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13.6.10

COURAGE IN THE FACE OF ABUSE!

This is an old post from April 2009.  But it led to some correspondence with Mona Villarrubia and, with her permission, I reproduce our correspondence here.  Firstly to underline that the abuse of children by Catholic priests is only too real and secondly to show that, everywhere there is evidence of courage and dignity among those who have survived such abuse.  There have been comments on this blog that I am disrespectful to the church and the pope.  So please let me set the record straight:  I know and have personally met a number of great and spiritual souls who find a home within the Catholic Church both priests, nuns and brothers.  A nun has been one of my greatest friends.  However they are highly spiritually evolved people, not because of the Church but rather in spite of it.  I consider the church and its present pope to be completely pro-establishment and committed to what appear to be traditional and outmoded hierarchical models of governance, religous division (look at how Benedict is seen to be cashing in on the woman-priest debate in the Anglican communion), anti-feminist or even woman-hating in outlook and anything but a refuge and a champion of the poor.  In addition there is much evidence about the protection of paedophile priests and in some cases they have been transferred between areas thus ensuring their abuse continued.  


If you are affected by anything in this correspondence write to me and I'll put you in touch with organisations that can help.

From Mona Villarrubia:


I didn't want to post this on your blog...I wasn't sure it would be appropriate to do so.
This is my story re. the Downeys:
I was taken to visit Montford College as a small child by Fr. James Downey, a family "friend"; his brother, Br. Bernard Downey, was living and working at the College. I remember the chickens and a hatchery Br. Bernard showed me. Both men were child molesters; James Downey was also a rapist, I know this because he raped my mother.
I have been told by someone connected to the order that Bernard is currently serving his second sentence in a Belfast prison for sexual abuse of some kind; he has been thrown out of the order. Fr. James Downey is dead; he was never exposed as a criminal, to my knowledege. But a member of the order (off the record) described them both as "notorious."

I was one of their victims, as was my mother and one of my brothers. My abuse happened in the late 50's / early 60's. I was born in 1955. I remember one road trip with my sister who is four years younger than I. She was about 4 so I would have been about 8, and that would place it in 1962/3. But I know that abuse went on for years, at least until I was 11 -- when I reached puberty and decided I would never let him touch me again.

I am trying to connect with others so I can go to the church and get my mother some help. She is in a bad way, 82 years old and having flashbacks and nightmares. I think all the press coverage of the past couple of years brought it all up for the first time for her in a way that she could no longer sit on the memories. She has always remembered, even though she didn't believe me when I first told her about my abuse by Downey. There is no "recovered memory syndrome" here, but she has not spoken about it until the last 3 years. I began going "public" in 2002, with an article in America Magazine, September 16, "From Hurt to Healing." So that is where I am.

Sorry to bring such a distasteful topic to this site.

If you want to read about me, I have a blog: From Hurt To Healing: http://fromhurttohealing.wordpress.com. My article is on the site.

I am sorry if I have distressed you. Please know that I am not a "Catholic basher." I taught High School religion (in New Orleans) for 27 years; I have a divinity degree and a Masters in Religious Education. Until the last couple of years, being Catholic and having a religious faith were important parts of my survival. Right now I don't know where I stand re. God-Church-faith, and I am currently working in Administration in a Jewish synagogue. A great group of people and a female Rabbi! 
Sorry -- this is so much more than you wanted to know.

Mona

Dear Mona,
Firstly please do not apologise.  I admire your courage in being able to say so clearly what has happened to you-which naturally fills me with complete outrage.  I would be honoured to publish this correspondence on my blog with your permission because of the example your courage might give to anyone else who has experienced such abuse.

If you've read my blog posts you will realise that many catholics could be offended by my criticisms of the church but I do try and leaven this with a certain dry humour (pope in a mankini post for example!)

It is my contention that the Catholic Church is essentially anti-feminine and oppressive as an institution.  Jesus would last about 5 minutes in the Vatican-he'd be wanting to give all their gold to the poor!

In addition their protection of the many child sexual abusers in their fold incriminates them as an institution.  I ran out of respect for the church many years ago though I also acknowledge that many priests and nuns and brothers are beautiful and spiritually advanced souls-I just don't know what they're doing in that awful institution.

Far from being distasteful your story seems one of courage and integrity, and I am humbled that you should share it with me.

If there is anything at all I can do please do not hesitate to ask.  I should say I visited your site and loved it-I'm going to be practising positation for sure.  I wrote this poem some time ago and would like to gift it to you as someone who seems to demonstrate exactly what it's about.

My heartfelt admiration and very best wishes to you.

