Confessions of a Free Range Prolapsed Catholic

Everything I knew. Compass points, direction, barometric pressure. From the north, south, east and west of the crucifix,

An execution machine.

Sixty three years. Formation. Me and mine. Celebration, loss, grief compounded by love in front of the crucifix!

An execution machine

Slaughter of the innocence. Devastation of the Stabat Mater. a sword of silence piercing her heart – the crucifix

An execution machine.

Furtive silence. Fear of “what if?” “protest” “publicity. Creativity, goodness, service, love, brain tumour – DEAD. the crucifix

An execution machine.

Life endures. I look for strength. After 63 years, the Institution lets me go. Innocent! The Institution’s grief renders it silent. The crucifix

An execution machine

Anger! Resentment! Agony! Loss! Powerlessness! Disenfranchised! Despised and rejected. Silent anger that kills from the inside out on the crucifix

An execution machine

Will the Third Day dawn? Rumour! Gossip! Supposition! Evil.. Victims?Name them all. Victims? Grieve with them all? Dare to speak their names.. All are victims of the Institution! Propped up by the good of those who trusted and believed!

Dare to speak all their names. Dare to gieve in public upon the cross beam of the crucifix

An execution machine.

Come and speak to me of grief.

September 2014

(Published for the first time on Good Friday 2026.)

Evil will not prevail.