Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Thursday, August 18, 2016

The Face of War: Just a Boy in Syria

Tears and more tears... Aleppo and its people...

The stunned, bloodied face of 5-year-old Omran Daqneesh sums up the horror of Aleppo....







here is the story

http://www.reuters.com/article/us-mideast-crisis-syria-aleppo-boy-idUSKCN10T1CT

http://www.theatlantic.com/news/archive/2016/08/syria-aleppo-omran-daqneesh/496442/



this much madness is too much sorrow it's impossible.....




https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/worldviews/wp/2016/08/17/the-stunned-bloodied-face-of-a-child-survivor-sums-up-the-horror-of-aleppo/

"The video shows a child after he was pulled from rubble in Aleppo, a Syrian city that has been devastated by constant bombardment.
A man carried the boy away from the rubble after a suspected Russian or Syrian regime airstrike in the neighborhood of rebel-held Qaterji.
He placed him in an orange seat, and the boy brushed his eye and face after the man walked away.
Looking dazed, he then wiped the blood and debris on the seat."
War photographers explain what makes 
image of Syrian child so devastatingly powerful
'It is the innocence, or more precisely the loss of it. Someone who should be playing games has instead been involved in the most violent act that humanity can commit'



Sunday, August 14, 2016

Desecration of Jesus and the Blessed Virgin Mary in Oklahoma

A Pedophile has organized a satanic mass and a ritual to attempt to desecrate the Blessed Virgin Mary--to take place in a public building in Oklahoma on Monday, August 15th, the Feast of the Assumption of Mary.


Since Mary and Jesus are about love, this is strangely sad, and exposes evil.


http://www.catholic.org/news/hf/faith/story.php?id=70365


snip
"...has scheduled a ticketed event at the Oklahoma City Civic Center Music Hall, which is run by the city government.


The event involves the attempted corruption of a plaster statue of the Virgin Mary using sulfur, menstrual blood, and the ashes of desecrated and burned pages of the Koran. It involves the consumption of a pig's heart and the "entrapment" of the Virgin Mary in a ritual triangle, in an attempted parody of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. The statue will be smashed.

Before the ritual, the group will hold a black mass. The black mass, often connected to witchcraft and demonic worship, is a sacrilegious ceremony that invokes Satan and mocks the Mass. It often involves the desecration of the Eucharist, generally by stealing a consecrated host from a Catholic Church and using it in a profane sexual ritual..."




Via Christian News Wire:

"Satanist and registered sex offender Adam Daniels announced that he will invoke Satan through a blasphemous Black Mass followed by a bloody ritual called “The Consumption of Mary,” all performed on city property.

“Every American should oppose this hateful attack against God,” said TFP [Tradition Family Property] Student Action Director John Ritchie, who hopes to collect 200,000 petitions against the Black Mass by the end of the week…"



Since Mary refused God nothing, God refuses her nothing, Her prayers are very powerful; she is called The Refuge of Sinners. Asking the Blessed Virgin Mary for help is a great gift open to everyone.






All good-hearted people are being asked to pray tomorrow, for the salvation of souls.

For more about Mary and Jesus, Click here:






To desecrate Jesus in the Eucharist is a most evil thing. If you believe in mysterious things, supernatural, eternal things, I hope you will never dismiss this as a small thing. 

Very Sad.











Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Why Does This Keep Happening?

Why does this keep happening?

In the face of evil perpetrated by humans onto one another, a question has been recently raised:
Why does this keep happening?

President Obama quoted this question in his remarks at a memorial service in Orlando this week—a memorial for 49 people who had been tending to their own business when they were murdered by a man who felt compelled by his (heart-felt) beliefs or (culturally acquired) behavior or (thoughtfully chosen) moral code or (cold-blooded) feelings or (spiritually deranged) sense of self to judge and end their earthly lives.


This act, like stabbing someone on the sidewalk from behind—seems so senseless, an explosion of sin, a rip in the space time love continuum.