Tony.

Poem here 'I will not be cast down!'...








From Mona

Thank you Tony, for your support and for the poem, it resonated with me a great deal. Conrad's Heart of Darkness image is one that keeps circulating in my life. Strange that you should reference it, too.
Yes, I did see the papal mankini and loved it. If we can't laugh at the old men in dresses what good are they at all. And yes, you certainly have my permission to publish our correspondence. I am convinced that there are other victims of the Downeys in Southampton so maybe someone else will read it and get in touch with you.
Mona


Montfort College Romsey: Going back to my old School



Picture by David Martin

Returning back to places from your past can be a bit like trying to squeeze into an old suit. Not only is it out of fashion but buttons fly off in all directions as you try and force that belly where it doesn't want to go. Innocent bystanders can be torn to pieces by button shrapnel. Memory itself can be shredded by reality-buttons. My own visit to my old school-a seminary run by the Montfort Fathers- was not the nostalgic event I anticipated. More like poking a stick into the long dead remains of some unspecified, possibly mythic beast from a twisted fairytale. I found Romsey ugly and tired, apart from its beautiful Abbey and was left wondering how my life became connected with this benighted place at the hoary old age of 11 years. The trip ended somehow appropriately with me esconced as the only solitary in my hotel's shabby dining room on Valentine's Evening, surrounded by couples, and being told I could only have the Valentine's menu of smoked salmon, sirloin steak and cheesecake. Fortunately there was no coupling actually in the restaurant and I survived by taking refuge behind an unread 'New York Review of Books'. I quickly consumed the fare between articles and stumbled off to my room to lie gasping on the bed like a heartbroken whale beached on some God-forsaken isle in the middle of mating season.
It was a place where I became educated in the ways of literature for sure, for it contained golden libraries replete with dusty books, but it taught me little in all.  Much that I learned was of the ways by which men become so easily hypocrites and of the brutality that results from cowardice towards originality and repression of the sexual instincts and the inherent stupidity of religion.  They were not the golden years of youth for me at least, and  I shall not return in this life.

 

6 comments:













MonaV said...
This post has been removed by the author.











MonaV said...
Do you remember either a Fr.James Downey or a Br. Bernard Downey?











MonaV said...
This post has been removed by the author.











Heart of Balance said...
Hello Mona, No I'm sorry I don't. I was there from 1968-72. Father Matthews was principal then Sean O'Hare. Also Frs Madden and Sam Erskine. I recall Bro's Anthony and a few French Bros Michael, Daniel. What dates are you thinking of?











MonaV said...
I used to visit there with Fr. Downey to see his brother Bernard, a Montfort Brother. They were not good men! Bernard worked with the physical plant/ I remember chickens and a hatchery. I was about 7 or 8. So around 1962? Mona mmmjv3@yahoo.com











Heart of Balance said...
Hi Mona, Your comment that-'They were not good men' fills me with dread somewhat. Yes I remember chickens and pig sties. And I agree many of these people were not what I would call good men-can you say anything more?

30.5.10

Dennis Hopper goes to greater feast!

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I don't think he was a particularly good man and not even a great actor but he was a crazy man and his madness showed on screen.  May he rest though, in peace.

25.5.10

Ben Dougan blogs Malaysia and on...!


SATURDAY, MAY 15, 2010


Rest of adventure in India and Malaysia.



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Just in an internet cafe in Kuala Lumpur as I write, listening to house music and reminiscing! Strange! First time listening to music of my preference in nearly three months! Anyways what's happened to me...

