Catholicism, Communism, and Back


I walked into my (Jewish) father’s bedroom, where he and his wife were sitting up in bed, watching the news, last night. I had just come from Thursday Night mass, and felt overcome with emotion. I don’t write any of this to alienate or “trigger” any of my atheist readers. I told them I have plans to convert to Catholicism.

“Oh you’ve been saying that for two years,” said my stepmother sharply. “I know,” I said, producing a smile to indicate that the arrow was well deserved.

“There were people there older than me, who were baptized tonight,” I said. “I’m what’s called a catechumen. Don’t you love the language, at least?”

Well, I do. “catechumen” sounds to me like a little caterpillar type creature, curled up safe and warm.

My father’s wife of 9 years is a staunch atheist, who knew Ayn Rand. My father, on the other hand, prays for two hours every morning, before rising. Then he “closes” his prayers with a curious backwards walk in the large foyer. I think for him, it’s simply important to give thanks.

My mother, who was Swedish, was of course born Lutheran, but her mother, Ingrid, rather inexplicably, took her two children to Stockholm in the late 1930s and converted them to Catholicism. Then my mother converted to Judaism, in order to marry my father, who descended from Russian Jews–not particularly devout.

The Rabbi, right after my mother was converted, said: “That’s funny, you don’t look Jewish.”

Then everything blew to pieces and there was no longer a family, just war, which I’ve written about here. When I was 9, my mother took me out of public school and placed me in an all girl’s Catholic private school here in New York–The Convent Of The Sacred Heart. I was in heaven. Ironed my white blouse each night, put on my grey uniform dress, pleated skirt, took the bus across the park, changed out of pants or wool stockings in the vestibule in the winter months. I loved all the rules and the Nuns, contrary to many other people’s experiences, were my liberators. They taught me I had a mind, and could use it. They has us performing Shakespeare in Elizabethan English, and for the first time in my life I excelled in school–skipped grades, even did well in math. My brain trauma seemed to disappear, and I no longer froze during tests. I fell into a spiritual reverie and began my conversion process. I loved this figure: Jesus. I felt he would always be on my side.

Then, in the winter of 1976, we went to Sweden, and in a small hotel in the town of Orebro, my mother told us we were not returning to New York. Not for at least 8 years–to avert a custody battle that was very real in my mother’s mind.

Sweden is almost perfectly secular. Atheist, materialist, “socialist,” (then) and there was no way of continuing my Catholic exploration. We moved into a housing complex that had incredibly serious class implications. “Working class,” we were told. But we were also told in no uncertain terms that people with dark hair, immigrants, at the time called “svartskallar,” (black heads) lived where we lived. We were from New York so didn’t really understand the Big Deal. They said it had low status, We said whatever. The apartment was bleak, with cement walls, vinyl floors–built to crush the human spirit, But perfectly modern. The kind of apartment complex that now has “no go zones,” where the police won’t even go.

Soon we began to be indoctrinated by the Communist Party–its youth program, which preyed on our very young minds, and began gender-leveling by sending us girls to work in car parts factories, the boys to learn nursing and other female oriented professions. This communist eruption happened to me, but not my older sister. I was always way more gullible and emotionally impressionable. They taught us The Internationale in Swedish, had us raking leaves, painting red stars on the walls of the Youth Center, reciting the outrages of the proletariat. We learned about Joe Hill and Victor Jara. One word I do still feel a certain nostalgia about from those days is “Solidarity.” Like when I sometimes have to lock Jack in the bathroom for a few moments because he is pushing things off counters, even though I have fed him, Lewis goes and sits outside the bathroom door and won’t budge. It only takes minutes until I feel like such a tyrant, I let him out. “Solidarity” is a wonderful concept and yes, they drummed it into us. But when we were 14, the bearded Socialist Youth leaders we had given our souls to, had us raking enough leaves, picking enough apples, to go on a canoe hike. It was very important that nobody who “could afford it” had an advantage–so we all worked for a set amount of time, until the money was raised, and then we took off. I actually, looking back, don’t understand how we raised money this way but in any case, they made their point.

