middle class look to them, and soon the priest-janitor sits next to them. (His name in the dream is something like Michael Phelan.) He knows the two Midwestern women and I overhear their conversation.
The women are cooing to the janitor-priest, with very honoring tones in their voices, and my friend and I roll our eyes. Then in their conversation I overhear one Midwestern woman say, “So we'll meet you at two o'clock and all go to lunch and the movies together.”
I turn around and holler to them, “What's the matter with you, are you crazy?”
The two women bristle and Father Phelan in his blue janitor jacket kind of sinks down in his seat.
I scream at the women: “Do you know who this guy is? Do you know why he’s not a priest anymore?”
The two ladies shake their heads "no, we don'tn know" and I turn to the shrinking Father Phelan and holler louder: “You mean you didn't tell them!?!?!”
He shakes his head no so I turn to the two Midwestern ladies.
“He’s Father Michael Phelan, a pedophile priest from San Francisco, and the reason he’s not up there being a priest anymore is he raped- what was it Father? Fourteen little boys?”
Father Phelan nods, the two Midwestern ladies are shocked. Their body language says they don't want to go to lunch and the movies with the Father Phelan anymore, and I continue my tirade.
“The only reason Father Phelan is here now in this cushy job doing maintenance in a Beverly Hills office building is because the Mon-SEE-gnors arranged it.”
I say, “Monsignor” like the syllables are three separate words, with loud and drawn out emphasis on SEE, so it's “Mon-SEE-nyor” and while I'm saying the SEE part I take on a pansy frilly gay man queen tone to my voice, so it's Mon-SEE-nyor like a sneer, like all the anger and frustration and shock and rage I've been feeling now for about five years at these people is all summed into that one word. Indeed I wake up with a start soon after and I'm repeating over and over again in my head, “Mon-SEE-nyor” "Mon-SEE-nyor" in that same sarcastic tone. It's that word and all the rage when I say it that makes me feel I have to turn the light on and boot up the laptop to write this dream down, in my head I'm still hearing myself in all that rage saying, “Mon-SEE-nyor, mon-SEE-nyor.”
But that wasn’t the end of the dream.
I'm standing over Father Phelan. (I don't believe there is a father Phelan anywhere in the documents among the ten thousand or so American priests who’ve been credibly accused of raping children, but that's the name he had in the dream, sort of a generic pedophile priest.) As I stand over him, I'm like The Sea Witch in The Little Mermaid, now risen from my place at the bottom of the ocean and coming into full power, towering over Father Phelan raging at him.
“You didn't bother to tell them?"
He squeaks out the words, "Well by law I don't have to. The bishops took care of it."
I shout, "I don't care what the law says. Screw the law, these are real people here. From now on you have to tell them who you are and what you did. You don't make plans to go to lunch and a movie with innocent people not letting them know who you are and what you did.”
Father Phelan is now curled in a fetal position totally depleted because as I stand over him, my voice alone has the power to deflate him. In my hands I'm holding this golden thing, sort of like a Holy Grail, and I'm threatening to hit him over the head with it, just threatening enough for him to end up beneath me on the floor, shaking and frightened. I say again, “This is not about what you can get away with under the law. These are real human beings. You have to tell them who you are and what you did.”
Father Phelan shakes out, “Yes, I will.”
I leave with my friend and we're crossing the street to go get coffee. I'm wearing a business suit, about a size two, and tucking my hair into a hat, noticing in a mirror, "I look a bit like Faye Dunaway." And we laugh. (When I woke up I had this certainty that when I wrote down the dream I had to include that detail: I suddenly was in a size two business suit looking like a movie star.)
The dream continues. I'm writing notes in a little notebook, which makes me feel professional and competent again, like I'm doing what I should be doing, and I say to my friend, “Man, I can’t wait to write this whole story.”
