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'I have been asked to provide a spiritual reflection for Fred who was not always given to spiritual conversation. I find the Old Testament prophecy of Isaiah helpful. He came to bring good news to the poor, proclaim liberty to captives, bring freedom to the oppressed and sight to the blind. Fred did all these things, sometimes brusquely.' Frank Brennan on the 20th anniversary of Fred Hollows' death.
It's the alcohol that makes me white. The magic of intoxication suits my dreaming fine. I want to be civilised. The harder I drink the whiter I get. O how I want to imbibe like a gentleman ... I want God to make me white and rich and fat.
I've come to believe that the world beyond the institutional Church is kinder, gentler, full of more conscientious ethics, values and care for others; that the secular world in which lay people live is more functional and more ready to conscience-examine than the institutional Church. Why then am I still a Catholic?
My crumpled iris-rim lip is her lip; the fine spoked wheel beneath my grimacing eye has etched itself deep with years upon her face. The wet red meat of my viscera is made of her, a shy-hood I cannot take off ... Why are you doing this to me?
Two blessings, one resurrected, one still in the tomb. We are not pre-Vatican. We think whole, body and soul ... We are not parrots in a pew trembling.
He is Gabriel, delicately boned, familiar, .. he has turned towards the Virgin .. who stands in her long solemnity, .. amongst the sober prophets, .. and the proper saints.
it’s a god of sugar, a god of shallow forgives, it’s a god of stained truth and glass asunder.
In Dickens' Barnaby Rudge, pet raven Grip is given to tantalising but incomprehensible pronouncements, fluttering annoyingly around the edges of conversational gatherings, and launching sudden, inexplicable attacks.
The US Polish-Czech missile defence system will be both futile, and provocative to Russia - an irresponsible initiative typical of the outgoing Bush administration. This is dangerous baggage that Obama or McCain will now have to deal with.
The sound of the horse races is my father’s music / A soft dream hidden by ambition / take other paths or just stay put / silence(d) / beer and didgeredoo / the time it might take in getting home.
The respnse to Brian McCoy's latest article Why change Aborigines into images of ourselves? has been vocal. Here are some of the letters...
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