I think I was 12 or 13 when I once came home having attended a Communist Youth rally, and was late. My sister  Bibi had to tell my mother where I was and my mother went rather ballistic. I was in very serious trouble when I came home. My mother called my father in New York, furious, and if I recall, hollering. But this time she was not hollering at him, but rather, about me. “Her life will be ruined Barry! She won’t be able to return to the States!” My mother wanted them to agree to ship me off the live with my very strict grandparents in Fort Lauderdale. I don’t know how I even “heard” this, considering the cobra phone technology of the day, but my father, a Conservative, since Nixon, who ran for the office of Mayor of New York in 1977 (the year before) started laughing uproariously.

This infuriated my mother. “It’s not funny Barry!” she roared. And my father roared back: “You’re calling to tell me Celia is a communist. You can’t say that’s not funny.” 

That’s become one of our standard phrases to this day: “You can’t say that’s not funny.”

Let me add: I respect my mother’s concern.

In any case, that canoe hike put a decisive end to my communist dreams. Our leaders forgot the maps in the bus. So we winged it–the part about where to carry the canoes and where to paddle. That was all marked up in the maps, left behind. Somewhere around day two, we were paddling along happily when all of a sudden, we were engulfed in rapids. Then we were holding on to the bottom of the canoes, trying not to drown. No life vests. A man called down to us: “You can’t paddle down there!” This we knew. But how to get out? We eventually made our way to the edges, and started climbing up the muddy incline. It was raining. We all got out, but our provisions had floated off, and all our clothes were soaked. I don’t know how many days it was, but we wandered in the wilderness, without food, and with wet clothes, long enough that we began to hallucinate from hunger. Our leaders, unlike us, had packed their clothes properly, and my distinct memory is that “solidarity” went out the window. Not to demonize them, but my best friend for her first period in the middle of all this, and they were not helpful. I don’t know if this contributed to her being worse off than I was but she got very ill. When we were finally rescued–having found our way out of the wilderness, to a small village, she was grey. She was taken to the hospital, with acute meningitis, and her heart stopped–she died. But they started her heart again, with a shot of adrenaline into her heart, which kills you if you are not technically dead. She was so angry at the doctors who brought her back that she cursed them out. She said it was so wonderful on the other side, that there are no words to describe it. None of the youth leaders visited her in the hospital, or called. The same day as her heart stopped, my mother’s fiance fell down dead with a stroke. He was cooking breakfast–boiling an egg– and we were all, the four of us, supposed to go on a vacation trip that day.

My mother and I went anyway–how we got it together I will never understand. She cried, of course, for weeks, like I never heard anybody cry.

I became an anti-communist, but my friend retained her faith. If I’ve told these stories before, forgive me. I am rarely able to remember what I wrote or said or did. “Classic PTSD,” Dr. Brooks always says. I only know the present moment and can’t connect back very well. Eventually, I traveled to the following countries to study communism for myself: The Soviet Union, East Germany, Czechoslovakia (as it was then called,) Romania, Bulgaria, and Cuba. Right now I am too depleted and exhausted to say any more. I don’t even know why I am trying to explain all this, right now. I don’t think my views “matter,” but I have a compulsion to write things like this, unprompted, maybe to calm my nerves. I can’t bring myself to write about the situation with North Korea, China, and the US. A friend from Japan wrote: “Japan is freaking.”

Well finally somebody is having a reaction that makes sense.

I feel like everything I write is getting more and more stupid, like I am still 14. I can’t explain why I never can remain consistent. Feels I am inside a small cell, and barely speak English anymore, but have to keep talking. I can’t form fancy sentences, or “write.” I am trauma with eyeballs. Everybody is angry. Everybody has always been angry. How can I make people less angry, at least here?

I started this post actually wanting to address my kindergarten sense of Catholicism–went to Mass yesterday, and today, and will go tomorrow, and Sunday. This could become a blog that is simply a diary of a middle aged half Jewish woman trying to become a Catholic, but everybody and their uncle will try to get me to drop it. My friend S. wrote me long texts today saying if I was going to do this I should join a non-denominational Church. Why would I want to do that? That’s the last thing I need–a non-denominational Church. I can’t even stand the words “non-denominational.” Cold and watery. Like everything else. And no, I am not a “Buddhist.” I’m also not from a Buddhist continent.

