Sometimes The Way Forward Is Backwards

With what’s happening these days it’s difficult to encircle or plot a steady course ahead. Sometimes it’s just plain too much to read the same things, to hear the same things, the news, the critiques, the comedy, the very essence of our world. Sometimes it’s just too much to bear when football and reading and films only allow momentary escapes. Sometimes reality pushes us in other directions, other retreats, other vistas for hope, and the desire for the Spirit.

So. I used to have and now just bought some Runes and a set of Tarot Cards and book. I found the same book and set for the runes, but couldn’t find the right book for the tarot. I did get the Rider Waite set, but the book is a revision. As with all revisions, it’s not quite the same. Of course I went about trying to find my originals, to no avail. I doubt that I would have thrown them out but you never know. I do have my other persona who is quite unforgiving and strict, who tosses to cleanse as well as remove the unnecessary. *Humph* And then there are those pesky unpacked boxes yet remaining in the garage. Anyway, I—the more nostalgic or wanting-to-believe me, am left with what remains. Or doesn’t remain. Hence the new purchases.

And then, the synchronicity whispers itself in as I am in a more amenable place. This today:

Posted by Psyche’s Call with Donna May

Ah yes, the yearning for secret knowledge, the sacred connection. Not Religion, not a faith born of dogma or those lost Saints, but something else. Something from the past that knew without question, that took breath from the wind and made a euphony through the trees. Something unnamed and unnameable.

At my son’s funeral I left the velvet bag of his runes in his hands, and spilled out from that, the Odin Rune. That rune symbolizes The Unknowable, The Divine, the All-Father.

Blank is the end, blank the beginning.

Growing Up Catholic

Or, A Catholic Girl’s Education

  • All of the boys who lost their virginity to a knowing girl—and then lost the girl—wanted to become a priest. No matter how pathetically humorous this was, no one snickered behind their backs. We were too aghast that SEX must have happened. They walked humble and quietly through the halls, holiness oozing around them.
  • No one instructed us in the sexual adventure, least of all our parents. We learned behind closed doors—friend to friend. Or from an older student. Part of that which was verboten belonged to a crippled and faith-riddled logic: if you were interested in the knowledge, you were not interested in the act alone, but in partaking.
  • There was a surprising correlation made between knowledge and action. If you knew about it, you could or would do it. Ignorance and innocence were the blessed life to live. (Of course there were exceptions. Priests studied and learned, gained knowledge. This was in order to combat the ignorance and evil of sinners, as well as the doctrine of the Church.)
  • Grace was what enabled you to fight evil. That and naturally, remaining out of the clutches of the opposite sex: never be alone with a boy/girl, never go to a movie with a boy/girl, never dance closer than a spread-hand width between you. And never, ever, read a book or see a movie that was forbidden.
  • Grace was illustrated by a milk bottle drawn on a chalkboard and grace poured into it. Grace filled the bottle and then spilled over. I didn’t understand the illustration then, and I still don’t.
  • Girls wondered which hole to put a tampon in and which one would work for the boy’s insertion. If in the closest to the front, how would you pee?
  • The few girls who got preggers in high school went away to visit a previously-unknown aunt. When they came back, they always came back alone, but many would suddenly have a new baby brother or sister.
  • More than one of those girls said later they did not know they were having sexual intercourse. Maybe they weren’t we thought. They could have kissed too heavily and the boy then came in his pants. The pants rubbed against the girl and the cum touched her. Voilà! Pregnant! It was the kiss-cum-lately of Catholic childhood.
  • A good Catholic girl dressed so as to tempt no one: skirts just over the knee, blouses loose and buttoned up, no cardigans without a blouse underneath. Tennis shoes were okay, but no sandals. (I have no idea why—perhaps the erotic temptation of toes?) Legs together, bodies apart, a good rule of thumb.
  • The long and the short of it: No sex before marriage, and the husband always has a right to the wife’s body.

And there it was, the hierarchy of knowledge according to Father James:

Posted by Philosophy Matters

Aftermath—oops—Afternote

One might think that some or all of this has no consequence, after all. After all, who does it harm, this education of the soul? I might share this, only one of many experiences with the consequences of a Catholic education.

While working for the Department of Social Services in Wisconsin, we had a mother come to us with her baby. The baby was in the hospital, recovering from the sexual abuse by the father, husband to the woman.

The Father went to the Catholic Social Services Department for assistance and what he called his repentance. We were obliged to work with them. In my dreams I still hear the voice of the social worker I spoke with, that strong, firm, stuttering voice. “All that matters is that the mother and child come back. All that matters is the sanctity of the marriage. A Catholic marriage is a sacrament that cannot be broken. They must come home.”

The Mother and child went home.

And that my friends, is the way things are.