To one who does NOT have these same heart-felt beliefs or particular moral codes or specific culturally acquired behaviors or who is NOT deranged—this act provokes judgement—or something. Those among us who are Gandhian will look upon the man one way. Those of us who are Kingian, perhaps another. How does the Dalai Lama look upon the man who rips the continuum this way? How a Democrat? A Republican? A Muslim? A Buddhist? How must a Christian look upon this man? Are we not weeping for the lost soul of the murderer? What does Jesus say to him?

This man who might have lived a life of joy, who might have made his children happy, who might have shared love and connection and the fruits of his labors with his community and in the world… Are we to pity him? Love him? Despise him? 
Delight in his death?



Why Does This Keep Happening?!

For those who have not pondered The Big Questions, this question is a cry for the end to a sadness that is painful and seems even unbearable. This question is for children who do not understand the way of things here on the journey, the Pilgrim’s Progress, the walk through the valley of death. For those who have found the Source of Faith, Hope and Love, this question is easy, heartbreaking to answer.
It keeps happening because men (please, I use the word as synecdoche) live in a state of sin.

These sorts of acts will keep happening as long as men live separated from God, that is, the Pure Light of Love consciously waiting for us in our hearts and in eternity. If you are an atheist, I do feel some pity for you, )life simply the flotsam and jetsam of genetic material, randomly swirling about the universe, hoping to replicate, generation after generation, through the meaningless ages, to no end...) as you will find that human beings without grace cannot build a utopia. 

These sorts of acts have happened since the beginning.

And these sorts of acts have happened throughout history—sometimes the monstrous act of war, malignant beyond all words; sometimes a micro act, of terrorizing one’s own mate, one’s very offspring; sometimes through (logically twisted) beliefs or (selfish) behavior or (sociopathic) moral codes or (lustful) feelings or a (spiritually deranged) sense of self.

Why should these acts not happen now? In the present age, our psychological research has determined the most powerful techniques to influence our children. We’ve taken this knowledge and constructed games, movies, music that allow our children to revel in destruction; attitudes and acts repeated and modeled over and over, day by day, year by year. In one country, children are at risk of losing their heads, in another, losing their minds. In one culture we teach our children to get money sex fame products bling and attitude, shoes they can’t walk in and clothes that point to the naughty bits; in another we teach them to run for their lives, to huddle, starving in hot tents with dirty water and biting insects because your neighbors don’t want you…

We have 300 schoolgirls stolen and enslaved for YEARS while the fancy leaders wine and dine and fly about visiting. We have boys and girls and women and men sold around the globe, more slave trading than any time in human history; knives are used as rape weapons in Congo and gay men thrown blindfolded off rooftops to their death -- by Law, in certain countries, fu’cryin’ out loud.


Millions around the globe apparently adhere to a beliefsystem whose moral code demands behavior similar to that which was inflicted by a man in Orlando so methodically, so selfishly, upon a collection of others of his own species who were in the middle of a night of music, connection, and the search for relationship…


Why do these things keep happening?
Life in a fallen world. 
The carnal and the spiritual.
We are not looking at the beam in our own eye…






Monday, June 6, 2016

Stanford Rapist Brock Turner Mugshot...finally

I was the wounded antelope of the herd, (stanford rape case)

Rape victim's full impact statement: this woman's honesty and clear truthfulness is beyond the lawyers' or anyone's ability to try the usual noisy distractions...


[ Weeping. Powerfull. Perfect. This is gut wrenching. Appalling.... As usual.]
I will clean up the formatting later today.

Also, more on this case, here
http://marysbeagooddogblog.blogspot.com/2016/06/stanford-rapist-brock-turner-mugshot.html?m=1

Please,
Read the Full Statement here:
http://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2016/jun/06/stanford-sexual-assault-case-victim-impact-statement-in-full


Excerpts:

...
...

