Pope Petrus

The sudden and unexpected resignation of Pope Benedict XVI has opened again, at least for some of us who watch these things, the possibility that the next pope may be the last pope.

According to the Prophesies of Malachy, the next pope will take the name of Petrus (Peter, the same name as the first pope), and he will preside over the dismantling of the Roman Catholic Church. We also have the vision of Pope Pius X, now a saint, who in 1909, while granting an audience, leaned back and closed his eyes. Suddenly he ‘awoke’ and cried out: ‘What I see is terrifying. Will it be myself? Will it be my successor? What is certain is that the pope will quit Rome, and in leaving the Vatican, he will have to walk over the dead bodies of his priests.’

I have thought for some time now that the Roman Catholic Church will fall, and in our day. I’m not sure how this will happen or what things will look like at the end of the process, but everything, everything will be different…dismantled, making for the knackers to come and truck away the remains not for salvation, but for salvage.

The ‘Faith’ may remain — there are a lot of good things to admire about Christianity. The philosophy of love and union that Jesus apparently preached, if we are to believe the gospels (you see, everything is in question now), is not only uplifting, but also quite evolved in terms of the development of our human species.

The ‘Church’ however needs to go. It’s record of atrocities is so long and depressing, from the earliest persecution of pagans to the present, that one gets weary and increasingly upset and alarmed reading down the list. It cannot hold together in this new Aquarian Age, when freedom-of-information is the key and all secrets must come flying out of the dark closet.

So, maybe our cry in the next few months and years will be, ‘The Church is dead…long live the Faith.’ Personally, I feel privileged to be living at this time, and hope to be among the vanguard that goes storming into Piazza San Pietro yelling that new truth.

Dr. Scales

On Friday, winding up my healing from cancer, then from eye surgery, the eye doctor says I need to see a specialist. I had thought that he was a specialist, and of course he is, but as he explained it, ‘I deal with only the front of the eye…the specialist I want you to see (see!) specializes in the back of the eye.’

At first I think he is kidding me, but I have learned over the past six months of dealing with the cancer system up here in the States that doctors don’t kid, even as they prescribe a blood test that will cost just over $22,000. I had thought I would be entirely done with doctors, but there is one more to see…’see’ – that word again – before we resume our lives.

The specialist is Dr. Scales. Immediately, my mind goes Biblical and I remember the incident in the New Testament where Jesus removes the scales from the eyes of a poor man (do I have that right?). I also think of the scales of justice that are constantly weighing pro and con to come to a wise decision. Dr. Scales may be someone who balances eyes in that way, the right and the left to make perfect vision. A Solomon of eye doctors.

It is late Friday afternoon, and I feel that I am holding up the start of their weekend: Demetrius (no kidding) the Numidian, who rushes me through an eye-pressure test; the Raul, the Latino technician, who Mike thinks is cute; the Asian girl who tells us she’s been diagnosed with liver cancer and is on the list for a transplant (her story is enough to get me out of my head and I suddenly cease worrying about what the good Dr. Scales will tell me). The office is a virtual United Nations.

Dr. Scales has short hair in a brush-cut, is 50-ish, and the picture of efficiency. I have a lazy membrane at the back of the eye — ‘No hole, thank goodness.’ I nod, as if I understand what that would be. Lazy? I will handle that. I will send the membrane into training, like Rocky. Instead of resting my eyes more, I will do the eye version of jumping-jacks and sit-ups and push-up.

In my little town when I was growing up, there was a doctor named Dr. Payne. No one thought to question his name, apparently. They said to one another, simply, I’m going to see Dr. Payne tomorrow…about this pain. With Dr. Scales, there will be balance, justice, and my lethargic eyes will surely get back in shape.

Sight and vision

This morning, out of the rushing Twitter river, I fish out a post from Soulseeds that speaks about eyes, vision, seeing. On Tuesday, I had my second eye surgery, removing a cataract from the right eye. Two weeks ago, the left eye. Mike patiently takes me to my appointments with the eye doctor and to the surgeries, which take place at 6 AM. These days, we are both reflecting on what we see for the future…and how we see things in general…and how things have changed in the way we see our lives.

The only thing worse than being blind

is having sight but

no vision

Two thoughts for us to take away from the Twitter post as seeds on contemplation. The one above, from the venerable and indefatigable Helen Keller, the one below from Petrus Bonus, the 14th Century philosopher (Peter the Good?)

To look with the eyes

and see with the heart

is the secret of the Philosopher’s Stone

We are reaching the end of our post-cancer adventure, wondering how the future will unfold. What will it look like? What will we look like?