She turns to me and says, No, I'm not sure I want you to write it now, and I'm thinking, oh no, not again, as I don't know how many times this happened when I was doing the blog. I'd be in the moddle of working on a story and the person I'm interviewing suddenly doesn't want to do the story anymore.
I say to her with the same determination I had when talking to Father Phelan (but not the expressed rage) and say, “What do you think I did all this research and got dressed in this suit to come down here with you just for the fun of it? We had an agreement, I was going to write your story, that's why I'm here.” She's still a little hesitant.
I say, “Look, no one will know it's you. I’ll change the names, dates, details, so no one will know it's you. But this story has got to be written.”
She agrees, but we don't seem to be friends anymore.
And that's the dream. I woke up thinking, I’ll have to write this down in the morning, but then realized by morning I’d probably forget the dream, so instead fired up the laptop and wrote it down.
Now posting it here at the blog because that's what I do.
City of Angels Blog is dark, or on hiatus, for a few more months, but don't be surprised if in 2012 we are up and running again.
*Friend in the dream looked a bit like the woman who drives me to the grocery store once a week from the local Senior Center. Not a survivor at all, not a friend either, just a generic person who showed up in a dream...
.
Monday, June 13, 2011
News Roundup while I Try To Revive
Sounds way too familiar to me:
(From: Texas woman claiming abuse as child by Parma Ohio, priest wants diocese to remove plaque story broke June 5, 2011)
Like mine, abuse that happened more than 50 years ago. There's more:
PARMA, Ohio -- A recent story about a 65-year-old woman who says she was sexually abused by a Catholic priest when she was a schoolgirl growing up in Parma has prompted other women to come forward with similar allegations against the priest.
Since the story appeared last week, four women who attended grade school at St. Charles in the 1950s and '60s have contacted the newspaper, saying they, too, were groped and kissed by Monaghan, who died in 1967 at age 85.
The diocese [said] the alleged abuses happened too long ago and that there was no proof ... Read entire story
************
Priest Sex-Abuse Case Hits Church of Pope's Adviser
(GENOA) — The latest sex-abuse case to rock the Catholic Church is unfolding in the archdiocese of an influential Italian Cardinal who has been working with Pope Benedict XVI on reforms to respond to prior scandals of pedophile priests. Father Riccardo Seppia, a 51-year-old parish priest in the village of Sastri Ponente, near Genoa, was arrested Friday, May 13, 2011, on pedophilia and drug charges. Investigators say that in tapped mobile-phone conversations, Seppia asked a Moroccan drug dealer to arrange sexual encounters with young and vulnerable boys. "I do not want 16-year-old boys but younger. Fourteen-year-olds are O.K. Look for needy boys who have family issues," he allegedly said. Genoa Archbishop Angelo Bagnasco, who is the head of the Italian Bishops Conference, had been working with Benedict to establish a tough new worldwide policy, released this week, on how bishops should handle accusations of priestly sex abuse.
Read more: http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,2072613,00.html#ixzz1PBG6ywLt
grrrr
Oh well, it's getting better; last week I couldn't even open a news story...
.
(From: Texas woman claiming abuse as child by Parma Ohio, priest wants diocese to remove plaque story broke June 5, 2011)
She also asked that the diocese actively seek out other possible victims of Monaghan and offer them counseling. She said the diocese refused all three requests. The nun said to me, 'That would scandalize the parish,'" said Johnson. "They told me, 'We cannot verify your story so it would be wrong to do this to his name.'"
A December 2008 letter to Johnson from the Rev. Lawrence Jurcak, then the diocese's Secretary and Vicar for Clergy and Religious, reads: "We cannot meet all of your requests.
"I trust that you can appreciate the difficulties that we face with an allegation of abuse that occurred more than fifty years ago, and where the accused died more than forty years ago . . . Please know that you continue to be in our prayers."
Like mine, abuse that happened more than 50 years ago. There's more:
PARMA, Ohio -- A recent story about a 65-year-old woman who says she was sexually abused by a Catholic priest when she was a schoolgirl growing up in Parma has prompted other women to come forward with similar allegations against the priest.