I want Catholicism. I don’t want to be let off easy either. I wrote a letter to the only editor I ever chained my soul to, at the age of 20, and told him I have quit journalism and am becoming a Catholic. (He’s Catholic.) Here is part of the letter, maybe the most important part:

“I am, at the same time, discovering that my distance from God has caused everything. I need to tell you this, since you are one of the only practicing Catholics I know: I went to mass last night and all of a sudden I was able to feel the sorrow of The Betrayal, and I cried. When they turned the lights off and walked around (I lack all the right terminally but can’t wait to learn) …the Stations, I knew it was real, in a way that is more real than the “truth” I have been caught up in all my life.

I was so affected. I walked to my father’s feeling like a different person, like I was no longer alone, cold and in pain. I know Christ would not mock me or sexually degrade me or feel the need to cut down my mind. (Journalism)

He didn’t hate women! He would never allow a woman to be disrespected.

I have always loved him but didn’t think I was “allowed” to because of the false Jewish/Christian divide. It’s all the same, it’s all one. I don’t have to leave my father or my fragmented judaism to embrace the Cross. Judaism, in fact, does not offer redemption from sin and pain. Not really.

Morals, yes, but healing? My father used to quip, when we could still hold a Seder in his home: “All Jewish holidays are the same story: They tried to kill us, they failed, let’s eat!”

But I am out for stars. My whole life has been being hunted. I believe that Christ can cause us to love ourselves and never be hunted, no matter what. ”

That is my “faith.” I can either continue to bleed to death from political, social wounds, wounds of knowledge seeking, or I can embrace the offering of redemption. Today I learned that Christ was mocked on the cross, by the other two crucified.

Did you know that? It made me think of Andrew Wakefield, Peter Duesberg, Ignaz Semmelweis, Galileo Galilei; It made me think of scientists:


29 Those who passed by hurled insults at him, shaking their heads and saying, “So! You who are going to destroy the temple and build it in three days, 30 come down from the cross and save yourself !” 31 In the same way the chief priests and the teachers of the law mocked him among themselves. “He saved others,” they said, “but he can’t save himself! 32 Let this Messiah, this king of Israel, come down now from the cross, that we may see and believe.” Those crucified with him also heaped insults on him.


Mark 15:29-32

Walking to my father’s, after mass last night, I took a photo of another Church–New York is a very Catholic city, and also, a city of sin and pain. All of America, paralyzed by pain, sin, rage. I’m sick of it.

I don’t want to be around people who don’t think they should atone for a thing. Who have no beauty about them, which is to say, no remorse. When we ask to be forgiven for our sins, we don’t endorse a blood-soaked Patriarchy. We just open up the possibility of reversing the plague of selfishness. Of zombie-dom. We thaw our frozen hearts.

The war never ends, never changes. I believe that Satan is real, and that he works through us, through our wounds, causes us to inflict suffering, in a vain quest to escape the pain.

I did not like who I had become.

So I went to Church.

The Trump war was Satan’s triumph. Like the episode of The Twilight Zone “The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street,” where longtime neighbors, from fear, start accusing one another and the whole community breaks down.



20 thoughts on “Catholicism, Communism, and Back”

