House of Darkness House of Light

by Andrea Perron

  Upon reflection, it appears that knowledge comes incrementally, as much as we can handle at one time, and not as one divine thunderbolt strike; more like the soft rain, gradually absorbed. Assimilating too much information too fast is overwhelming to the human mind. Ask any of the seven mortals who suffered an incessant onslaught of sounds and images so stunning, it stopped all of them dead in their tracks, chilling them to the bones. Carolyn’s various experiences transported her to hell and back on several occasions, as a vision of death was seared into her psyche, for life. It leaves a mark. Each time she was confronted by another entity, malignant or benign, the woman was taken to another place in time: unfamiliar territory. That sensation never subsided, even after years of supernatural encounters. They remained shocking, always prompting visceral reactions. Danger! This does not compute! As images are instantly absorbed, messages are received. Data processing comes later.

  During these episodes Carolyn prayed in moments of quiet desperation, an automatic reflex to implore the Savior, requesting divine intervention on behalf of herself and her family from their Creator. In moments of crisis, we tend to go straight to the source, bypassing religious connotations. Her words of prayer were pure, her connection with spirit was strong and it had nothing to do with any lessons she had ever learned through religious instruction. We look up and speak to the sky, sending messages into the cosmos, like smoke signals… with the hope they’ll be noticed. We seek communion with someone we believe to be powerful, something greater than ourselves, the perpetration of a fallacy of Biblical proportion. God is so much closer than we think.

  Carolyn found all religions archaic, resenting this intrusion as an artificial authority being imposed upon her, misrepresenting itself as something other than man-made. She considered Catholicism to be unhealthy for the children, spreading the fallacious messages based solely on their gender. According to Carolyn, Roman Catholic doctrine has invented and aggressively promotes a fear-based mentality among its parishioners, especially children, fostering an unholy belief system that includes divine retribution, that which awaits those who fail to follow all of the rules and regulations. Be afraid… be very afraid, because God’ll get you for that! What about Original Sin? Born to be bad to the bone? Good Lord! Carolyn figured her children were frightened enough, no need to add fuel to the fire, insult to injury. There was quite enough going on in their own home to make their lives a living hell. God’s house shouldn’t be scary, too. No advocate of the practice, going to church was nothing more than a means for her to gather ammunition against her perceived adversary; preaching hatred and intolerance instead of love is an expression of evil. Not good. At the heart of the matter, Carolyn was convinced that the hierarchy of the Catholic Church intentionally scared the hell out of its flock to keep them in line, inflicting premeditated brain pain as a dictate, in unapologetic terms. The manifestation of madmen, ignoring yet another tenet: first, do no harm.

  Why do human beings feel justified in the taking of another human life? It’s as if, while claiming to trust in the Creator, they’re likewise compelled to take matters into their own hands, on this field of battle, rather than relying upon the next. Humanity routinely doles out punishment that seems to fit the crimes against humanity that occur just as routinely. We lock up the culprits, throw away the key… then pray there is a holy hell for them to burn in and a God to condemn them. Eternal damnation. What a concept. So what if there’s no inherent meaning to crime or punishment, excepting the significance we assign by hypocritically superimposing it on ourselves as a society? The vast majority of humanity believes in a Creator. If God is beckoning all of us to Heaven, wouldn’t that qualify as the ultimate Day of Judgment Call? So why do human beings cringe and wince when they hear of another atrocity? Why do they find it abhorrent? Why does it offend their sensibilities? Because we are all hard-wired for self-preservation and God-wired to pass judgments and draw conclusions. Because mortals validate our existence by acknowledging the existence of others; intuitively sensing, knowing their plight could be our own… the birthplace of sympathy and empathy in any soul. We are enigmas, riddled with thoughts and emotions. We ask pertinent questions: Does God exist? Does He cringe when We wince? Are we One in the same? Are we an expression of God-consciousness, a manifestation of a good idea at the time? Are we the living, breathing embodiment of the infinite mind of the maker? Is it why we have faith in ourselves and others? Does it matter to do the right thing? We seek justice then pray for peace, yet war remains our fundamental response if threatened, as a function of self-protective instincts. Whenever an evil act is perpetrated against innocents we seek a satisfying outcome, some sense of vindication. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.