Since the story appeared last week, four women who attended grade school at St. Charles in the 1950s and '60s have contacted the newspaper, saying they, too, were groped and kissed by Monaghan, who died in 1967 at age 85.
The diocese [said] the alleged abuses happened too long ago and that there was no proof ... Read entire story
************
Priest Sex-Abuse Case Hits Church of Pope's Adviser
(GENOA) — The latest sex-abuse case to rock the Catholic Church is unfolding in the archdiocese of an influential Italian Cardinal who has been working with Pope Benedict XVI on reforms to respond to prior scandals of pedophile priests. Father Riccardo Seppia, a 51-year-old parish priest in the village of Sastri Ponente, near Genoa, was arrested Friday, May 13, 2011, on pedophilia and drug charges. Investigators say that in tapped mobile-phone conversations, Seppia asked a Moroccan drug dealer to arrange sexual encounters with young and vulnerable boys. "I do not want 16-year-old boys but younger. Fourteen-year-olds are O.K. Look for needy boys who have family issues," he allegedly said. Genoa Archbishop Angelo Bagnasco, who is the head of the Italian Bishops Conference, had been working with Benedict to establish a tough new worldwide policy, released this week, on how bishops should handle accusations of priestly sex abuse.
Read more: http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,2072613,00.html#ixzz1PBG6ywLt
grrrr
Oh well, it's getting better; last week I couldn't even open a news story...
.
Monday, June 6, 2011
What happened to City of Angels Blog
.
Every time I open a Google news alert on the subject, I get physically sick, like I can't read another story on the subject of pedophile priests. This post might explain what happened, describing a dream that I had on May 19th. It seems to be the last thing I have in me to write about the scandal:
Tsunami Dream explains what happened to City of Angels Blog
.
I almost didn't survive. I knew I was putting myself in danger but it was my job. I’d known in advance that the wave was going to hit, from reading the news, from paying attention. But still I went to my job that day, in a building right down by the beachfront. In the minutes before the wave hit, I was running around the house trying to find my stuff- my backpack, my bags- and I’d find one thing then lose it while I was looking for the other. Out the window the wave got closer. Others in the house (it was an Afro American family) were going, cool, look at that wave, and I was trying to get out of there, but I couldn't get out, so became resigned, thinking I was going to die there.
Then to rescue me a ride came through, literally a ride, like a theme park ride, and I jumped on, and the ride kept taking me higher and higher up the hill, so we'd escape just as the wave was hitting, wiping out everything below us. Just as the ride was about to go back down the hill, I jumped off, onto this structure with hallways and coves and stairways. I took a stairway and went higher and higher and it seemed that just as the wave hit just below me, I’d always find another way to get higher.
I realized there was a power, a spiritual presence, angels, something rescuing me, steering me always to a safer higher place.
There were other people climbing the structure, but as the waves kept hitting, fewer of us would make it to higher places, until finally it seemed to be over. At one point I was riding in a boat, a motor boat, we realized and were grateful as we started the engine. We saw ducks and huge sea creatures, and were grateful knowing we would be able to find food.
In another stopping-off point I was given a camera, a complicated thing with a long telephoto lens. I took pictures right away, capturing images of people finding ways to survive, but then more waves hit and I had to drop the camera and keep climbing higher.
Finally at the top, we realized that the few of us that were left were now on what was like a new shoreline. I was walking barehanded, wearing what I was left with, grateful to have what I had.
Altar Boys go a Different Direction
At one stopping off point on another ride climbing to the top, there were all these young boys, and I didn't want to end up there with them, so I got off and took a detour. I knew later that the boys had all survived also, but I was glad that I didn't have to spend the survival time, recovery time, rebuilding time, with all those young boys, and I got a sense they were altar boys…
Instead I ended up all alone, at the top of the structure, walking and walking with the few people that were left, also walking. I wasn’t communicating with anyone yet, but knew I would be later. I was just walking, almost like floating, dazed, looking out at this lush new ocean, our new beachfront land, walking like a survivor following Jesus through the Middle East as he preached in the days before he died...