  1. I was raised in a Roman Catholic home. I attended a Catholic school that was flanked on the left by our convent and then on the right by our beautiful gothic style cathedral, St Johns.
    I was given lessons in Latin by priests and nuns and our mass was spoken in Latin. I’ve outed myself in the age department.
    To the right of St. Johns is a beautiful matching stone building that housed our priests. Directly behind and sharing the length of all those properties was the Notre Dame High school for girls.
    You could say I was surrounded on all sides by Catholics. It was an enclave within the city. A protected space created to shelter a way of life and to teach a system of belief.
    As a child I experienced the ridicule and tauntings often aimed at Catholics without any actual understanding of the whys of that reality. It was quite a surreal and frightening experience for a very young child. Having to defend an identity that totally confused and baffled me and being labelled in such a negative way. I was often forced to defend my physical self and that was counter to the whole “turn the other cheek” narrative I was being taught in catechism..
    Inside my Catholic world I came to know that it was best if I just did what I was told and follow along without question regardless of my confusion or inevitably suffer the consequences.
    I quickly learned that questioning anything taught within those walls was always met with punitive and sometimes very frightening and painful lessons. I had already won the prize for “most strappings in a year” and that was enough.
    Needless to say…violence in and out of the home, family addiction and religion all converged in one great swell of a tsunami that completely overcame my sense of safety in the world.
    That benevolent picture of Jesus holding a lamb in my family home never really lived up to the promise of comfort and protection it was meant to portray where my life was concerned.
    I have complex PTSD directly related to events that arose from within those halls of worship and from a very troubled and sexually abusive home life. Experiences that manifested themselves over and over again in later years through my many, skewed life choices.
    Suffice it to say I left the church running when I left home at 14 years of age.
    I spent the next 25 or so years trying to forget everything. Not a very wise or prudent solution. Detachment and much like yourself, memory loss made that possible on a certain level but never enough to quell the snippets of dark matter that slipped past the haze of drugs, alcohol and denial.
    That underlying metaphysical anxiety comprised of sin, death and a certain hell was always nipping at my heels. Manifestations on a Bruegel-like scale often raced through my imagination and haunted my dreams and shadowed my waking life.
    I have a difficult time understanding people who choose to follow a way of life and a belief system that has personally brought me so much pain and torment even to this day.
    Reading this blog brought some of this back for me.
    I have other close friends and family who made the same choice and despite our differences in belief I love them dearly. We have an understanding that each persons experience is valid even when it comes from opposite sides of the spectrum.
    I also understand that each persons life experience is a singular journey and that many Catholics have never walked the path that I found myself walking and their faith endures.
    The fact remains to be spoken that contrary to popular opinion the doctrines have not changed all that much, even though some measure of reform/presentation was made for the sake of the churches survival.
    I may be one of the only dissenters on here who isn’t as positive about your conversion but obviously, I’m very biased because of my own experiences.
    I do however understand the desire for finding succor in an increasingly frightening and brutal world and I sincerely hope you find some peace within your chosen faith. I don’t seem to contain the gene needed to believe in such things and it’s certainly not from lack of trying. As they say…Peace be upon you.

    1. I want to respond but have fallen acutely ill. Can barely move and am vomiting and pounding headache. can’t respond yet. letters here important. you all mean a lot


      1. Any idea what the cause is? Can you get a ride to hospital? If not, will you call for an ambulence? No shit! The symptoms are severe and potentially life-threatening, especially if you have no awareness of the cause. Forgive me for sounding insistent and alarmist, but you’ve got to get to a doctor and get a diagnosis, my friend. ASAP. Yes?

        1. Wait? A diagnosis from a doctor??!! Funny how that means something if your the one who is ill , yet with others the illness they have does not exist. Hiv , measles…

          1. You, Mr. Barron, are a self-deluded prick, with a morbidly obese ego.

            Ms. Farber has never stated or implied that diagnosing by qualified physicians is not effective and neccesary in appropriate circumstances. NEVER!

            You are a cocksure, hot-headed, feeble-minded playground child who believes he is a muscle-bound uniformed super-hero cyber brute.

            Your whining here is easily-identifiable as the tantrums of an ignorant insecure brat.

            I wonder how someone who believes he’s an adult, can be proud of that.

            1. I’m sorry john but the truth hurts. Its hard to take someone seriously if the belive in pizzagate but not hiv.

      2. I send you warm intentions towards a quick healing of your present malady, Celia.
        As for you John Barron, badly done. Were you waiting in earnest for that opportunity to strike the low blow or was it just a happy accident that you jumped upon while you lurked about in the shadows. Your bitter root is showing.