  If good and evil were deemed indistinguishable from each other, it would spell the end of civilization as we know it. Instead, human beings delineate, a fine line, one from the other; assigning essential attributes, intrinsic meaning, according to value systems. Though we claim to trust in God to handle it in the end, we routinely intervene on His behalf well beforehand, just in case: a preemptive strike, specifically targeting prime suspects where opportunities arise. If we believe God exists and He will smite all sinners then why take on that kind of responsibility? Why bother to apprehend the offenders unless we really are manifestations of God-consciousness, doing God’s good works on behalf of all humanity. It’s a theory, one among many. Nobody really knows. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord . . . so, we have every right? If the devil has foot soldiers, why not welcome crusaders, on behalf of all that is holy, sacred and good? Fair is fair. All is fair in love and war. On guard! Charge! The Light Brigade. And if they don’t believe what you believe, off with their heads!

  Carolyn wasn’t willing to listen to what rang down from the bully pulpit. She found numerous images of “the church” disturbing; objectionable on a variety of levels. She considered the concepts of heaven and hell to be a pure fabrication of religious zealots developing crafty tools to entice, ensnare and manipulate millions who were hungry for some meaning in their pitiful lives. It was harder back then; survival itself was far less certain than modern times afford and mortals needed to know there was some reward for all that misery and suffering. Yet, the same holds true today. People want to know if they’re going somewhere after death, if life goes on, elsewhere. Eager to believe, the doubt persists because they are not sure of anything. The founding fathers of the “great” religions effectively utilized the omnipresent fear factor to cajole, persuade and convince the lowly souls among them that high in the sky they would find eternal salvation; the sacred source of redemption and everlasting life. If they would merely follow a few simple rules, then contribute all their worldly possessions to the church, propagate the species and keep the church populated. And then, in the end, they would receive their just reward, with only the faith of a mustard seed. Now that’s spooky. Superstitious! Actually, it really is a rather ingenious calculation, a brilliant deduction: utilizing the pre-existing powers of fear to insidiously interject guilt, sin and shame for good measure. Keep them groveling, guessing and coming back for more!

  Almighty Fear: that which is intrinsic to our nature, effectively hijacked; an exceedingly clever tactical maneuver designed to relieve anxious masses, committed as the best method of controlling millions and millions of minds: something wicked. Carolyn considered myriad devilish images displayed as a picturesque series of grotesque icons that established religions deliberately impose upon and impale in impressionable minds of countless unsuspecting souls. Specifically intended to terrify youths into submission; indoctrination works. Apparently they forgot about DO NO HARM. As a mother she didn’t want her children exposed to graphic renderings depicting evil as art, images hard to forget, knowing it would, no doubt distort their natural perceptions of the world. She never encouraged going to church, the presumption made that her girls would not be raised that way. She grew unwilling to watch curious, liberated minds become molded closed by blatant, subtle, or invisib
le forms of indoctrination. Lesson learned: do not always come when called!

  Her fundamental belief system remains intact. Some forty years hence the issues remain, a judgment regarding the church, from parish to pope. In part, and as a whole, institution to individual, Carolyn believes organized religion is another form of mind control and Catholic doctrine, in particular, is a form of psychological torture as emotional terrorism. It serves no one but itself as a morbid, historically shameful blight on humanity. A plague on mankind: self-possessed, self-perpetuating, self-indulgent and self-absorbed.

  Of course, there was the original self-fulfilling prophesy to be considered: Jesus Christ at Gethsemane. Through no fault of His own, in advance of His gruesome death, Jesus knew his role. In its wake, there emerged a religion, a holy church dedicated to His name, in His honor, proclaiming the teachings of the Magic Man from Galilee. The Prince of Peace. Yet, over the centuries, his followers brutally slaughtered anyone who did not believe in his magic. Way to spread the word of God… written in blood on the sands of time.