I was wearing this dress that was loose and straight like the shift I got in Thai town in L.A. that I now wear when I'm sleeping. Then I heard noises and woke up here in the fourth floor room where I'm staying one last night before moving into an apartment two flights down in the back of this building.
Realized that ride from one place to here in the dream was like the ride I got here from Albuquerque; realized as I re-set up homemaking now here in this new place, I've survived something, and there has been a spiritual power that's carried me and kept me alive all this time.
City of Angels Blog is over
Realized the dream was telling me I survived the pedophile priest information wave, now it's time to start rebuilding. Realized that in the dream, the area full of young boys that I didn't want to be around was like the time I've spent with priest rape survivors and it's over now, I can let it go and move on to the next thing. Realized even the camera I had for a while in the dream that was beyond my ability, was like trying to keep up with this whole story on the blog, beyond my ability, so it was okay to let it go and start over something new cleaned out with almost nothing.
Just like here in this new place, in real life, I just have a few things with me.
Awake now, I got up and walked in my Thai nightgown into the bathroom in the same floating dazed manner in which I was walking at the end of the dream. Looked out the window at the new town I've landed in without knowing anyone here or why I landed here, I'm just here, and realized I am a survivor, I'm going to keep going, and it's all fine. I have been “carried” in a way, by a spiritual power, to this point and I made it.
I survived.
*******
Now I can empty out, and fill up with something new.
So long
.
Every time I open a Google news alert on the subject, I get physically sick, like I can't read another story on the subject of pedophile priests. This post might explain what happened, describing a dream that I had on May 19th. It seems to be the last thing I have in me to write about the scandal:
Tsunami Dream explains what happened to City of Angels Blog
.
I almost didn't survive. I knew I was putting myself in danger but it was my job. I’d known in advance that the wave was going to hit, from reading the news, from paying attention. But still I went to my job that day, in a building right down by the beachfront. In the minutes before the wave hit, I was running around the house trying to find my stuff- my backpack, my bags- and I’d find one thing then lose it while I was looking for the other. Out the window the wave got closer. Others in the house (it was an Afro American family) were going, cool, look at that wave, and I was trying to get out of there, but I couldn't get out, so became resigned, thinking I was going to die there.
Then to rescue me a ride came through, literally a ride, like a theme park ride, and I jumped on, and the ride kept taking me higher and higher up the hill, so we'd escape just as the wave was hitting, wiping out everything below us. Just as the ride was about to go back down the hill, I jumped off, onto this structure with hallways and coves and stairways. I took a stairway and went higher and higher and it seemed that just as the wave hit just below me, I’d always find another way to get higher.
I realized there was a power, a spiritual presence, angels, something rescuing me, steering me always to a safer higher place.
There were other people climbing the structure, but as the waves kept hitting, fewer of us would make it to higher places, until finally it seemed to be over. At one point I was riding in a boat, a motor boat, we realized and were grateful as we started the engine. We saw ducks and huge sea creatures, and were grateful knowing we would be able to find food.
In another stopping-off point I was given a camera, a complicated thing with a long telephoto lens. I took pictures right away, capturing images of people finding ways to survive, but then more waves hit and I had to drop the camera and keep climbing higher.
Finally at the top, we realized that the few of us that were left were now on what was like a new shoreline. I was walking barehanded, wearing what I was left with, grateful to have what I had.