  2. Mind numbing, soul-searching – amid the maelstrom you describe – your voice shines like a crystal wand, weaving illuminated enchantment under the shadows of the deep forest, lighting your way. Stay on that path, Celia – you have found so much more than perhaps you realise.
    I’ve always had a thing for Jesus, Sananda, call him what you will – not in a dogmatic, Catholic, traditional way – I’ve always seen him as the cornered zealot, the precocious rabbi, overturning the tables of the money lenders in the synagogue and scolding them for their materialistic blasphemy.
    He was targeted right then – he’d cast the gauntlet to the one-percenters, the banksters, the men who would have the masses serve their obscene indulgences.
    Are we not living that very metaphor right now, more so than ever before?
    And are not the morally outraged people, the collective Jesus metaphor, being crucified for their audacity?
    Is it a wonder the cardboard Christ and the evangelical money harvesting have become the faux icons of modern Christianity subsuming the nuances of everything Jesus stood for – his message, his morality, his desire to be kind yet stand behind those suffering at the hands of dictatorial oppressors?
    We are here. This is the second coming but it’s not a visitation by the messiah of scripture, it’s the groundhog day cycle we have taken such awful pains to repeat so that we may reveal the horror of this second coming – the one we insist on recreating…
    It’s not you who is lost or misguided, Celia – the fearful lurk in their subjective anonymity in the crowds of stone-throwers as our society stumbles back up the hill of Golgotha awaiting the inevitable.
    I am agog at what it is we are prepared to sacrifice oblivious to the nails being hammered through our wrists…

    “Before the Romans come to seize us
    Read to them the words of Jesus.
    And as the nails go through those hands
    Pray someday they’ll understand…”

    1. They DO understand. Oh indeed they do.

      That’s precisely why they are so fabulously, so splendidly, so regally, majestically and deifically successful at overlording and overbearing; and so successful at employing systemic propagation of the “Holy State’s” preeminent canonical pro-martyrdom manifesto (the Roman-made Christ tale) for smoking-out and snuffing-out “dangerous” non-conforming objectors who challenge the “ordained” will of the rulers of “the Holy Realm.”

      Cui bono? Who benefits?

      “Every person must be in subjection to the governing authorities, because there is no authority except from God, and those which exist are established by God. Therefore, whoever resists authority has opposed the ordinance of God; and they will receive condemnation, because rulers are not a cause of fear for anyone who shows good behavior, but for evil behavior. Do you want to have no fear of authority? Do what is good, and you will have praise from authority, because the authority is a minister of God to you, for your good. But if you don’t do what is good, then be afraid, because authority does not carry the sword for nothing. It is a minister of God, an avenger who brings punishment upon those who do not do good. Therefore, it is necessary to be in subjection, not only because authority will punish you, but also because subjection promotes good conscience. For that reason, you pay taxes to rulers. They are the servants of God, devoting themselves to all of this.” – Roman Man’s man-made pro-martyrdom manifesto; “New Testament”, book of Romans, chapter 13, verses 1-6.

      Cui bono? Who benefits?

      Who benefits from that grotesque utterance by the Empire’s contracted literary ventriloquist for the ghastly man-made “holy ghost”?

      Cui bono?

      “…they will grab you into their hands, and they will persecute you, […and] It will lead to an opportunity for your testimony. So make up your minds not to prepare to defend yourselves.” – Roman Man’s man-made pro-martyrdom manifesto; “New Testament”, book of Luke, chapter 21, verses 12-14.

      Who benefits? Cui bono?

      “Truly I say to you, that if you have faith, and do not doubt, [then] even if you say to this mountain, ‘Be lifted up and cast into the sea’, it shall be done. And anything you ask for in prayer, with belief, you shall receive it.” – Matthew 21: 21-22.

      That’s a lie.

      Cui bono? Who benefits?

      “If anyone comes to me, and does not hate his [or her] own father and mother and husband [or wife] and children and brothers and sisters, and even his own life [or her own life], then he [or she] cannot be my disciple.” – Roman Man’s man-made pro-martyrdom manifesto; “New Testament”, book of Luke, chapter 14, verse 26.

      Who benefits? Cui bono?
      Who benefits from promoting and provoking latent “subversive” alienation, in the Holy Realm, where “whoever resists authority has opposed the ordinance of God”?
      Who benefits from such ENTRAPMENT?

