Life As performance Art 73

I have slept approximately four and a half hours. It is almost 4 am and I have been up for nearly an hour. I have showered, groomed myself, tidied my apartment (quietly. I have neighbours, you know), done my devotional readings, made coffee, half dark Cuban roast, fair trade and organic, and half dark French Colombian decaf. Delicious, and not too much caffeine. This way I can easily get back to sleep after breakfast. I am likely sleeping less from the stress while preparing for my hearing tomorrow with two Anglican archdeacons, whom I have never previously met. I have no idea if I can trust them to be impartial and compassionate. Neither do I have any certainty that they are not just going to defend and protect the status quo. I will be speaking to them about the injustices and outrages that I suffered from clergy and others connected to their church over the last twenty to thirty years, how these people were instrumental in traumatizing me, how no one accepted responsibility or accountability for what they did to me, and I am going to demand reparations from the diocese, since nothing was done to provide any kind of oversight, support or protection, or pastoral care for me when and after this all happened. In fact, any time I tried to address the issue with clergy, during the last twenty years since the problems occurred, it was swept under the carpet. No one wanted to talk to me. They would bail, become suddenly unavailable, or simply change the subject or not want to do anything to help me move forward on this. they were afraid to, and likely because I had powerful enemies with very carefully crafted public images. This time I am expecting a full vindication. There is still in the Anglican bureaucracy a culture of secrecy where no one wants to face the music, and everyone does everything they can in order to cover each other's ass. It is, indeed, very touching, how much care the Anglican clergy take at covering each other's backsides. They really are no better than the Catholics as they keep trying to shuffle, protect or make lame excuses for pedophile priests. Even my parish priest seems reluctant to offer more than a token of support. There really seems to be an intricate pattern of smokescreens, smoke and mirrors in this particular religious hierarchy. No one, it seems, can be trusted. No one wants to be transparent. I am still willing to be proven wrong. I am aware that I am undergoing this process of truth-telling at great risk. I am going to have to trust the Anglican institution to investigate itself, and there are going to be no guarantees. This same climate of secrecy and intrigue in the church sent me over the edge in 1997, and this had better not happen again. I still hold out in hope that they are not all deceitful cowards, though to this day I remain unconvinced. The outcome of this investigation may be just the thing to help change my opinion a little, if the outcome is positive. If I am heard. If I receive an apology. If no lame excuses are made. If no lies are told. If I am paid compensation for the harms that occurred. If the harms are recognized. If there is contrition. A lot of ifs. Being poor sometimes is not a very nice experience. There is no way I could pursue any of this in a civil case, and for the simple reason that I cannot afford legal counsel. I am hoping that the good arch deacons and the archbishop who are about to hear my case, will be able to factor in just what a monstrous thing was done to me by their colleague clergy. This shameless taking advantage of an individual who is poor and vulnerable in order to vent their hostility at all those who oppose them, and hiding behind their own smokescreens of privilege in order to get away with it. I am about to find out if anything has changed. I am hoping. Optimistic? Maybe. the drums are rolling...