From my last post of chilling in Pondicherry cycling aimlessly around the French colonial town eating great South Indian food, quite a bit has happened... I kicked back in India big time for the last couple of weeks. Also reading my last post back to myself I sound like the biggest pot-head in India. I wasn't, and thought whilst in India chill the hell out and get high, also get in with the culture seeing as it's in the religion! From Pondicherry I took a bus to Mamallapuram and couldn't leave for five days, was only supposed to be there for three days! but that's what a great place does to you. I was the only person staying in the hotel and was served homemade food and coffee by the woman running it. It was a cool place Mamallapuram, a really chilled place was nice before I threw myself into India's fourth largest city Chennai. Mamallapuram was full of stone carvings from little pots to life-size statue's. The woman who owned the hotel had a son who I got on really well with, who had worked in Essex for five years and just returned home. He was a stone carver and used to bomb us around on his ancient, heavy Royal Enfield - was wicked! He took me one day to his shop hoping I'd buy a huge statue to take home and put in my garden. I said I didn't want to buy anything and passed him back this little pot he gave me to look at. It was beautiful, delicately carved and would've been a nice item to take back home. On handing it over I dropped it and it smashed into 4 pieces on the floor. "You clumsy fucking bastard" I said to myself in my head knowing I had to buy it now. I tried to plead with him and say it was an accident, but he wouldn't accept that. Looking pissed off I gave him a hundred ruppees (about one pound seventy, so not much at all but when traveling everything matters!) and stormed out looking pissed off. That evening I saw him back at the hotel, and he was so cool as if nothing had happened. Just to forget it like that was so cool and something I need to adopt into my personality. Just forget about shit that's happened-no big deal-it's sorted, type of attitude. Great guy. Next day it rained torrentially for about ten minutes, that monsoon coming in, and later I caught a bus out to Chennai. I arrived in Chennai to searing humidity and sadness, as this was my last place in India I would visit before jetting out to Penang Island just off Peninsular Malaysia. I had two days in Chennai dealing with crazy traffic, heat and Indian culture. I really liked Chennai, but they really need to invest in an underground train system there, when on a bus you would drip with sweat and not have to hold onto anything, they were so crowded. I went to a botanical garden outside Chennai and it was weird looking out at the city that that chaos was going on inside there and I'm surrounding by a twisting Banyan tree and tranquility. Next day I jetted off to Malaysia. I am still processing my trip through India after two weeks of leaving. I reckon I still will until I can really think about it when I get home. What an amazing country. I can't put it into words. It taught me so much and I found a lot of answers in India that I had no idea I would learn before getting there. I would love to go back in ten years or so and see how much the country has developed. I am quite sure that most of the places I visited will have changed beyond recognition in ten years. And the population levels... it's scary to think about.

I arrived in Penang airport and caught a bus to the main town there called Georgetown. I was so culture-shocked on the bus I almost choked on my tongue! The first two things I noticed of Penang was the cleanliness and noise of that compared to India. It was so apparent straightaway that it was going to be so different to traveling in Malaysia, and it is. It's just easier. Everything is so easy here and much more developed and aimed at tourists. I arrived in Penang staring at bars full of westerners drinking Carlsberg. I had a few days in Penang and they were great. It's a cool little place but a bit quiet for me! After leaving Penang I thought I'm going to treat my trip's in Malaysia and Thailand as a sort of holiday. Not budget as fiercely as in India and just enjoy and do whatever! From Penang I headed to Langkawi, a duty-free island just below the Thai border, cheap beer and cigarettes, beautiful white beaches that look out onto smaller islands covered in tropical looking rain forests. That's another thing actually, it rains almost everyday here, but it's great! Actually been missing rain, and after ten minutes of a downpour it's bright sunshine again! I would like that to be the way back home instead of days of persistent grey rainy days. I met a great couple in Langkawi who'd been traveling nearly a year around South America, Australia and New Zealand. We hired mopeds and darted around the island - one of my best days so far of the trip. We hiked up hills, then cooled off in mountain waterfalls. I love waterfalls, and I am such a sucker for them, and tea plantations. From Langkawi I headed to Perhentian Islands. These were beautiful, and I guy who I met in India at these tiny tea plantations in Kerala! He was staying at the same hotel as me! He'd been there for a month unable to leave! We chilled out with a group of us on the beach through the day dipping into the crystal clear sea and at night got drunk on this sort of rum they drink on the island called 'Monkey Juice'. On the last night there was a fancy dress toga party, as always I got too drunk and ended up cutting my little toe open on a glass bottle, so I've been limping here, there and everywhere recently. So frustrating! I went snorkelling in Perhentian which was incredible, looking over amazing coral, diving down and following colorful fish, swimming above turtles, sting rays and reef-sharks. It's the first time I've ever done anything like that, there's a whole different world down there! I wanna explore more of it! From Perhentian with a raging hangover and a sliced open toe from the toga party the night before, I headed off to Cameron Highlands escaping the heat and to drink tea. I went to Cameron Highlands with this great American couple I met on the way to Perhentian and we chilled out together with another mid-aged German lady we met on the mini-bus on the way up. Over the last three days we've just been hiking in the rainforest, drinking tea, eating scones, looking out over luscious tea plantations and ending the day with a few beers and games of Californian dominoes! A great place, very British colonial, and a glimpse at home before I go back in like three weeks! Gonna be weird settling back into life! I arrived in Kuala Lumpur today to a busy China town selling copy's of clothes, watches, sunglasses, you name it, and lots of Chinese food. And this is where I am guys! My Malaysia escapade coming to an end in two days before I jet off to a slightly shaky, slightly violent Bangkok. I've loved Malaysia and had a great time here experiencing the culture, eating great food, meeting great people and getting great weather! Malaysia, I'll miss you!