Altar Boys go a Different Direction
At one stopping off point on another ride climbing to the top, there were all these young boys, and I didn't want to end up there with them, so I got off and took a detour. I knew later that the boys had all survived also, but I was glad that I didn't have to spend the survival time, recovery time, rebuilding time, with all those young boys, and I got a sense they were altar boys…
Instead I ended up all alone, at the top of the structure, walking and walking with the few people that were left, also walking. I wasn’t communicating with anyone yet, but knew I would be later. I was just walking, almost like floating, dazed, looking out at this lush new ocean, our new beachfront land, walking like a survivor following Jesus through the Middle East as he preached in the days before he died...
I was wearing this dress that was loose and straight like the shift I got in Thai town in L.A. that I now wear when I'm sleeping. Then I heard noises and woke up here in the fourth floor room where I'm staying one last night before moving into an apartment two flights down in the back of this building.
Realized that ride from one place to here in the dream was like the ride I got here from Albuquerque; realized as I re-set up homemaking now here in this new place, I've survived something, and there has been a spiritual power that's carried me and kept me alive all this time.
City of Angels Blog is over
Realized the dream was telling me I survived the pedophile priest information wave, now it's time to start rebuilding. Realized that in the dream, the area full of young boys that I didn't want to be around was like the time I've spent with priest rape survivors and it's over now, I can let it go and move on to the next thing. Realized even the camera I had for a while in the dream that was beyond my ability, was like trying to keep up with this whole story on the blog, beyond my ability, so it was okay to let it go and start over something new cleaned out with almost nothing.
Just like here in this new place, in real life, I just have a few things with me.
Awake now, I got up and walked in my Thai nightgown into the bathroom in the same floating dazed manner in which I was walking at the end of the dream. Looked out the window at the new town I've landed in without knowing anyone here or why I landed here, I'm just here, and realized I am a survivor, I'm going to keep going, and it's all fine. I have been “carried” in a way, by a spiritual power, to this point and I made it.
I survived.
*******
Now I can empty out, and fill up with something new.
So long
.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Video: Colbert illuminates John Jay Report on pedophile priest scandal in Catholic Church
.
“This is not a moral failing by the leadership of the church, it's simply a training issue. Like the new guy putting the wrong type of paper in the photocopier, except it's not paper and it wasn’t a photocopier.”
Video clip from Colbert Report May 19, 2011:
"There is good news," says Stephen Colbert, "the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops has released the results of an exhaustive $1.8 million dollar study examining the root causes of this tragic abuse of trust.
"I'm relieved to report that they have found the courage to place the blame where it belongs, on free love in the 1960s.”
The sexual abuse scandal, “this horrible horrible shameful chapter,” says Colbert on The Colbert Report on Comedy Central:
“Was caused by the damn hippies.”
Watch also on YouTube at City of Angels Network
Video is screen shot by Kay Ebeling,
Producer, City of Angels Blog
Desperately in need of PayPal "High Five" clicks
...
POST NOTE:
Marci Hamilton says the John Jay Report is a "breakthrough in explaining how an institution that started with Jesus Christ could become the global leader in child endangerment."
Read Hamilton's column Challenging the John Jay Report
"A law professor and victim advocate on blaming the Sixties for child sex abuse"
(Send your links to kay at cityofangelslady@yahoo.com )
.
“This is not a moral failing by the leadership of the church, it's simply a training issue. Like the new guy putting the wrong type of paper in the photocopier, except it's not paper and it wasn’t a photocopier.”
Video clip from Colbert Report May 19, 2011:
"There is good news," says Stephen Colbert, "the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops has released the results of an exhaustive $1.8 million dollar study examining the root causes of this tragic abuse of trust.
"I'm relieved to report that they have found the courage to place the blame where it belongs, on free love in the 1960s.”
The sexual abuse scandal, “this horrible horrible shameful chapter,” says Colbert on The Colbert Report on Comedy Central:
“Was caused by the damn hippies.”
Watch also on YouTube at City of Angels Network
Video is screen shot by Kay Ebeling,
Producer, City of Angels Blog
Desperately in need of PayPal "High Five" clicks
...
