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Why Don’t Police Catch Serial Rapists?

7/22/2019

 
by Phil Foley

The attached link: https://apple.news/AHlaKkpEJTVmRga9-wAy21A is from an article in The Atlantic. It illustrates the catastrophic consequences of the Law enforcement community failing to Protect and Serve. Criminal Sexual Assault is a plague on our society. There are steps that can and should be taken.  Reducing the number of these heinous crimes is within our power.Those with the power to act must recognize and not dismiss victims who have the courage to come forward.
We need to demand that our Law enforcement community follows their mandate to Protect and Serve. This Epidemic of Disbelief is further compounded by the current political assault on reproductive rights.
We can and must do better.

MEN & THEIR FATHERS

7/19/2019

 
MEN & THEIR FATHERS
 
Untangling the Knots
 
By Kathleen Hoy Foley
 
 
I am not going to give that guy a message from his dead father, I whispered to Phil.  But that old familiar sensation of density and pressure, of walking through glue when a spirit energy is close and wants to connect was increasing.  I’m not going to do it, I insisted.  I have my rules and boundaries.  An opportunity must present itself and must be very obvious.  I never search—I only respond.  Those are my parameters and I stick to them.  
 
Bringing up a deceased loved one to a stranger is always risky.  Not everyone is okay with the concept of communing with the departed, and I wasn’t up for the stink eye and banishment from the premises with silence and a long, cold stare.  Plus the guy—tall and lanky, well north of fifty if I had to guess—looked way too reserved, far too intellectual with his nose buried in a book as we browsed, apparently unnoticed, in his antique shop. 
 
So, I ignored him and his dead relative, kept my eyes on the treasures, and soon escaped to another room.  Just another undeliverable message…  On the bright side, I’d spared myself all possibilities of the stink-eye curse.  Then the guy poked his head in…friendly, chatty, artistic, kind…  Still I resisted.  Until the opportunities began appearing quicker than I could shut them down.  The man’s dad was persistent.  He needed to talk to his son.  Sorrow and promise weighted the air.     
 
A bruised boy becomes a bruised man.  But when a boy is bruised by his father—the most significant, most influential male in his young life—he is more than bruised, he is deserted.  Stranded alone on the pothole-strewn path to manhood.  Shut down by his principal mentor.  Left to his own undeveloped devices to get where he does not know he is going.  And the bruising within keeps widening, tunneling, quietly becoming entangled with love and anger, guilt and responsibility.  Along with the historical demands that pit personal growth and emotional survival against duty, expectations, and obedience to an unworkable image in an unmanageable dynamic. 
 
So it is that the beautiful boy even as a beautiful man may not identify this bruising—this emotional damage—caused by his father as trauma, but trauma it is.  And the knots of that trauma keep tightening.
 
And so, on that day, in those very humble surroundings of small trinkets and minor valuables, a father in spirit worked against all odds—including a reticent medium—to reach across dimensional planes to attempt to heal the heart of his son.  The son said “yes.”  The time was right.  The energies aligned in harmony.  So, I delivered the message:
 
Your dad knows.  He gets it.  He really gets it.  He wants you to get it, all of it.  He is profoundly sorry about it.  He will not burden you by asking for forgiveness.  He only wants you to know that he now understands.  And he totally supports and encourages you to go all the way to the bottom of it and express every single thing about the pain he caused you.  He does not want to be an obstacle to your growth in any way.  Say it all.  (Even the things you think you’re not supposed to say or think.)  This is the path to your healing.  And, yes, now he is in a very good place because he finally understands what he has done. 
 
I don’t know what the “it” is that the father was referring to.  It is not my business to know.  What is certain is that the love this father expressed for his son is unconditional.  And that kind of love—born from the deepest depths of profound understanding and self-evolution—has the power to transform. 
 
Healing is a long, slow journey of twists and turns.  But whenever the son decides to go down its path, his dad will be present, guiding him to the source of trauma hidden within the bruises of betrayal and disappointment.  The older soul will be embracing the younger soul’s tender heart with unconditional love and complete support as together they explore the tangles and knots of secrets and consequences in his boy’s search for clarity.  The old man will ensure his son’s safety on a path that often feels so frightening, lighting the way forward for his beautiful boy: forward into freedom.
 
In case you’re wondering, this message is not at all unique.  Though I go through my little hissy-fits of anxiety when I’m presented with an opportunity to deliver a message, it always comes through the prism of profound, unconditional, evolved love.  It does not matter whether the communication comes from a late relative, a departed childhood friend, a long-ago, mostly forgotten, deceased acquaintance, or the gentle light of an unknown, invisible guide.  It does not matter whether the message is given directly, overheard in a crowded room, carried by the wind to a listening ear, or stumbled upon by a reader. 
 
If the message resonates, it is for you.  And be assured that there is a loving, evolved spirit who is—and has been—reaching out to you.  
 
It’s a beautiful thing.
 