Thanks for reading guys, I hope you are all well and happy.

X

17.5.10

From Ben's Blog-More travels in India


TUESDAY, APRIL 27, 2010


Indian escapade continues...


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I've just read my last post back to myself, and wow, so much has happened since then. Actually a fucking lot had happened since then (hopefully the swear word will emphasise how much has happened). I just want to say thank you so much guys for the positive feedback on the blog. It's so nice to hear I'm not perspiring all over the key board in an internet cafe for nothing. Well for nothing? I suppose I'll take the blog much more for granted when I return home. But anyway, thank you and please keep the good comments coming they make me feel special :)

So... Where to begin? I think I'll start by telling everyone where I've been, and a bit of detail about each place. From my last post I mentioned I was going to Jaipur in Rajasthan, so I went there from Mumbai and stayed only for two days. It was a beautiful different place Jaipur. The heat was really dry and intense and the town felt very old. Walking around the bazaar's (bazaar another name for a market or shop) watching people's daily lives was fascinating. I would've loved to have explored the desert and towns in Rajasthan, but other places were calling out for me. After Rajasthan I hit Agra to see the milky-white glorious structure that is the Taj Mahal. I only stayed for one day in Agra and thanks God I did. When fellow traveller's tell me, "Don't go there, it's so dirty, so nasty, so... just don't go..." I usually don't listen go to these places and love them. But everyone was so right about Agra. "Arrive in the morning on the train and book a train out later on in the evening. See the Taj Mahal then get the hell out of there." Was what people told me about it. I arrived at seven in the morning and was ready to leave by noon. It's THE biggest shit-hole I've ever been to, apart from Agra Fort or the Taj of course, also there's another something just outside the town which is apparently beautiful, but apart form these 3 things a town oozing with decaying litter, sweat, blood, western holidaymakers, petrol fumes, Taj Mahal memorabilia, shit tasting chai and food, stagnant water and pestering salesmen. If you like Agra, that's fine, this is just my opinion of the place, and it's not a very high one. I walked around in the intense heat from seven till noon then went to wait out nine hours in the train station for my train to Varanasi. I just couldn't stand Agra any longer. I ended up having to wait eleven hours, but time went reasonably quickly reading the auto-biography of Don Whillans - one of the pioneers in British rock-climbing history, and chatting away to these two American traveller's I met who were studying in Bangalore but now taking a quick 3 week trip around Northern India. To Varanasi anyways. When I fist stepped off the train I was literally nearly pulled between rickshaw drivers competing for a lowest price, it was the worst place for rickshaw drivers here, nearly unbleliveable. But when I got down to the town and into this holy town, it was incredible. In Hinduism Varanasi is one of the most sacred places on the Earth. If you die here then your soul is honored in the Samsara cycle. It's one of the most intense places I've ever been to, and a really incredible experience. I loved Varanasi and met some amazing people here. I'll tell you guys about my first day actually. I was walking around mesmerized I suppose by the tiny alleyways, about the width of two people, with scooters and cows roaming around. I walked down to the River Ganges or the Ganga as Indians know it and just was captured by this slow moving sacred place. As I was walking back to my hotel I was told to have a look at this Indian guys shop. I decided to just look and not buy. After I'd looked for a bit he said "sit down sir please" I did. Then he said "Sir are you smoking ganja?" I said "Well my friend it has been known." He smiled then said "come, come friend." His uncle took over watching his shop and he led me and his other mate to a Government Hash Shop. In Varanasi cannabis is illegal I think, but everyone smokes it there. It's smoked to Lord Shiva. I'll just give a bit of run-down on that comment as I imagine people are like 'what is he going on about?' According to Hinduism, there were three God's who created the wrold. Brahman, the sole creator, the past, Vishnu the maintainer of the world, the present and Shiva the destroyer of the world, therefore essentially our future. There are many interpretations of the story, but this is the one I was told from these guys in Varanasi. The story goes that one day Shiva was so angry he almost destroyed the world. But his wife suggested he tried smoking or eating this plant to calm him down. This plant was Marijuana, and it calms Shiva down from destroying the world. Apparently he smokes in a sort of like bong, called a 'chillum' which is packed with hash and tobacco, or he eats hash in the form of 'Bhang'. Bhang are the leaves of the plant soaked in a sort of liquid then