One day, I was at work, scrolling through the news on my phone, and came across an article. In it, I read and learned for the first time about how I was found unconscious, with my hair disheveled, long necklace wrapped around my neck, bra pulled out of my dress, dress pulled off over my shoulders and pulled up above my waist, that I was butt naked all the way down to my boots, legs spread apart, and had been penetrated by a foreign object by someone I did not recognize. This was how I learned what happened to me, sitting at my desk reading the news at work. I learned what happened to me the same time everyone else in the world learned what happened to me. That’s when the pine needles in my hair made sense, they didn’t fall from a tree. He had taken off my underwear, his fingers had been inside of me. I don’t even know this person. I still don’t know this person. When I read about me like this, I said, this can’t be me.
This can’t be me. I could not digest or accept any of this information. I could not imagine my family having to read about this online. I kept reading. In the next paragraph, I read something that I will never forgive; I read that according to him, I liked it. I liked it. Again, I do not have words for these feelings.
At the bottom of the article, after I learned about the graphic details of my own sexual assault, the article listed his swimming times. She was found breathing, unresponsive with her underwear six inches away from her bare stomach curled in fetal position. By the way, he’s really good at swimming. Throw in my mile time if that’s what we’re doing. I’m good at cooking, put that in there, I think the end is where you list your extra-curriculars to cancel out all the sickening things that’ve happened.
The night the news came out I sat my parents down and told them that I had been assaulted, to not look at the news because it’s upsetting, just know that I’m okay, I’m right here, and I’m okay. But halfway through telling them, my mom had to hold me because I could no longer stand up. I was not okay...
...

The night after it happened, he said he didn’t know my name, said he wouldn’t be able to identify my face in a lineup, didn’t mention any dialogue between us, no words, only dancing and kissing. Dancing is a cute term; was it snapping fingers and twirling dancing, or just bodies grinding up against each other in a crowded room? I wonder if kissing was just faces sloppily pressed up against each other? When the detective asked if he had planned on taking me back to his dorm, he said no. When the detective asked how we ended up behind the dumpster, he said he didn’t know. He admitted to kissing other girls at that party, one of whom was my own sister who pushed him away. He admitted to wanting to hook up with someone. I was the wounded antelope of the herd, completely alone and vulnerable, physically unable to fend for myself, and he chose me. Sometimes I think, if I hadn’t gone, then this never would’ve happened. But then I realized, it would have happened, just to somebody else. You were about to enter four years of access to drunk girls and parties, and if this is the foot you started off on, then it is right you did not continue.
The night after it happened, he said he thought I liked it because I rubbed his back. A back rub. Never mentioned me voicing consent, never mentioned us speaking, a back rub.
One more time, in public news, I learned that my ass and vagina were completely exposed outside, my breasts had been groped, fingers had been jabbed inside me along with pine needles and debris, my bare skin and head had been rubbing against the ground behind a dumpster, while an erect freshman was humping my half naked, unconscious body. But I don’t remember, so how do I prove I didn’t like it.
I thought there’s no way this is going to trial; there were witnesses, there was dirt in my body, he ran but was caught. He’s going to settle, formally apologize, and we will both move on. Instead, I was told he hired a powerful attorney, expert witnesses, private investigators who were going to try and find details about my personal life to use against me, find loopholes in my story to invalidate me and my sister, in order to show that this sexual assault was in fact a misunderstanding. That he was going to go to any length to convince the world he had simply been confused.
I was not only told that I was assaulted, I was told that because I couldn’t remember, I technically could not prove it was unwanted. And that distorted me, damaged me, almost broke me. It is the saddest type of confusion to be told I was assaulted and nearly raped, blatantly out in the open, but we don’t know if it counts as assault yet. I had to fight for an entire year to make it clear that there was something wrong with this situation.
When I was told to be prepared in case we didn’t win, I said, I can’t prepare for that. He was guilty the minute I woke up. No one can talk me out of the hurt he caused me. Worst of all, I was warned, because he now knows you don’t remember, he is going to get to write the script. He can say whatever he wants and no one can contest it. I had no power, I had no voice, I was defenseless. My memory loss would be used against me. My testimony was weak, was incomplete, and I was made to believe that perhaps, I am not enough to win this. That’s so damaging. His attorney constantly reminded the jury, the only one we can believe is Brock, because she doesn’t remember. That helplessness was traumatizing.
Instead of taking time to heal, I was taking time to recall the night in excruciating detail, in order to prepare for the attorney’s questions that would be invasive, aggressive, and designed to steer me off course, to contradict myself, my sister, phrased in ways to manipulate my answers. Instead of his attorney saying, Did you notice any abrasions? He said, You didn’t notice any abrasions, right? This was a game of strategy, as if I could be tricked out of my own worth. The sexual assault had been so clear, but instead, here I was at the trial, answering question like:

...