POST NOTE:
Marci Hamilton says the John Jay Report is a "breakthrough in explaining how an institution that started with Jesus Christ could become the global leader in child endangerment."
Read Hamilton's column Challenging the John Jay Report
"A law professor and victim advocate on blaming the Sixties for child sex abuse"
(Send your links to kay at cityofangelslady@yahoo.com )
.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Tsunami Dream explains what happened to City of Angels Blog
.
I almost didn't survive. I knew I was putting myself in danger but it was my job. I’d known in advance that the wave was going to hit, from reading the news, from paying attention. But still I went to my job that day, in a building right down by the beachfront. In the minutes before the wave hit, I was running around the house trying to find my stuff- my backpack, my bags- and I’d find one thing then lose it while I was looking for the other. Out the window the wave got closer. Others in the house (it was an Afro American family) were going, cool, look at that wave, and I was trying to get out of there, but I couldn't get out, so became resigned, thinking I was going to die there.
Then to rescue me a ride came through, literally a ride, like a theme park ride, and I jumped on, and the ride kept taking me higher and higher up the hill, so we'd escape just as the wave was hitting, wiping out everything below us. Just as the ride was about to go back down the hill, I jumped off, onto this structure with hallways and coves and stairways. I took a stairway and went higher and higher and it seemed that just as the wave hit just below me, I’d always find another way to get higher.
I realized there was a power, a spiritual presence, angels, something rescuing me, steering me always to a safer higher place.
There were other people climbing the structure, but as the waves kept hitting, fewer of us would make it to higher places, until finally it seemed to be over. At one point I was riding in a boat, a motor boat, we realized and were grateful as we started the engine. We saw ducks and huge sea creatures, and were grateful knowing we would be able to find food.
In another stopping-off point I was given a camera, a complicated thing with a long telephoto lens. I took pictures right away, capturing images of people finding ways to survive, but then more waves hit and I had to drop the camera and keep climbing higher.
Finally at the top, we realized that the few of us that were left were now on what was like a new shoreline. I was walking barehanded, wearing what I was left with, grateful to have what I had.
Altar Boys go a Different Direction
At one stopping off point on another ride climbing to the top, there were all these young boys, and I didn't want to end up there with them, so I got off and took a detour. I knew later that the boys had all survived also, but I was glad that I didn't have to spend the survival time, recovery time, rebuilding time, with all those young boys, and I got a sense they were altar boys…
Instead I ended up all alone, at the top of the structure, walking and walking with the few people that were left, also walking. I wasn’t communicating with anyone yet, but knew I would be later. I was just walking, almost like floating, dazed, looking out at this lush new ocean, our new beachfront land, walking like a survivor following Jesus through the Middle East as he preached in the days before he died...
I was wearing this dress that was loose and straight like the shift I got in Thai town in L.A. that I now wear when I'm sleeping. Then I heard noises and woke up here in the fourth floor room where I'm staying one last night before moving into an apartment two flights downs in the back of this building.
Realized that ride from one place to here in the dream was like the ride I got here from Albuquerque; realized as I re-set up homemaking now here in this new place, I've survived something, and there has been a spiritual power that's carried me and kept me alive all this time.
City of Angels Blog is over
Realized the dream was telling me I survived the pedophile priest information wave, now it's time to start rebuilding. Realized that in the dream, the area full of young boys that I didn't want to be around was like the time I've spent with priest rape survivors and it's over now, I can let it go and move on to the next thing. Realized even the camera I had for a while in the dream that was beyond my ability, was like trying to keep up with this whole story on the blog, beyond my ability, so it was okay to let it go and start over something new cleaned out with almost nothing.
Just like here in this new place, in real life, I just have a few things with me.
Awake now, I got up and walked in my Thai nightgown into the bathroom in the same floating dazed manner in which I was walking at the end of the dream. Looked out the window at the new town I've landed in without knowing anyone here or why I landed here, I'm just here, and realized I am a survivor, I'm going to keep going, and it's all fine. I have been “carried” in a way, by a spiritual power, to this point and I made it.