rolled into a dark-green ball, which looks like resin but is squidgy. This is why people smoke it. It's not specifically in the religion to do it, but mostly holy men and young boys use this as their tool to get unbelievably baked everyday, in hour of Lord Shiva. And this is what these guys were on about having, bhang. I took some bhang, smoked a chillum and drank chai with these dudes, who do it everyday, after twenty minutes was feeling really 'nasha' (Hindi word for being stoned). We went to play cricket, which I had never done feeling like this, I just wanted to mong out and eat some crisps, but we played a fiercely competitive game of cricket down by the river Ganga. It was great game apart from not really knowing what the hell was going on. I bowled alright, but I knew I wouldn't be able to bat like this. I forced them to put me right down the order, and as the wickets tumbled I thought 'shit it's gonna be up to me isn't it.' And surely it was, I need 1 off 4 deliveries, and being the last man in I was our only hope. It's not much to ask, but in this state it's like 6 off 1 delivery. I missed the first two, with everyone crowding me shouting 'come on just hit the ball!' then the next delivery just managed to get a thick outside edge on it and push the winning single. A massive sigh of relief for me and the team, and one of the most pressurising moments in cricket I have ever experienced. I decided to sit the next one out. The next few days I walked around meeting people and seeing the burning ghats, (places where they burn the bodies, then they are thrown into the ganga)river ghats and temples of Shiva. I left Varanasi with a longing to one day return meet up with those guys, get nasha and have another game of intense cricket! I could write moments like this about everywhere, but for me this day really stood out. From Varanasi I worked my way up to the foothills of the Himalayas to rest and drink tea in the beautiful town of Darjeeling. I thought Darjeeling would be more interesting but it was so touristy and so misty so I never really got chance to gaze and eat breakfast at the mighty Kangchengzonda (3rd highest peak in the world, I think?) and the surrounding Himalayan range. Also the tea was good, but not the best which I was surprised about, I thought it would be amazing. It pissed it down the second day I was there and when the rain cleared I saw the Kangchengzonda range. Only for a minute or so, but it was incredible. Just searing blades of snow covered rock rising up and up. It was a magnificent spectacle and I now would love to go to Nepal. I finished reading Don Whillans' auto-biography in Darjeeling, funny co-incidence reading his adventures in the Himalayas when they were right there in front of me, and what an amazing life he had led. I recommend the book to anyone. From Darjeeling I went to Kolkata which I more or less fell in love with. I think it is my most favorite city so far in India. It is immensely over-populated but there is still such a sense of space, with big cricket fields, and large green open spaces. The British colonial architecture has really been kept in tact, and some buildings look exactly like you find in any small town or city in the UK. That Roman inspired Victorian structure. I really liked my time in Kolkata and would like to return one day. I went to Kalighat Temple there, that was an incredible experience. I saw a goat sacrificed, people shouting and crying at pictures of Kali - the wife of Shiva. It was a big day out and lot to take in! After Kolkata I caught a train to Puri, a beach side town in the state of Orissa just below Kolkata on the coast. In Puri I wanted to do two things, work on my rapidly fading tan and smoke the legal hash that they have there. I think Orissa is the only state in India where hash is legal and it's sold at two government ganja shops in Puri alone. And I did get high, and I did get sunburnt. It was great here. One day I hired a bike and cycled the 36km to a village called Konark to see the temples there. It turned out to be a great ride there, but back I had to fix the chain 8 times! And cycling back along the same road, it loses something. From Puri I headed to Bhubaneshwar, the capital of Orissa and a very holy place. I was there for a day only before catching the train to Chennai. I sat in a small botanical garden, surrounded by these ancient temples reading Oscar Wilde's plays. 'This is how I spend my Monday' I thought. I got the train later on to Chennai and had my first flux of traveller's diarrhoea. It had to happen on the train didn't it. And to put the cherry on the cake I couldn't get a seat so had to share a twenty hour train journey with three other Indian blokes. I recovered after a few hours of running to train toilet and arrived in an incredibly humid Chennai. I caught a bus out of Chennai to Puducherry, a French colonial town and a beautiful town. It's like the nearest to France you can get whilst staying put in India. I'm headed to Mamallapuram in the next few days, then to Chennai for a couple of days before flying to Penang in Malaysia on May 5th. Exciting times ahead of me!

