Children to a monastery. They wondered why a monastery. “After such mental and physical ordeals,” “there’s no center for such cases,” what is a person supposed to do who rescues children from extreme pedophilia. “Extreme? How can you categorize pedophilia…” What if parents or guardians allow their children to be exploited, for example, by a friend, acquaintance, or visitor for drugs or alcohol, or sell the child to pedophiles or farms, who then turn the children over to become servants for the pleasure of some degeneracy, sodomy? Where will such a child find peace? Will there ever be happiness or peace for such a child? In a time when there’s no room for restraint, reflection, or contemplation. They burst in, rip out what they can, dismember what can be saved, for organs, and the children go to a monastery. One year, dozens. Another, dozens, and so on, year after year. Dismembered, with their eyes gouged out. The cleaners often come in and vomit. The stench, the sight, it’s disgusting. They were talking about Dante’s Inferno.
They hadn’t seen the real Hell.