One In Four - Omos

I have just spent a most incredible evening in St Stephen's Church off Merrion Square ( better known as the Pepper Canister).

The occasion was a cultural evening - an evening of readings and music to honour those in this benighted isle of ours who have experienced sexual violence. To try to empathise with these victims and to show them that we take a collective cultural responsibility towards them and endeavour to help ease their healing through the disciplines of words and music.

The line up was superb. Theo Dorgan m.c'd, RTE radio were recording it for future broadcast, Christy Moore, Don Baker, Eleanor McEvoy, Shaz Oye and Karan Casey provided the musical end of the night. Dearbhaile Crottry performed an extract from Bailegangaire by Tom Murphy and Joe O'Connor, Roddy Doyle, Nuala Ni Domhnaill andLia Mills all read from their work and Margaret Kelleher read two poems by Seamus Heaney which the great man had selected for the evening.

Each performer outdid the one before, each made the other's performance shine, enhanced it almost until at the end of the night we the audience were left in no doubt but that we had been part of a very, very special evening.

I know it's a cliche - but sometimes cliches are the only words that will aptly describe something. When Karan Casey wound up what had on occasions been a very, very intense and disturbing night with Nina Simone's anthem of hope 'New Dawn, New Day' the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my skin prickled. For you know, I do think there is hope for our little republic yet. We are in the process of tearing down all our old sacred cows, Church, State, Banks and big business. What we will be left with remains to be seen.

But once we are peopled by those like the courageous survivors of horrific acts, people brave enough to stand up and come forward, who may perhaps feel they are reliving (often over and over and over) the whole sordid sorry horror again. Once we are peopled also by artistes like those in the Pepper Canister tonight - people willing to observe, analyse and show us our sins and our ability to heal from those sins. With people like these among us then yes, yes, Ireland of the future may well be a very, very fine place to live.

The Universal Church

I know everyone has written about it and I have nothing different to say but I have to say it anyway. I am sickened to the depths of my being as report after report comes out; uncovering the horror that was (and still is) the Catholic Church in Ireland. Catholic = universal= all-embracing. Run by a narrow-minded group of misogynistic bigots. My poor mother, my poor grandmother. They were not (I hope) abused by any of the pedophiles hiding under the skirts of Mother Church. But these women and their husbands and their generations gave their lives to this institution.They didn't use contraception because of this institution, stayed in bad marriages because of this institution, tried to teach their children this institutions rules while the institution raped their children. How many lives must this institution destroy before it comes tumbling down itself.
Poor Christ.
How did his message, a message of love and peace and brotherhood, a ggod message , a simple way to live life, get distorted into the gray steel knife of depravity that cut through the lives of so many Irish children. And why is it almost exclusively in Ireland, with some emigrants to America that the Church covered up these vile doings.

Forgive them Father, they know not what they do.

But they did know.

They knew, they were educated men, the only educated men in the country, the ones with money, the ones with influence. And our parents, our grandparents, all knelt in supplication before these men and accepted THEIR benediction, their forgiveness.The Roman Catholic Church can never atone for this . Never. I am too angry. I can write no more.

Abuse and mince pies

Lads!

I’m distraught –somebody reported me for ‘abuse’ and I can’t post my blog link on my facebook wall or into my e-mails. Me! Abuse!

I went into my blog and looked at my posts (all two of them) and I genuinely cannot see what it is I wrote that someone found abusive.

Maybe it was because I used the ‘s’ word – the three-lettered one that ends in ‘x’. I thought we were beyond that. I thought that, like the use of Lord Voldemort ‘he who shall not be named’, it was acknowledged that use of a word could not harm or offend one or draw down the wrath of God on one.

Then I looked at the blogs again. Is it because I suggested that males were fundamental creatures? Was it a man who reported me- or a Mammy who is protecting her sons from any inference that they may not be as deep as they think they are?

Help me folks.

If you don’t tell me what it is I wrote that was offensive I’m likely to continue doing it and offending someone. I’m a nice person. Really.

Made a lorryload of home-made mincemeat last night for the home-made mince pies I’m taking to the milk n’cookies event in Temple Bar next week. Milk ‘N Cookies is a gathering of like-minded individuals who have formed a voluntary story-telling group that gather together to tell stories drink tea, coffee, milk and lots of lovely goodies. Everyone snuggles down on beanbags or duvets (there are chairs for those of us with effed up backs and knees) and in ambient lighting the story tellers weave their spells.

If I bring loads of mincers I’m hoping they’ll let me read one of my yarns possibly ‘The 5.50 19A’ which I have adapted for this particular session. One is supposed to tell rather than read a story, but I’m old and I’ve killed to many brain cells to memorise things any more. And to think I once played ‘Hamlet’ and never once fluffed a line. Hamlet at 17. Life was bound to go downhill after that.