Thanks for reading guys, I really do appreciate it. Take care x

12.5.10

THE CYNICISM OF LABOUR POLITICIANS

The cynicism of our politicians

Strange to be hearing these labour politicians saying ‘we must respect the decision of the electorate’ and shuffling to present themselves as honourable, humble and full of the spirit of service. The reality is a cynical ploy to push the Liberal Democrats into the arms of the Tory Party in order that Labour can re-group in 12 months time free from the responsibilities of having taken part in the proposed cuts in public services and give the other parties a hammering in the next election.
It’s another example of how the party purporting to represent working men and women has sunk to a state in which principle is worth nothing and all is sacrificed to the machinations of power. It is evidence yet again of the terribly corrosive nature of our politics on the natures of those drawn to participate in its games. Strategy-games, mind-games, spinning games, money games and of course let us not forget their war-games. There is not a member of the Labour cabinet who I would consider buying a second hand bike from, with the possible exception of Hilary Benn.
Millennia ago the Greek philosopher Plato suggested in his manual of governance ‘The Republic,’ that the leaders or guardians (politicians) of the society should live lives of simple and ascetic discipline. They should own no property and live in communal communities. The simple reason for these safeguards, according to Plato, was the essential truth that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Our politicians seem living, walking embodiments of that truth. Though we must remember Garibaldi who held power twice and walked away from it twice.
However, better to light one candle than curse the darkness as Ghandi said. One such candle for me is the election of Caroline Lucas of the Green Party as MP for Brighton Pavilion. I’ve listened to Caroline speak on several issues over the years and she has always presented as someone who matches principle to pragmatism and speaks with a thoughtfulness and compassion astonishingly rare in our political discourse. Congratulations to her. She and the Green Party have the support of Heart of Balance Blog until such time as The Party for the Propagation of Poetry and Cycling comes into being. And well done Brighton-you’ve shown that you really are cool.
The other slightly guttering candle is the fact that all BNP candidates lost their deposit which is a great relief and one in the eye for those who proposed a new creeping wave of fascism was succeeding in fomenting hatred and division in our cities. Not this time Mr Griffin (a really creepy fellow.)
So what’s next? The low hanging fruit of coalescing politics? The intertwining gasses of Cleggy and Cameronian farty-bollocks? Not for me. I’m packing my panniers. I’m moving to Brighton.

PS:  It's a done deal with the tories-but Vince Cable as Business Secretary, with responsibility for overhauling the banks?  They've got to be shitting their pants!  Come on Vince!

10.5.10

BOTR Ring 1: OF DESPAIR 'STARLIT NIGHT'






 STARLIT NIGHT

One starlit night our love-song slipped
Out an open window [that
I had forgotten to make tight]

Slipped out to frolic beneath the moon
And danced all wild till dawn slipped jewels
Like wedding rings on fronds of grass

And back she came-a homing bird
A swallow cross a mighty sea
Back home safe and secret-safe


     Clothed in glittering memories



18.4.10

THE BOOK OF THREE RINGS POEM 1-'PERMANENTLY STRANGE'

PERMANENTLY STRANGE




Tales from a frozen foreign land

labyrinthine tourmaline-dreams

of black horses flowing out to sea



told in a strangely twisting tongue

that chords can barely bend to chant

the rime and rhythm in the line.



How fools found gold in streams that curled

and mazed round roots by boggy banks

What are you? Why are you here?



His-story hisses out of flatulent balloons.

and fools all fall about the place

while others look round for helpful signs.



It wasn’t that they didn’t.

It might be that they’ll never.

It might be that it’s permanently strange.

16.4.10

Dominic Gill-A hero for our time!

Adventure Cyclist and film maker Dominic Gill on his Hase Pino Tour Tandem with Ernie, a 75 year old man with Lymphocytic Leukaemia.  Dom and Ernie plan to cycle the Pino across America raising funds for Cancer Research.  The trip has always been a dream of Ernie's and with Dom on the rear it's one he will now achieve.
Dom's last adventure cycling from Alaska to Tierra Del Fuego on a tandem and offering random passengers a ride was a great documentary that you can check out at www.takeaseat.org.
Beautiful bike too, provided by Hase Bikes.  Good job guys!





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4.4.10

THE BOOK OF THREE RINGS PROLEGOMENA: MOMENTS OF IMPENDING TRANSFORMATION

A thin whipcord clacks a screech. Nerve-shock and wibble-wobble. He is become a touretted marionette.  A low moan gut-birthing. Shake-handing.  Eyes tear-fill streaming blue as sapphires.   Shoulders up-jumping down-sledding.  A dense weight stone-black and heavy gut-deep and yet deeper. Steady breathing, try to focus, anything, but cannot.   Room-spin. Chair-toppling like a statue on a broken plinth.  How long there?  Moments, houries, yearies.  Incandoes of the Lesser Hell.  Purgatorio that stops all clocks.