      “Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth. I did not come to bring peace, but to bring a sword. I came to set a son against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and a woman’s enemies will be those in her own household. Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me. Whoever loves son or daughter more than me, is not worthy of me.” – Roman Man’s man-made pro-martyrdom manifesto; “New Testament”, book of Luke, chapter 14, verse 26.

      Cui bono? Who benefits?

      “Women must keep silent in the churches. They must not be permitted to speak. They must subject themselves, because that is also what our Law says. If they want to learn anything, they must ask their husbands at home. It is disgraceful for a woman to speak in church.”
      “Women must quietly receive instruction, with absolute submission. I tell you, a woman must not be allowed to teach, or to exercise authority over a man. Women must remain silent, because it was Adam who was formed first, and then Eve. And it was not Adam who was deceived [by the serpent]. It was the woman who was deceived and fell into sin. So, women shall be saved through the bearing of children, if they continue in faith and love and sanctity, with self-restraint.” – Man’s man-made manifesto for martyrdom, and for systemic disempowerment of women’s voices, minds, and bodies; “New Testament”, book of 1st Corinthians, chapter 14, verses 34-35, and book of 1st Timothy, chapter 2, verses 11-15.

      Cui bono? Who benefits, then and now?

      Oh yes, indeed, the Romans surely did understand.

      Any of you can understand it too, if you you’re willing to dig into the strategic social-engineering soils and crops planted by the Roman authors of the Holy State’s Canonical Psy-Op (the Roman-made Christ tale), and get your brain a bit dirty by doing so.

      Nothing is what it appears to be.
      But its okay to never mind the slimy grimy mystery of history.
      It doesn’t matter if you see.
      Que sera sera.
      C’est la vie.
      Discordant Chaos ever shall be Yin to the Yang of Harmony,
      for eternity.

      1. “Religion is regarded by the common people as true, by the wise as false, and by the rulers as useful.” – Seneca the Younger, 4 bc – 65 ad.

        “How can you have order in a state without religion? For, when one man is dying of hunger near another who [has more than enough], he cannot resign himself to this difference unless there is an authority which declares ‘God wills it thus.’ Religion is excellent stuff for keeping the common people quiet.” – Napoleon Bonaparte

        “In every country and in every age, the priest has been hostile to liberty. He is always in alliance with the despot, abetting his abuses in return for protection of his own.” – Thomas Jefferson

        “Religion: A set of beliefs held as dogmas, dominating the conduct of life, going beyond or contrary to evidence, and inculcated by methods which are emotional or authoritarian, not intellectual.” Bertrand Russell

        “Man’s capacity for self-delusion is infinite.” – Dr. Elie A. Shneour

        “It has served us well, this myth of Christ.” – Pope Leo X

  3. Wow!
    I’m completely blown away.
    I had no idea of your history. It’s beyond fascinating. So compelling, it struck me to my core. As if it was written to me, personally. Then half way through I realized, it WAS…to some extent.

    On another level I am witnessing the flowering of you. Incredible. This should be, must be a part of a larger memoir. A book that will be successful on all levels because it will connect with millions of people.

    I’ve been having a bit of a transformation myself this week, home alone. I did something quite against my former grain… On Tuesday night I went out to an open mic night. I’ve been to many of these over the years, even recently, but always as an accompanist. As an accomplished guitarist, I’ve successfully backed up many singers over many decades. But this time it was just me and I would SING. It was a song I would often sing to myself late at night when everyone is asleep…

    The Letter…

    “Give me a ticket to an aero plane
    Ain’t got time to take a fast train..”

    Over the years, I’ve altered the chords and melody to be a completely different animal. My own animal. I never saw the need or reason to render a “cover song” exactly as the original. The whole point is to do something different and unique with it. Perhaps because of my jazz background. But maybe I was drawn to jazz BECAUSE of this desire to be unique.

    I’m used to getting unsolicited compliments about my guitar playing from audience members. That night was no exception. But one man came up to me to tell me that it was the best version of the song he had ever heard! The guitar playing AND the vocal! I was shocked, thrilled and yes, scared. Scared of what I knew I had to do. Which was to do it again, and again, and again. For the only reason that if I don’t do it now, I will probably regret it for the rest of my life. I turned 60 in 2016. Life begins..

