Bits & Pieces of it, Another Phone Call from Heaven

I can see him in a green shirt, someone forcing him to sit down. A rough voice orders him  “Hang  up the phone.”

He tells me last night in a dream, as if with what has become my favorite country song. As he explained it to me, this image:

do you know how long I’m waiting for your touch?

do you know how much you mean to me?

(I do now. I did. I always do. I always knew in my heart, my hidden pain, it was for you all along  Daddy. I’m so glad God turns it into joy)

I know.

Ive never loved anyone so much.

Do you see

how happy

you are making me?

starting to see it

Im eating popcorn, off the back of my hand

like walls so high

they climb the impossible


to build houses without end,

a vision in a garden,

a prisoner in release,

they build a brand new tower,

(the Master’s?)

a bridge,

a store,

a shower,

so the young

can live in peace.

My favorite country song (below).  This is not my father singing.  My father’s voice was taken away from him when his neighbors who he thought were his friends assaulted him. I am giving my father back his voice back, I hear his silent voice in my mind when I sleep,  to avenge his death and honor him as the saint I know who is in heaven, because this is a miracle, that these things can happen, that I know all these things.

I also want to honor a miracle I attribute to the intercession of a little Mexican boy martyr a priest at the Spanish Mass at Saint Joseph’s in Martinsburg, WV  honored and told me to simply call Jose. It was through this little boy’s  intercession who died shouting Long Live Christ the King that I realized how to expose a fraudulent priest.  They are the ones who may preach the most beautiful sermons you have ever heard, in the name of God, yet outright refuse to say the words “Long Live Jesus and Mary!” just for the sake of saying it, before they hear your honest confession, or allow themselves to hear the words of your honest story.  They are the very ones who show up for your confession as if in a sheriff’s uniform (rather than a priest’s) and when you come to their clerics and deacons or prelates,  to expose how you have been abused, they say do not take your angst here, that is not church business.  Go straight to the police. Some perhaps well intended, like Deacon Dave at Saint James the Greater, stress that they have actually been trained to respond to you that way.

Then these priests say they are worried about you.  They say you are troubled. These are people who would then call your psychiatrist, talk behind your back, and/or warn people against you. They will not stop until the whole town has turned against you and/or your business, and it like your honest reputation is put up for sheriff’s sale.

As for me, I  will not stop writing and running my mouth off until I have exposed the whole damned corrupt system that hides these criminally unrepentant sinners, those who fraudulently claim to be The Catholic Church, and all those who implicate themselves by connection, in the sins of their guilt.  For all the other broken and compromised systems are the very means by which they get away with their crimes against men, women and children. I include evidence below of the few who have already gotten but are still for some reason hiding in the church.

Perhaps in your confessional, or mine.

And this one (below) my Daddy dedicates to my mother, that he never stopped loving through it all, despite the horrible things she unwittingly did to me and him.  He is helping me to prevent her from dying in medical neglect, in the now unwitting and witless hands of my brother. I think he saw me cleaning out her closet.

Little Shepherd Cuisine does not believe in recycling.  It’s time we take out the trash. For at Little Shepherd Cuisine, the buck stops here.