Years later he goes to the bedroom where she feigns sleep and pulls on someone’s shorts and trainers and a tee shirt.  As is his way he responds to all vicissitudes by running running  running.
Everything that was familiar, that was home, is now alien-strange.  He is the strangered in a strangely.
He runs down the country lane, past the golf course shameless in its grassy nakedness.  Dead golfers eye him coldly from the hillow-humps.  Clubs resting against their legs descried against the horizon sculpt them into living gallows

Stiff-running.  Heaviness in his gut that seems to include his heart as if the organs have turned to granite or slate perhaps.  Past the graveyard, up a steep little track and into the wood.  The grim, grey dawn slowly jumps up and down on the death’s head nights head beating beating beating until its brains spill grayley onto the fields.  He runs under beech and oak; ash, and clumps of you.  A huge droplet of water drips off a broadleaf and lands with a dull phut on his head.  Up he slowly wends.  Outcrops of limestone yield to him.  

The weighty belly and another limb grown heavy as pitch.
He emerges like a beetle onto a small limestone plateau and the village is spread-eagled and spatch-cocked out below him with its little stone walls and pretty houses of the good folk.  The village is spread out below him but now is like the vilest lie; an insult and an affront.  Does he hate it and all that is in it?  Or, has he always hated it?  All it’s pies and flaunty marrows.  It with it’s giddy reeks and shallows.  It’s shoreline saltmarsh slashed with sinuous rills.  It’s pockmarked limestone sharp against the skin.  It’s limestone sheep hot with ticks and vacant eyed, except for the Leicester Blue prize-winning flock, immense in the morning mist, shrugged from a llama.
And the ubiquitous yew-death tree stooping to conquer, trollopped up with scarlet baubles in it’s greens.

Almost disbelieving his own Self he asks Good to help him.  He does not know if Good exists and even if It did whether It would be listening to him right now.  He guesses that Good, if It did exist, would be incredibly busy, with hardly any time even for Its own family, if It had any.  Good would be an absent parent!  Good probably didn’t exist but, you never know.

‘Please help me Good’ he breathes.  ‘Please.  Please help me.’
He briefly considers flinging himself upon some pointy limestone shard where he can lie impaled like one of the world’s great tragedies, but the height is minimal and that would be absurd.  Even now, he realises that death is not an option, even if he possessed  the gravelly to open such a door.  The existence of somethings will not allow.  

No, it is clear he must live, but how will he live with these two wolves fighting for possession of his juicy bones and grits?  He does not know.  He knows that now which he does not know.  But does he know what he knows?  And how will he know if he does not know?  But what he does know, even now, is…

THE BOOK OF THREE RINGS-RING 1: OF DESPAIR


1.           PROLEGOMENON:  MOMENTS OF IMPENDING TRANSFORMATION                                               
2.           PERMANENTLY STRANGE
3.           STARLIT NIGHT
4.           THE VILEST LIE
5.           THE SLAVE-DREAMS OF CLAUDIUS AND GERTRUDE
6.           TONIGHT YOUR HEAVING HEART…
7.           ARE WE ARIGHT?
8.           WHO KNOWS WHAT LOVE IS?
9.           NOT HANDLING IT
10.         DOMESTIC VIOLENCE BLUES
11.         THE ANGRY FLAGS
12.         SURRENDER
13.         ADVICE TO A WOMAN
14.         THE PALIMPSEST
15.         THE CROOKLAND’S SERIES
16.         PSYCHIC WOUNDS
17.         THE WICKER MAN ATTENDS MEDIATION
18.         BLUE HALLOWEEN
20.         SESTINA OF THE DARK NYMPH
21.         BECAUSE YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL
22.         I WILL NOT BE CAST DOWN
23.         UNSAID



DEDICATION


To Rachel, Gail, and Millie.

Three muses crossed the shadows of my 
sails…

                                            But one remains
The Book Of Three Rings






ooo




                      


3.4.10

DELCIA McNEIL-ARTIST VISIONARY HEALER-LONDON EXHIBITION

I am delighted to invite you to 'Energy Landscapes' - the first solo exhibition of my paintings in London at the highly acclaimed Koukan Gallery,106a Alexander Park Road, London N10 2AE. www.koukangallery.com

The invitation is attached and also posted below.

The invitation to the preview on Tuesday 27th April, 6.30-8.30pm is for you and any friends that you may wish to bring along.

Apart from being at the preview - of course! - I will be at the gallery personally all day on Thursday 29, Friday 30th April (11am-5pm) and Saturday 1st May (11am-3pm).

Bounds Green on the Piccadilly line is the nearest underground station. Free parking is available in nearby residential roads. Alexander Park Road is also a major bus route, including the 102 and the 299.