    So I did it again on Thursday night. Same promoter was doing it at a different bar. It was a little easier this time. I was not quite as scared. And got a similar reaction from patrons and musicians.

    Did not want this to be all about me, more of a direct communication to Celia, illustrating that I can relate to her transformation which I now totally understand and will support 100%! I still have the Bible from my Catholic school youth..

    And also to say that in the wee hours of last night, and at various times throughout the week, alone in my thoughts, I find myself praying to God, in a manner similar to the George Bailey character from A Wonderful Life…
    “If you’re up there and can hear me…show me the way!”

  4. Great stuff.
    My goodness you _can_ write!

    Google “Dawn Eden”. I think you two would get along famously!
    Christus resurrexit!

  5. Celia,

    If Catholicism is how you get to the Christ spirit, then do not let anyone judge you for it. I was raised by assimilated atheist Jews and found out about the Divine through epiphany. (It’s hard to be a spiritual medium and spiritual healer and NOT believe.)

    Personally I don’t think religion is necessary to experience the Christ spirit of unconditional love and acceptance, but if that is what works for you then MAZEL TOV!

    As a shaman, I can take people to the other side so the can see what your young friend saw before the doctors brought her back here. It helps people understand a great many things.

    Much love to you and many blessings as you travel along your spiritual path!

  6. Celia,

    Such an amazingly powerful story. I had never heard it before in its entirety. Your experience with Catholicism will give you so much that you are seeking.

  7. Celia,

    Such an amazingly powerful story. I had never heard it before in its entirety. Your experience with Catholicism will give you so much that you are seeking.

  8. Last December I was humming “O Holy Night” to myself,( because I was raised Lutheran, and still keep Jesus where he belongs, which is in my heart). But when I came to the line, “Fall on your knees” I stopped. I would not go there. I will not abase myself before a slave god. I worship/commune with my Creator/Creatrix via the vast abundance of unnecessary beauty in this world. The glee of children, the flight of birds, the sacraments of birth, death….There are no words in this litany, since words bind us in their spells.
    This is my ‘religion.’ I do not proselytize, I respect the right of others to their own beliefs.
    And I know that worship and prayer in any language reaches its destination.

  9. It’s a wise choice. You’re right, you used to write such elegant texts and that somehow got lost. There’s too much anger and fear. Embrace Catholicism. Read all Chesterton books. He can’t be wrong. Eventually PTSD will be gone. Good luck!

  10. Celia Ingrid Farber,

    “Catholicism, Communism, and Back” ….to love yourself, and never be hunted …reversing the plague of selfishness, and thawing your frozen heart …to not be mocked or sexually degraded, or have your mind cut down …to be more real than the “truth” you’ve been caught up in all your life …to be less angry, and to not be trauma with eyeballs …to love this figure Jesus, who will always be on your side …to be outside of the small cell where you barely speak English anymore …to not bleed to death from political and social wounds, wounds of knowledge seeking …to be the little caterpillar type creature, curled up safe and warm.

    I wish you all relief, and all redemption, and all safety, warmth and love, in this, your beginning of your emergence into where you need to be. I wish you very gentle breezes for the butterfly wings soon to carry you there. Amen.

  11. Thank you Celia for sharing so much of your personal history. There was something refreshing about that, even given the horror of some of the events and details.

    My favorite line: “Finally somebody is having a reaction that makes sense”. I think we all know intuitively when things make sense and when they don’t, even though that intuition has been under assault for a good fifty years now, even more so for the last fifteen. The whole function of “political correctness” and its assault on truth is to protect self-deception from exposure by others; to draw others into the big lie one needs to feel safe. We’re so used to the emotionally abusive pc-driven browbeating that comes with stating the obvious, that a rare opportunity to witness emotional sense can restore confidence in telling the truth, whether about oneself or about something else. (Probably a reason Donald Trump won, too.)

    I also note your reference to Christ “alone” on the cross. This, after a couple of weeks ago publishing another moving post called “Alone”. Same story, different healer… (We still cannot defeat the emotional plague, i.e. “Satan”, alone.)

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