...


I was pummeled with narrowed, pointed questions that dissected my personal life, love life, past life, family life, inane questions, accumulating trivial details to try and find an excuse for this guy who didn’t even take the time to ask me for my name, who had me naked a handful of minutes after seeing me. After a physical assault, I was assaulted with questions designed to attack me, to say see, her facts don’t line up, she’s out of her mind, she’s practically an alcoholic, she probably wanted to hook up, he’s like an athlete right, they were both drunk, whatever, the hospital stuff she remembers is after the fact, why take it into account, Brock has a lot at stake so he’s having a really hard time right now.
And then it came time for him to testify. This is where I became revictimized. I want to remind you, the night after it happened he said he never planned to take me back to his dorm. He said he didn’t know why we were behind a dumpster. He got up to leave because he wasn’t feeling well when he was suddenly chased and attacked. Then he learned I could not remember.
So one year later, as predicted, a new dialogue emerged. Brock had a strange new story, almost sounded like a poorly written young adult novel with kissing and dancing and hand holding and lovingly tumbling onto the ground, and most importantly in this new story, there was suddenly consent. One year after the incident, he remembered, oh yeah, by the way she actually said yes, to everything, so....
...


To sit under oath and inform all of us, that yes I wanted it, yes I permitted it, and that you are the true victim attacked by guys for reasons unknown to you is sick, is demented, is selfish, is stupid. It shows that you were willing to go to any length, to discredit me, invalidate me, and explain why it was okay to hurt me. You tried unyieldingly to save yourself, your reputation, at my expense.
My family had to see pictures of my head strapped to a gurney full of pine needles, of my body in the dirt with my eyes closed, dress hiked up, limbs limp in the dark. And then even after that, my family had to listen to your attorney say, the pictures were after the fact, we can dismiss them. To say, yes her nurse confirmed there was redness and abrasions inside her, but that’s what happens when you finger someone, and he’s already admitted to that. To listen to him use my own sister against me. To listen him attempt to paint of a picture of me, the seductive party animal, as if somehow that would make it so that I had this coming for me...



To sit under oath and inform all of us, that yes I wanted it, yes I permitted it, and that you are the true victim attacked by guys for reasons unknown to you is sick, is demented, is selfish, is stupid. It shows that you were willing to go to any length, to discredit me, invalidate me, and explain why it was okay to hurt me. You tried unyieldingly to save yourself, your reputation, at my expense.
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My family had to see pictures of my head strapped to a gurney full of pine needles, of my body in the dirt with my eyes closed, dress hiked up, limbs limp in the dark. And then even after that, my family had to listen to your attorney say, the pictures were after the fact, we can dismiss them. To say, yes her nurse confirmed there was redness and abrasions inside her, but that’s what happens when you finger someone, and he’s already admitted to that. To listen to him use my own sister against me. To listen him attempt to paint of a picture of me, the seductive party animal, as if somehow that would make it so that I had this coming for me....