  A thoughtful woman found ideological tenets of Catholicism particularly harmful, downright dangerous, especially for females. She’d encouraged her five daughters to use their bright, facile minds to chart their own course and discouraged them from buying into the doctrine and dogma of an institution that essentially suppresses even those women who serve it from within. Just more of the same; women serving the men in the name of God: Nauseating. Holy men serving themselves in the name of God. Priests who murmur tacit threats while raping altar boys: Criminal. In God we trust? In her lifetime she has witnessed enough to know her assessment of the church is accurate. That atrocious behavior, obvious intention and attempts to keep it quiet, affording protection to criminals sheltered from the darkest gathering storm as blatant efforts to cover it all up continue. Exposure of an ugly little secret has rocked the foundation of the Roman Catholic Church all the way to the Vatican, not because this was happening all along, but because they got caught. Carolyn did pass judgment on a belief system that failed its own, cheered as the lot of them went to prison, men who’d wounded so many innocent children over so many decades, committing vile, despicable acts while the venerable Cardinal Law ends up not where he deserves to be in some cold jail cell but is instead, by invitation, settled in the lap of luxury at the Vatican. Welcome home, son. As flagrant, obscene transgressions there will be no forgiveness forthcoming; only loathing and contempt. So many lives were ruined, made a living hell, shattered in subjugation. Holy Hell. Misogyny is pure ignorance. Pedophilia is pure evil. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord. Could anybody imagine letting them off the hook in the name of God or a belief in divine retribution? Will they get theirs in the end? It was time to take matters into mortal hands. There is some justice in the world, only because human beings insist upon it.

  “The happiest man is he who learns from nature

  the lesson of worship.”

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  After their final trip to church together, to Midnight Mass on a sparkling Christmas Eve, the family returned home. Roger built a roaring fire. Placing a Yule log in the center of a wrought iron grate, everyone gathered around it, enjoying a cup of hot chocolate before going off to bed. During the ride back to the farm, Carolyn informed Roger that it had been her last time in the pew of any church. He did not respond. The kids were all at the point of frenzy in the back seat, discussing plans for the holiday. April overheard her mother. Standing beside her in front of the fire, the youngster tugged at her sleeve.

  “Mom? Why don’t you want to go back to church anymore?” Cherubim, the little angel spoke. Carolyn listened up as smoke billowed in the chimney. She believed in the message of Jesus Christ but thought it had not been well-received by humanity. She considered Jesus misunderstood, misinterpreted by those in the flock who’ve used His words of peace as the weapons of war. How to express such an intimidating, complex concept to a seven year old?

  “I think the church makes God too small. I think God is bigger than any of us can even imagine. When I want to pray I would rather take a long walk in the woods. I feel closer to God there.” A mother spoke her truth to power.

  “Aren’t we even closer to God in the “House of the Lord” . . . with Him?” Nancy was paying attention. She’d felt scrutinized, parishioners staring their way. She wanted to inquire why her mother was feeling uncomfortable, too.

  “I don’t know. I feel God in this house. God is everywhere all the time.”

  “That’s impossible.” Christine was doing infinite calculations in her head, theorizing with a big bang, until she thought her head would explode.

  “That’s what makes it a miracle.” Carolyn smiled at her pragmatic middle child, struggling to make sense of that much God in action.

  “Like the baby Jesus and the Virgin Mary!” Cindy perked up, chiming in. “I feel God here all the time… this is a holy house.”

  Carolyn understood precisely what Cindy was saying, and why. Deciding to end it right there before their chatter plunged into the deep end, she said:

  “Good! It’s late. Time for bed. Santa Claus is coming and he will not stop unless you’re all asleep. Say goodnight to your father then head on upstairs. I will be up in a few minutes to tuck you in. Don’t forget to say your prayers.”

  (And Carolyn had the audacity to accuse the church of promoting a fallacy!) Dutiful children did as they were told, especially on the one night of the year when compliant behavior was of the utmost importance. Carolyn was jovial: “He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. So you’d better be good for goodness sake!” Off they went thinking magical thoughts.