I survived.
.
I almost didn't survive. I knew I was putting myself in danger but it was my job. I’d known in advance that the wave was going to hit, from reading the news, from paying attention. But still I went to my job that day, in a building right down by the beachfront. In the minutes before the wave hit, I was running around the house trying to find my stuff- my backpack, my bags- and I’d find one thing then lose it while I was looking for the other. Out the window the wave got closer. Others in the house (it was an Afro American family) were going, cool, look at that wave, and I was trying to get out of there, but I couldn't get out, so became resigned, thinking I was going to die there.
Then to rescue me a ride came through, literally a ride, like a theme park ride, and I jumped on, and the ride kept taking me higher and higher up the hill, so we'd escape just as the wave was hitting, wiping out everything below us. Just as the ride was about to go back down the hill, I jumped off, onto this structure with hallways and coves and stairways. I took a stairway and went higher and higher and it seemed that just as the wave hit just below me, I’d always find another way to get higher.
I realized there was a power, a spiritual presence, angels, something rescuing me, steering me always to a safer higher place.
There were other people climbing the structure, but as the waves kept hitting, fewer of us would make it to higher places, until finally it seemed to be over. At one point I was riding in a boat, a motor boat, we realized and were grateful as we started the engine. We saw ducks and huge sea creatures, and were grateful knowing we would be able to find food.
In another stopping-off point I was given a camera, a complicated thing with a long telephoto lens. I took pictures right away, capturing images of people finding ways to survive, but then more waves hit and I had to drop the camera and keep climbing higher.
Finally at the top, we realized that the few of us that were left were now on what was like a new shoreline. I was walking barehanded, wearing what I was left with, grateful to have what I had.
Altar Boys go a Different Direction
At one stopping off point on another ride climbing to the top, there were all these young boys, and I didn't want to end up there with them, so I got off and took a detour. I knew later that the boys had all survived also, but I was glad that I didn't have to spend the survival time, recovery time, rebuilding time, with all those young boys, and I got a sense they were altar boys…
Instead I ended up all alone, at the top of the structure, walking and walking with the few people that were left, also walking. I wasn’t communicating with anyone yet, but knew I would be later. I was just walking, almost like floating, dazed, looking out at this lush new ocean, our new beachfront land, walking like a survivor following Jesus through the Middle East as he preached in the days before he died...
I was wearing this dress that was loose and straight like the shift I got in Thai town in L.A. that I now wear when I'm sleeping. Then I heard noises and woke up here in the fourth floor room where I'm staying one last night before moving into an apartment two flights downs in the back of this building.
Realized that ride from one place to here in the dream was like the ride I got here from Albuquerque; realized as I re-set up homemaking now here in this new place, I've survived something, and there has been a spiritual power that's carried me and kept me alive all this time.
City of Angels Blog is over
Realized the dream was telling me I survived the pedophile priest information wave, now it's time to start rebuilding. Realized that in the dream, the area full of young boys that I didn't want to be around was like the time I've spent with priest rape survivors and it's over now, I can let it go and move on to the next thing. Realized even the camera I had for a while in the dream that was beyond my ability, was like trying to keep up with this whole story on the blog, beyond my ability, so it was okay to let it go and start over something new cleaned out with almost nothing.
Just like here in this new place, in real life, I just have a few things with me.
Awake now, I got up and walked in my Thai nightgown into the bathroom in the same floating dazed manner in which I was walking at the end of the dream. Looked out the window at the new town I've landed in without knowing anyone here or why I landed here, I'm just here, and realized I am a survivor, I'm going to keep going, and it's all fine. I have been “carried” in a way, by a spiritual power, to this point and I made it.
I survived.
.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Down through June, at least
.
City of Angels Blog is going to be dark, as in not publishing, for personal reasons, until around the end of June, at least that is the plan for now. Meanwhile, I invite you to go to the link on the left where it says Roots and read the posts dating back to January 2007, to see the work we did here over the last four-plus years.
