The Pillar

The Pillar

My one pillar

My faith: my church; my God

Eaten away

By Boston 2002

Leaving my teaching

Leaving my church

By Malc’s death

By the Divine silence

divine Silence

 

Pat’s acts were love; because I loved him

Downey gave me money;

I took it; I’m complicit

Bogan was my fault; I visited him

Walsh didn’t really happen –

The original sin

 

But if it did?

All others come under its light

And if they are true?

What is left of my religion?

 

Clinging to the Catholic Church

Like a cuckold clinging to her unfaithful spouse

Fragments of that pillar remained

Undergirding me silently

While building blocks were placed

Tentatively beside the skeleton foundation

But they don’t reach high enough

Are subject to floods and wind

Disillusionment and disappointment

 

So here I am teetering, teetering

Realizing my reluctance was borne of survival

Not denial

But like Eve my eyes have been opened

And the light is shining through the bony scaffold

That collapses as I reach out for it

Fingers passing through

The Pillar becomes dust

“the centre cannot hold”

“The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;”*

 

 

*Quotes from “The Second Coming” by William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

 

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I am Clean

I see shattered
You see whole
I see broken
But You see beautiful
And You’re helping me to believe
You’re restoring me piece by piece
There’s nothing too dirty
That You can’t make worthy
You wash me in mercy
I am clean
There’s nothing too dirty
That You can’t make worthy
You wash me in mercy
I am clean
What was dead now lives again
My heart’s beating, beating inside my chest
Oh I’m coming alive with joy and destiny
‘Cause You’re restoring me piece by piece
There’s nothing too dirty
That You can’t make worthy
You wash me in mercy
I am clean
There’s nothing too dirty
That You can’t make worthy
You wash me in mercy
I am clean
Washed in the blood of Your sacrifice
Your blood flowed red and made me white
My dirty rags are purified
I am clean …

Finding Hope after Abuse

traces of hope

How do I process my grief?
Does suffering have any meaning?
Do we live in a random chaotic universe?
Is it time to re-evaluate my understanding of “God”?

This book is for anyone who has suffered a loss – of safety, of one’s home, of health, of a loved one or a relationship, or of one’s faith … and found themselves asking, “Why?” And then wondering, “Who am I asking?” and hoping they were not alone.

http://www.amazon.com/Traces-Hope-Surviving-Grief-Loss/dp/1937943275

Traces of Hope

Over the past few years I have used the opportunity offered by this blog to reflect on many aspects of my healing from sexual abuse by Catholic priests.

I have a new book coming out that tells the story of my healing journey and my journey through grief and loss if you are interested in my full story.

http://www.amazon.com/Traces-Hope-Surviving-Grief-Loss/dp/1937943275/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1426982211&sr=1-1&keywords=Mona+villarrubia

Hope for the Future

John’s passage describing his “revelation” succinctly explains the perspective of the Church and the reason why things have been so slow to change.

Catholics4Change

Click here to read: “I Was Once a Victim,” by John Salveson, class of ’77, ’78 M.A., Notre Dame Magazine, Summer 2013

Excerpt:

Slowly, eventually, I figured out the reason for the lack of progress within the Church. It really was simple. I had long believed the Roman Catholic Church considered the child sex-abuse crisis to be a moral issue. So I expected clergy to care about the victims and to do the right thing.

But the simple truth I had learned over time was this: Much of the Catholic leadership does not view this as a moral issue. They view it as a risk-management issue. The focus is on managing settlements, keeping the topic out of the media, telling the faithful everything is taken care of and, most of all, doing everything humanly possible to ensure none of these cases ever make it into a court of law.

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Doll

Blond hair
Curly
Blue eyes, wide
In a knitted sweater
Crafted with care
She looks real

Two legs
And panties
She’s soft and warm
Down there

Why did they make her like that
The doll makers

Because They want real skin
The softness, the smell
Mingled with Their spit

They rub and rub

And she just looks
Wide-eyed and still
Clasping the knitted lamb
Crafted with care

They’ll be done soon, little lamb
Then we can sleep
But for now we play the doll game
And remember not to cry

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