 
Namaste             
​

Forget About Heaven

7/12/2019

 
Forget About Heaven

Excerpt: Chapter 106, pg. 273-4

                                      Mary Patricia

I’ve had my gripes about this side. Coffee and cigarettes were high
on my list. I figured that after a lifetime of aggravation, God the Father,
His Son, or one of the hundreds of saints I’ve “adored” or the souls in
purgatory I beseeched over the years could’ve taken pity on me when I
came over and at least thrown a few stubbed-out butts and some stale decaf
my way. But that’s not the way it is. And I suppose it’s not the way it ever
was. Nothing’s easy around here. I’m still mad that this isn’t the heaven
they taught me about –– the one I was promised –– when I was alive. It’s
taken me a long time to come to grips with the way things really work. I
came here expecting life to be a piece of cake. After all, I made novenas.
I made sacrifices. Never missed Mass even on holy days of obligation. I
thought I earned Heaven a thousand times over. Boy, was I in for a rude
awakening. You think it’s tough where you are? That’s nothing. Things
are a thousand times tougher on this side. Especially for someone who
doesn’t know the ropes.

I was sold a bill of goods, that’s for sure. When I was on your side, I
never had a problem getting people to do things for me. I could always
persuade some handsome buck to help me with my suitcase when I was
flying north for a vacation. Or rile my kids up enough to get them to drop
what they were doing and come running. Around here? Forget about
anybody waiting on you. Believe me, I can attest to that. There’s no use
in begging for favors, either. Or crying the blues when you don’t get what
you want. Take it from me, it’s just a big waste of energy. Around here,
everybody’s got important things to do, and listening to you whine and
carry on isn’t one of them. Still, that didn’t stop me from griping that
they could at least offer a few services to people like me who were sick
and tired of it all and just couldn’t do things for themselves. For pity’s
sake, even in Florida you can call up and order groceries and they’ll deliver
them right to your door. And for a nice tip, they’ll put them away for you,
too. The way I looked at it, it wouldn’t have killed them to help an old lady
out. But that’s not the way it is in this so-called heaven. If you want something,
you have to do it for yourself. It’s not the way I’d run things, but nobody asked me.

What’s big around here is the word create. I swear, if I heard that word
once, I heard it a million times. I heard it so many times that I wanted to
spit. But my attitude didn’t change a thing. Create –– that’s the main idea
in this place. And believe me, you can’t avoid it. Whatever you want, you
have to create it for yourself. It’s dog-hard work, and you have to do it.
They call it aligning yourself with specific conditions to create your soul’s
desire. Sounded like gobbledygook. A corny line from a Disney movie.
Take it from somebody who knows: this business of creating for yourself is
no picnic. It’s too hard. And I was too tired.

That’s why I decided to get back at them and their dumb ideas. So I
played dead –– dead-as-a-doornail dead. Trust me, playing dead doesn’t get
you anywhere. It doesn’t even get you any sympathy. I should’ve listened
to the grapevine on that one. Because unlike my kids, nobody came running.
If you play dead, everybody assumes you are and leaves you be until
you decide to get up and live again. That was a tough lesson. It took me a
while to come to the conclusion that I could play dead for all eternity if I
wanted and nobody would try to coax me out of it. I could’ve been lying
there in the dirt, cursing all the action going on around me and holding
on to being pissed about not having coffee and cigarettes, and nobody
would bat an eye. I didn’t understand why having a temper tantrum didn’t
work –– where I came from, everybody would’ve been hell-bent for election
to help me. Live and learn, that’s what I used to say. Die and learn,
that’s my new motto.

Namaste

Cops and Sexual Abuse Trauma

7/5/2019

 
​JUST THE FACTS MA’AM…Sgt. Joe Friday
 
Cops and Sexual Abuse Trauma
 
By Kathleen Hoy Foley
 
 
Just the facts, ma’am.
 
Duly noted.
 
Just the facts, ma’am.  Just the facts!
  
I get it.  I get it!  Nobody wants to talk about sexual abuse.  Least of all cops.  Especially when it’s personal.  Especially when it sort of, maybe happened to you.  Especially when it did happen to you.  So here I am stuck with facts…only there aren’t any.  Not the kind that can be quantified and measured and put on a stat sheet. 
 
Sexual abuse is the type of criminal activity that sneaks through the sewers undetected.  It starts with kids…boy kids, girl kids.  The gender never makes a difference.  It’s a matter of opportunity and convenience for the abuser.  Every kid is vulnerable.  Once you were vulnerable.  If it happened to you…you still are vulnerable. 
 
Every victim of sexual abuse—and I am one of them—wants to hide.  Desperately needs to hide.  Clings to the protection of personal privacy.  Nobody wants their vulnerability exposed and exploited by the trolls and lowlifes who take pleasure in accusing and shaming, and in attacking with malicious judgment until both your personal and professional life are all but destroyed.  I don’t need to tell you that cops are favored targets in the public sport of people shredding. 
 
I was publicly shamed and accused--very publicly—over details of sexual abuse that I never wanted revealed, and sure as hell never wanted turned into fodder for strangers to gnaw on.  No one wants that kind of scrutiny and blame.  If I was noble, I’d say that I wouldn’t wish that kind of agony on my worst enemy.  I am not noble.
 
