Saturday, 4 August 2012

Hope is a waking dream

I never connected with my catholic guilt until I was standing in a tiny room with a sacrilegious art installation which explored women's religious induced shame and our conditioning to serve.  So I tried something new twitter therapy, I took the word confession, searched it on twitter and then searched the next word that resonated with me until I eventually came to a point where twitter refused to allow me to tweet.  Evil evil twitter.   The results were interesting and my final word was natural instinct.  It was like a stream of consciousness flow but with other peoples thoughts.  Today's ones were God, angry, decision, mistakes, care, I care, I, has it going on, Stacy's mom has it going on, no idea, exotic, vacation, stalked, vigioursly, (i cant spell), vigirously, slaps knee, free, dream, hope: result : Hope is a waking dream.

I am on holidays from work at the moment hence the more thoughts and posts then normal.  I am also taking a break from counselling so that I experience things for myself and stop puzzling on where my counsellor is taking me.  I was becoming a little concerned that my need for approval was leading me on a journey to where she thought I should go so I freed myself until I explore this part of me that seems to be emerging,  but I digress.

The experience of being in a small space which mimicked a confession box albeit a tad unusual and the curtain going back really struck a chord with me.  I recalled being young and scared and my first panic attack at the age of 6 in the confession box.  My inner child work was most successful and I healed much of my stuff from all ages but lately, through my work on daddy issues, I found that the age which resonates with me the most is 6.  The age at which I had my first confession.  I recall the terror of the small dark enclosed space, the confusion of it all as I started to spin into the dizzying heights of pure anxiety.  I did everything I was told, I was obident I did all the normal sibling conflict stuff but essentially I believed I was a good girl and I should not be made to confess like the real bad people , the murderers and those that intentionally hurt others.  Even at a young age it was possible to see the hypocrisy of the Church and the political elite of the country, the cronyism and the pervading male dominated society.  I had been heavily influenced by the equal rights movement from an early age as the radio was always on in the house and civil rights and women's issues were the main things I connected with.

I confess that I no longer confess to almighty god and to all my brothers and sisters that I have sinned through my own fault and in my thoughts and in my word sin what I have done and what I have failed to do and I ask the blessed Mary ever virgin all the angles and saints to pray for me to the lord our god amen.  I do not want all that guilt and shame given to me by my religious upbringing.  I was a good little girl and I was right to reject their teachings of my badness.

So now I am off to take my trip to the dark confession boxes of my childhood.  I wonder if they are still there.  I know they are very much with me in my soul. Perhaps it is time to liberate it from the shadows of catholic guilt and see what life out side of the confines of the confession box is really like.  So I am  off to explore the dark places of my childhood starting with the confession box I fainted in, yes an extreme panic attack, and the church where I fainted, yes another extreme panic attack.  I should probably go to the video arcade I used to visit when I finally escaped from Mass to balance the bad stuff.  Or the place where my brother used to park for Mass at Christmas as he knew I could not go.  The day my mother told me she no longer expected me to go to Mass was very liberating for me.  Being obedient I still felt the need to pretend I was going until I was quite old.  Once all the Church scandals broke here she saw what I saw since age 6, an oppressive power hungry bunch of men with little regard for the true vision of the bible and what real Christianity was all about for me.  I am no longer a catholic, christian or religious.

So today I will live ponder my twitter therapy's result: Hope is a waking dream .

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