...

aid, I stupidly thought it was okay for me to do what everyone around me was doing, which was drinking. I was wrong.
Again, you were not wrong for drinking. Everyone around you was not sexually assaulting me. You were wrong for doing what nobody else was doing, which was pushing your erect dick in your pants against my naked, defenseless body concealed in a dark area, where partygoers could no longer see or protect me, and own my sister could not find me. Sipping fireball is not your crime. Peeling off and discarding my underwear like a candy wrapper to insert your finger into my body, is where you went wrong. Why am I still explaining this.
You said, During the trial I didn’t want to victimize her at all. That was just my attorney and his way of approaching the case.
Your attorney is not your scapegoat, he represents you. Did your attorney say some incredulously infuriating, degrading things? Absolutely. He said you had an erection, because it was cold. I have no words.
You said, you are in the process of establishing a program for high school and college students in which you speak about your experience to “speak out against the college campus drinking culture and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that.”
Speak out against campus drinking culture. That’s what we’re speaking out against? You think that’s what I’ve spent the past year fighting for? Not awareness about campus sexual assault, or rape, or learning to recognize consent. Campus drinking culture. Down with Jack Daniels. Down with Skyy Vodka. If you want talk to high school kids about drinking go to an AA meeting. You realize, having a drinking problem is different than drinking and then forcefully trying to have sex with someone? Show men how to respect women, not how to drink less.



...

 For a while, I believed that that was all I was. I had to force myself to relearn my real name, my identity. To relearn that this is not all that I am. That I am not just a drunk victim at a frat party found behind a dumpster, while you are the All-American swimmer at a top university, innocent until proven guilty, with so much at stake. I am a human being who has been irreversibly hurt, who waited a year to figure out if I was worth something.
My independence, natural joy, gentleness, and steady lifestyle I had been enjoying became distorted beyond recognition. I became closed off, angry, self-deprecating, tired, irritable, empty. The isolation at times was unbearable. You cannot give me back the life I had before that night either. While you worry about your shattered reputation, I refrigerated spoons every night so when I woke up, and my eyes were puffy from crying, I would hold the spoons to my eyes to lessen the swelling so that I could see. I showed up an hour late to work every morning, excused myself to cry in the stairwells, I can tell you all the best places in that building to cry where no one can hear you, the pain became so bad that I had to tell my boss I was leaving, I needed time because continuing day to day was not possible. I used my savings to go as far away as I could possibly be.
I can’t sleep alone at night without having a light on, like a five year old, because I have nightmares of being touched where I cannot wake up, I did this thing where I waited until the sun came up and I felt safe enough to sleep. For three months, I went to bed at six o’clock in the morning.
I used to pride myself on my independence, now I am afraid to go on walks in the evening, to attend social events with drinking among friends where I should be comfortable being. I have become a little barnacle always needing to be at someone’s side, to have my boyfriend standing next to me, sleeping beside me, protecting me. It is embarrassing how feeble I feel, how timidly I move through life, always guarded, ready to defend myself, ready to be angry.
...


To conclude, I want to say thank you. To everyone from the intern who made me oatmeal when I woke up at the hospital that morning, to the deputy who waited beside me, to the nurses who calmed me, to the detective who listened to me and never judged me, to my advocates who stood unwaveringly beside me, to my therapist who taught me to find courage in vulnerability, to my boss for being kind and understanding, to my incredible parents who teach me how to turn pain into strength, to my friends who remind me how to be happy, to my boyfriend who is patient and loving, to my unconquerable sister who is the other half of my heart, to Alaleh, my idol, who fought tirelessly and never doubted me. Thank you to everyone involved in the trial for their time and attention. Thank you to girls across the nation that wrote cards to my DA to give to me, so many strangers who cared for me.
Most importantly, thank you to the two men who saved me, who I have yet to meet. I sleep with two bicycles that I drew taped above my bed to remind myself there are heroes in this story. That we are looking out for one another. To have known all of these people, to have felt their protection and love, is something I will never forget.
And finally, to girls everywhere, I am with you. On nights when you feel alone, I am with you. When people doubt you or dismiss you, I am with you. I fought everyday for you. So never stop fighting, I believe you. Lighthouses don’t go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining. Although I can’t save every boat, I hope that by speaking today, you absorbed a small amount of light, a small knowing that you can’t be silenced, a small satisfaction that justice was served, a small assurance that we are getting somewhere, and a big, big knowing that you are important, unquestionably, you are untouchable, you are beautiful, you are to be valued, respected, undeniably, every minute of every day, you are powerful and nobody can take that away from you. To girls everywhere, I am with you. Thank you.







Sadness.