I must confess, I don’t drink beer, way too many calories for me.  But I know that beer talks.  Drink enough of it and you’ll be telling your mother-in-law how much you’re enjoying her visit.  Alcohol alters the brain chemistry and loosens inhibitions and starts those lips flapping.  And soon inviting your mother-in-law to stay forever somehow seems like a really great idea.  And you tell her so. 
 
Trauma works the same way, only opposite.  It too alters brain chemistry, but it constricts.  Trauma blocks and suppresses emotions that demand resolution in order to clear out.  Without resolution, the energy of sexual abuse trauma becomes imbedded pain: serious, dark pain that lumps in your stomach and amasses like deadweight in the center of your chest.  And when that emotional pain is triggered and starts throbbing, trauma starts “talking”.  Like how that beer magically pops somebody else’s dumb words into your mouth, trauma impersonates you as it directs your actions and behavior.  It manifests as sickness.  Reveals itself through injuries.  Trauma uses anger to express itself through your mouth.  It speaks through the depression it buries you in.  Trauma wants you to hear it.  It will not let up until you listen.
 
There is emotional risk in revealing something as explosive as being sexually victimized.  Exposure carries with it the weight of humiliation over the act itself, over being rendered helpless, over the inability to physically and emotionally defend and protect yourself.  In a profession where defending and protecting go with the badge, a cop who discloses such personal information risks being judged weak.  Though actually, the weakness lies within those who mock and vilify.  It’s a slight-of-the-hand trick used to deflect attention by those being strangled by their own dark secrets.  But that’s little consolation when you’re on the receiving end of cheap shots.   
 
In reality, confronting your past where the trauma of sexual abuse remains alive and thriving is a powerful, take-charge action that reveals authentic courage.  It is one of the toughest jobs you will ever do.  When you allow the victim hiding within you to speak bluntly, you will lose the weight of trauma and begin to build real muscle. 
 
But I’m realistic.  I know that a snowball stands a better chance against a blowtorch than I have of assuring you of these facts.  Still, no matter how strong you appear outwardly, unresolved trauma will continue to generate inner havoc.  It is relentless.  Ignoring it only emboldens it and weakens you.  That’s just the way trauma energy works. 
 
Addressing trauma doesn’t have to be a big deal.  You don’t have to announce it or talk about it.  Or join a support group.  Or make an appointment with a professional.  You can start without a lot of fanfare right where you are.  In the privacy of your own thoughts, in your own time, and at your own pace you can begin the process of healing simply by developing an inner pathway of compassion for yourself. 
 
By silently acknowledging that yes, something happened, you take the first monumental step toward self-care.  The next step, admitting that yes, something happened to me, is another huge step toward emotional relief and resolution.  Strength is built one step at a time.  Each acknowledgement builds on the one before it. 
 
By using the discipline of your professional training—the process of creating order by asserting facts to calm the chaotic—you will build the inner strength to match your outer muscle. 
 
The basic facts of sexual abuse are these: the victim of sexual abuse is never at fault.  You were a victim of sexual abuse.  You were not at fault.  The pain is real.   
 
It is a safe place to begin.
 
Sgt. Joe Friday lives…
 
 
Namaste
 
(To schedule a confidential healing session, email PK@anunobstructedpath.net)

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    About the Author

    In the provocative spirit of Matilda Joslyn Gage, Gloria Anzaldua, and Mary Daly, Kathleen Hoy Foley expands and deepens the voice of female experience.

    Raw. Uncompromising. Compassionate. Deliberately antagonistic. Kathleen writes to awaken the courage within the reader.


    TO THE SURVIVOR
    If you are a person who was victimized as a child or as an adult, I am so very sorry you ever had to suffer at the hands of a predator. 

    I am sorry you were abused, sorry no one protected you, sorry you have felt so alone, sorry you have been so afraid then and in the now. I am so sorry for the loss of your innocence. 

    You were and are entitled to you life. And you had a right to inherit your own body. And no matter what you did or what you think you failed to do you are not to blame. Sexual abuse is never a victim's choice. Sexual abuse is something that was done to your body not something you wanted. 

    This is an excerpt from: 

    http://web.archive.org/web/20130101063123/http://true-perspective.org 

    Kathleen and I encourage you to visit this site for perspective on your ordeal. Live happy and whole. Claim you power! 

    You are your own authority.

    Question Everything.  Including social, religious & political authorities

    Learn to listen and respond to your intuition.  It is never wrong.

    Learn to be impolite.  It must be part of your defense system.

    Nothing is unspeakable.

    Stare truth in the eye and speak it.

    You name abuse.  Listen to your body.  It will tell you.  It is never wrong. 

    Stare abuse in the eye and speak it.

    Stare abusers in the eye and name them.

    Use your voice.  Use your words. 

    BE LOUD.  Violence against girls, boys, women and men hides in the silent shadows.

    Know that you are powerful.

    KNOW THAT YOUR VOICE IS POWERFUL.   USE IT.



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