If you would like you can see my work at my new website www.delciamcneilgallery.turnpiece.net

I look forward to seeing many of you soon!

all good wishes,
Delcia

015395 62420
07515 807366





Invitation for body of email.jpg

1.4.10

The brilliant Tony Judt on the European dilemma with Israel.







Tony Judt puts the Israeli/Palestine issue into a nutshell.  An essential read from the London Review of Books March 2010 (in interview with Kristina Bozic.)


Q:  (Kristina)  It’s been doing this for a long time in the case of Israel and Palestine, expressing disapproval of the occupation but doing almost nothing to bring it to an end. Is there anything Europe can do to exert pressure on Israel?

Israel wants two things more than anything else in the world. The first is American aid. This it has. As long as it continues to get American aid without conditions it can do stupid things for a very long time, damaging Palestinians and damaging Israel without running any risk. However, the second thing Israel wants is an economic relationship with Europe as a way to escape from the Middle East. The joke is that Jews spent a hundred years desperately trying to have a state in the Middle East. Now they spend all their time trying to get out of the Middle East. They don’t want to be there economically, culturally or politically – they don’t feel part of it and don’t want to be part of it. They want to be part of Europe and therefore it is here that the EU has enormous leverage. If the EU said: ‘So long as you break international laws, you can’t have the privileges of partial economic membership, you can’t have internal trading rights, you can’t be part of the EU market,’ this would be a huge issue in Israel, second only to losing American military aid. We don’t even have to talk about Gaza, just the Occupied Territories.
Why do Europeans not do it? Here, the problem of blackmail is significant. And it is not even active blackmail but self-blackmail. When I talk about these things in Holland or in Germany, people say to me: ‘We couldn’t do that. Don’t forget, we are in Europe. Think of what we did to the Jews. We can’t use economic leverage against Israel. We can’t be a critic of Israel, we can’t use our strength as a huge economic actor to pressure the Jewish state. Why? Because of Auschwitz.’ I understand this argument very well. Many of my family were killed in Auschwitz. However, this is ridiculous. Europe can’t live indefinitely on the credit of someone else’s crimes to justify a state that creates and commits its own crimes. If Zionism is to succeed as a representation of the original ideas of the Zionist founders, Israel has to become a normal state. That was the idea. Israel should not be special because it is Jewish. Jews are to have a state just like everyone else has a state. It should have no more rights than Slovenia and no fewer. Therefore, it also has to behave like a state. It has to declare its frontiers, recognise international law, sign international treaties and agreements. Furthermore, other countries have to behave towards it the way they would towards any other state that broke those laws. Otherwise it is treated as special and Zionism as a project has failed. People will say: ‘Why are we picking on Israel? What about Libya? Yemen? Burma? China? All of which are much worse.’ Fine. But we are missing two things: first, Israel describes itself as a democracy and so it should be compared with democracies not with dictatorships; second, if Burma came to the EU and said, ‘It would be a huge advantage for us if we could have privileged trading rights with you,’ Europe would say: ‘First you have to release political prisoners, hold elections, open up your borders.’ We have to say the same things to Israel. Otherwise we are acknowledging that a Jewish state is an unusual thing – a weird, different thing that is not to be treated like every other state. It is the European bad conscience that is part of the problem.

SOCIAL WORKERS GET IT IN THE NECK FOR ROONEY INJURY

Social workers blamed for Rooney injury


writes Loof Prial

Thursday 01 April 2010 11:36

Social workers 'should have done more' to prevent Manchester United and England striker Wayne Rooney injuring his ankle during a recent football match, a critical report has concluded.



The study, by the Centre for Rational Analysis of Practice, found that social workers failed to carry out a proper risk assessment of the footballer's ankle prior to the game against Bayern Munich on Tuesday evening. It also highlights numerous breakdowns in communication and failures in joint working with colleagues in both health and sports management.



One of the report's authors, Dr Rodney Feelgood, said social workers needed more training. "I know more about ankles than most social workers do. What does that say about the profession? Well, what does it say?"



"It doesn't exactly bode well for our World Cup chances in South Africa either. We'll all know who to blame when England don't win though, won't we?"



Arsene Wenger said: "I'm happy to confirm that Arsenal will vigorously defend the social workers involved if there is any suggestion of professional misconduct and would draw attention to Para 5.7 of the GSCC Code which requires social workers to "not put yourself or anyone else at unnecessary risk", clearly something likely to happen if any member of my team (or any social worker) is tackled by Wayne Rooney."

from Community Care website April 1st.