  Once the girls were asleep, Santa Claus emptied the trunk of his car then retrieved a few more well-hidden items from the woodshed. In the meantime, Mrs. Claus gathered up the wrapping paper, tags, bows, scissors and tape for their long winter’s night ahead. Feast or famine. Roger always did well for Christmas but it always came at the last minute, like the shopping spree his full pockets afforded. He’d outdone himself that year. Seriously Santa.

  If the couple had anything to discuss, it was who should receive what the next morning. Carolyn thought about what she had seen and heard in church; chants and incantations, a spell cast upon the masses from on high above the altar during Mass. Realizing her explanation was insufficient, Carolyn knew it would be a topic to revisit, in the future. Church and prayer were mutually exclusive concepts. She never hesitated to pray. Conversation came naturally to her as a spiritual being. While wrapping gifts, it occurred to Carolyn, their home was the house of the Lord. It had all the components: Heaven and Hell, angels and demons and God by her side in battle: concepts originating with and ordained by the Holy Roman Catholic Church.

  And that immortality thing? Disappointing news. She did not want to be reborn and was so looking forward to a deep, restful sleep at the end of it all. While she pondered the intermingling of good and evil, darkness and light, Carolyn considered humanity’s singular role in the epic passion play and the fascinating concept struck her: mortals create Heaven and Hell on Earth, as a self-fulfilling prophesy. We’ve handled our fellow human beings with tender delicacy and savage brutality, intentionally imparting pleasure and inflicting pain upon one another. An answer to a question asked for millennia was yes. Is a God here, there and everywhere? Does the Great Spirit hear us crying in the night? As it all became clearer still… epiphany! God hears our little voice within because God is our little voice within. If everything is one thing then Hell is as holy as Heaven, as holy as the farmhouse where she and her family dwelled. It followed logically: the holy spirits of the house were where they belonged. On that Oh! holy night, Carolyn decided she would only worship at an altar of an almighty oak well before it was ever transformed into a pew. Recalling what one great leader told his people when they were frightened in the midst of an evil, wicked attack Winston Churchill inspired the British with his stiff upper lip: “When you’re going th
rough hell, keep going.” Sage advice. In the midst of a war of her own she need not look any further than into the eyes of her children for inspiration. No need to seek beyond her own back yard. From high upon the altar she heard fear being preached in church. Angels on high to demons below, she preferred to plant herself firmly on Mother Earth.

  “All religion has to have its day / Expressions on the face of the Savior / Made me say I can’t stay / Open up the gates of the church and let me out of here / Too many people have lied in the name of Christ / For anyone to heed the call / Too many people have died in the name of Christ that I can’t believe it all. / Now I’m standing on the grave of a soldier that died in 1799 / And the day he died it was a birthday and I noticed it was mine. / And my head didn’t know just who I was and I went spinning back in time and I am high upon

  the altar . . . The air inside just hangs in delusion,

  but given time, I’ll be fine.”

  Graham Nash “Cathedral”

  leave well enough alone

  “To do nothing is sometimes a good remedy.”

  Hippocrates

  The path of least resistance has obstacles all its own, with a series of hazards, a labyrinth lurking with dangers at every turn of phrase. Carolyn never knew what next to expect along this trail of tears… too often a shock to the system. Welcome home.

  ***

  Roger appeared to be just fine when he came home, no apparent problem. His mood was jovial. He’d spent some time outside with several of the girls before entering the kitchen. If Carolyn thought his kindness would extend to her as well, she was sadly mistaken. Stepping across the threshold, his nose wrinkled, struck by an aroma he perceived as a stench in the air. Based upon his hyperbolic reaction, one would have thought Carolyn was attempting to serve rancid mutton to her family. Instead, she had thoughtfully prepared the luscious pot of meatballs, still simmering in sauce on the stove. Water ready to receive spaghetti, Carolyn pried open a package of pasta while Andrea remained busy nearby, assembling a salad at the table. Dad was home and dinner was cooking, soon to be served, or so she thought. Entering the pantry, his abrupt change of mood became evident to all within earshot.