See ya all soon-
-kay ebeling
City of Angels Blog is going to be dark, as in not publishing, for personal reasons, until around the end of June, at least that is the plan for now. Meanwhile, I invite you to go to the link on the left where it says Roots and read the posts dating back to January 2007, to see the work we did here over the last four-plus years.
See ya all soon-
-kay ebeling
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Dream about archbishop and lawyers that woke me up at 3AM just now
.
Dream
I'm in an office building garage, go to the car, see my daughter Lizzie is sitting in the front seat with a cellphone in her ear.
I say, why aren't you in school? You've missed first period.
She indicates the person talking to her on the phone has convinced her not to go to school. In fact the person on the phone is destroying her self esteem, saying something in her ear that is draining the verve out of her, making her feel like she has no value at all.
Then an investigator from Kiesel Boucher’s office in L.A. contacts me and plays me a tape of that phone conversation. It's “Newt Gingrich” who everyone knows is “the assistant to Cardinal Francis George.” Gingrich is the one filling my daughter’s head with garbage so now she doesn't want to go to school anymore.
I contact my lawyer, who I’d just seen at church that morning, and tell him what's been going on and he says don’t worry, I'm working on it, but I can’t stop crying. Because now Lizzie has disappeared. She’s out there somewhere, doing sex industry work or something worse, and it's all because this guy who works for the Cardinal has been putting negative ideas in her head over the phone. I want to find Lizzie to explain that to her.
We're all in this big office building, my lawyer’s office is right next door to the archbishop. The archbishop is in his office with a door opened, his assistant standing with him, she looks like that woman who was a Salesians religious order attorney whose picture I drew and posted on this blog when I was in L.A. I walk in and I say to Francis George, “You fucked with my life, you fuck.” He is disturbed at my choice of language.
I'm crying and crying in the dream, like Jackie Kennedy this person of drama and sadness going through trauma while people are watching me.
****
Just went to post this dream on teh blog but only just posted it as a saved draft, as my lawyer told me to stop bloggin. When it's okay to blog again, I'll post it and it will have the time stamp of today 3:30 or so AM
Dream
I'm in an office building garage, go to the car, see my daughter Lizzie is sitting in the front seat with a cellphone in her ear.
I say, why aren't you in school? You've missed first period.
She indicates the person talking to her on the phone has convinced her not to go to school. In fact the person on the phone is destroying her self esteem, saying something in her ear that is draining the verve out of her, making her feel like she has no value at all.
Then an investigator from Kiesel Boucher’s office in L.A. contacts me and plays me a tape of that phone conversation. It's “Newt Gingrich” who everyone knows is “the assistant to Cardinal Francis George.” Gingrich is the one filling my daughter’s head with garbage so now she doesn't want to go to school anymore.
I contact my lawyer, who I’d just seen at church that morning, and tell him what's been going on and he says don’t worry, I'm working on it, but I can’t stop crying. Because now Lizzie has disappeared. She’s out there somewhere, doing sex industry work or something worse, and it's all because this guy who works for the Cardinal has been putting negative ideas in her head over the phone. I want to find Lizzie to explain that to her.
We're all in this big office building, my lawyer’s office is right next door to the archbishop. The archbishop is in his office with a door opened, his assistant standing with him, she looks like that woman who was a Salesians religious order attorney whose picture I drew and posted on this blog when I was in L.A. I walk in and I say to Francis George, “You fucked with my life, you fuck.” He is disturbed at my choice of language.
I'm crying and crying in the dream, like Jackie Kennedy this person of drama and sadness going through trauma while people are watching me.
****
Just went to post this dream on teh blog but only just posted it as a saved draft, as my lawyer told me to stop bloggin. When it's okay to blog again, I'll post it and it will have the time stamp of today 3:30 or so AM
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
