Tag Archives: mourning

Aging, conspiracy, Death, Emotions, Pain, Personal Memoirs, QAnon and others, Spiritual Abuse, Trauma Talk

Look Away

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“Those people were suppose to die.”

“They are old people.”

“It’s the old people that are dying.”

“It’s people who are already sick who are dying.”

All statements made to me back in early 2020 by my mother about a hoax called Coronavirus. It did not exist. Yet, she had explanations about the non-existent deaths due to the non-existent virus.

The first statement is about the “contract” souls made before they came here via sex or perhaps Neptune. A lovely way to bypass the hardness of reality is to believe souls had a choice to come or not. So as they (the dead souls) go, believers like mom can ease their death anxiety by letting them go, for the most part with no mourning of their departure. It is all as it is suppose to be.

The second statement is about dismissing the elderly as they not only agreed to the length of the stay but also agreed to depart when they did. And with no complaint either because, well, they’d stayed long enough. No need to complain about it. They’d used up enough resources and time. Time to make space for the young, fertile and productive.

The third statement is about making the old deaths “okay.”

The fourth statement is about the reality of aging. The organs are no longer “in tune.” The mind and body are in the gradual process of decay. Body parts no longer strong enough to counter the evils of sickness. It’s those people who are dying. Oh well. Farewell. This also includes those of a younger age whose bodies are failing them for all kinds of reasons. We must not linger here. We must let them go. It was all meant to be.

Death, Emotions, Healing, Humanist, Life, Pain, Secular Wings, Trauma Talk

Mourning The Wretches

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In the back ground the bagpipes play the tune, Amazing Grace.  The news commentators themselves are visibly moved.  Another Amazing Grace.

It’s time for humanity to find another tune for mourning, for grieving.  Not a tune about wretches.  Listen if you are a confessed wretch, who by some circumstance found salvation in some one or some thing, then by all means sing about the grace you have now since being delivered from your wretchedness.  Own it.  It is yours.  But in general, let that tune go from the streets of Paris.  Let it go.

Don’t sing or play a tune about grace when none of it is sprinkled anywhere near the dead, the wounded, those yet to die as each moment passes and those who will live but live maimed forever, like the living community whose own soul has been sliced by shrapnel and bullets.  The trauma of the dead.  The trauma of the living.  This tune, Amazing Grace, does not transcend the suffering.  We need a new tune to mourn, to grieve, to mend our collective humanity.  Not one that champions grace these wretches, dead or alive did not receive.  Think about it.

How sweet the sound.  The bombs bursting in air.  Through the perilous night.

That saved a wretch like me.  Such a terrible terrible person.  Such a wretch I am.

I once was lost but now am found.  I’m over here, bleeding out onto the pavement.  Tell my parents I love them.

Was blind but now I see.  Nothing.