Of Terri again, and the Pope
Requiescant In Pace.
This is the primeval sentence that originated the omnipresent acronym R.I.P. Whether you translate it as "Rest In Peace", "Riposa In Pace" or in other languages, I prefer the Latin sentence. Listen to the sound of it. "Requiescant in Pace".
My very charming and smart Chinese friend has pointed out, quite wittily, that the reason why Terri's parents insisted to fight for her daughter could be connected to an emotional desire to keep their offspring alive. Personally I doubt it. Roman Catholics are usually very oblivious to emotions, at least fundamentalist Roman Catholics. They don't really love anyone or anything, and I do not think they really love their offsprings as well. I recall a Roman Catholic family of my knowledge that locked their daughter in their house when they had to go out to be sure she wouldn't be back late (not going out at all provides an absolute certainty that she won't be back late). She was 17 when this happened. This is not love, it is a mixture of insanity and fanatism, and usually they go side by side anyway. I might be wrong of course, but I perceive Terri's parents as more concerned with the principles of their Church than with their daughter's life. Beware: principles of their Church, not fear for God. If it were just fear, it would mean they are emotional enough to act out of it, which I don't think is the case. No, I think they were trying to prevent their daughter from doing something their Church wouldn't approve. They probably hate and feel genuine disgust for liberals. They think they are obscene and they just can't tolerate them. Hence, they wanted their daughter to obey the rules of their Church, no matter what.
Whatever their motives, one thing alone matters now: Terri is dead. Of starvation, which is truly barbarian, but she is dead. She is in peace. At last, she has left this world and the grotesque struggle between her parents and her husband. As far as she is concerned, she has achieved the best state she could hope for ever since she was struck by that heart attack. Requiescat in Pace.
Another person is suffering.
Last night, I have discovered that I am probably prevented from truly hating someone.
There is probably no one in the world, apart Silvio Berlusconi and perhaps George Bush Jr., for whom I feel more dislike than John Paul II. Yes, the Pope. In years, every day the news of this country spend (too many) words about something that old imbecile said about this or that, and in years every day I see this happening I change channel, or turn the volume off. I do not want to hear his bullshit because every time he lets air through his vocal chords I get closer to ulcer. There is not even one thing in his (way too long) leadership of the evil Church of Rome that he said and I approved. He is the antithesis of everything I deem right. He is the ultimate idiot that promotes unsafe sex in third world country, who tries to prevent freedom, who denies women of their equality with men and ultimately represents the evil, scheming nature of the most hipocritical church of the world: the Roman Catholic. I thought there was no limit to how much I could hate that old bastard. I was keeping a bottle of champagne in the fridge to open it the day he would die.
Last night the news, as usual, spoke about the Pope. I turned the volume off so I am glad I don't know what they said, but I raised my eyes to see if it was over and I saw this old wreck staring at the window.
It was not the usual arrogant imbecile dressed in white I am used to see on TV. That was an old man that opened his mouth to speak in vain, because he obviously couldn't. Someone nearby took the microphone away from his mouth. Oblivious to this move, the wrecked elder kept moving his mouth in the attempt to say something. A thousand people below in Saint Peter0s square cried fake tears and disgusted me hardcore, but I looked at the old wreck and felt something.
I frowned at him. He is still that old bastard that caused so much damage to my country and its politics, that pushed Italy backwards to the Middle Ages and made me mad every time he spoke. My sister nearby was uttering her disgust for him, protesting that she feels nothing for him, that he deserves that much and so on.
I just frowned. I didn't say a word, because there was nothing to say in fact. I felt something that I didn't expect. I was, in a certain sense, moved by this evil old man's pain. If I had been there next to him, I would probably have taken him away from the sight of those imbeciles in the square that were unable to understand the pain of this old wreck. They are there to celebrate the "personality", if they really cared about the man they wouldn't want to see him in this conditions, they would beg the evil priests around him to let him rest. If I could have said something to him, it would be "Come on, get some rest". I would not say that in any sympathetic tone, I would still frown, but I would be unable to withstand his pain.
I stared at his figure on TV, this trembling jaw trying to bless the crowd, and frowned without saying a word. Inside my heart I felt I couldn't really hate him in that moment. I just felt sorry for him. I wished I could help him. He is a man that I thought I hated hardcore, a man whose death I would celebrate drinking. Instead, I understand that I hate the evil he promotes, but not him. I don't think I can hate anyone. I am just too moved by the misery of the old man. It was much easier to despise him and his stupidity when he was healthy and able to hurt and damage the world, something he relentlessly did every moment he could. But now... now he's just an old, suffering person, and I am unable to carry on the grudge with him. I just frown at him, but in secret, within my heart, I now pity him, and wish EVEN HIM some mercy. Now I am hoping for him to die not because I want him to stop causing trouble, but because I want him to stop suffering. There is nothing pleasurable in seeing the old wreck in these conditions. There is no point in hating him anymore. Now I hate those that force him to the window, when he obviously should just rest and patiently wait for his heart to let the grip on life go.
John Paul. I have despised your words, your church and yourself every second of your evil life. I still despise your arrogant church and loathe your god. And now I feel pity for you. I wish you a serene death. And soon, because I can't stand how your merciless priests keep using your wrecked body to stir the crowd's fake tears. Requiesce in Pace, Iohannes Paule II. My grudge with you and your evil is over.
Now I know. I will never hate anyone.