Keeping Busy, with Purpose

A few months ago, I completed my correspondence course for paralegal certification and I was wondering what to do with myself next. Since then, a number of interesting opportunities have presented themselves to keep me busy in body, mind, and spirit.  I thought I'd share them with you.

First, I was introduced to Samir (Not his real name), a Saudi Arabian citizen who was arrested while studying English after only a few months in Flagstaff, AZ. So now, I'm giving him English lessons as he is barred from any educational programs offered to inmates due to his citizenship.  In exchange, I get to practice my Arabic with him. I enjoy teaching him, though it's a painful reminder that I'm a teacher at heart, a skill and gift that I may never be able to utilize again as an ex-felon sex -offender with lifetime probation.

Through him, I met Amr (not his real name), a political refugee from Sudan, one of the "lost boys," who rather lost himself in the incredible diversity and "debauchery" of this country, so unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

I've been "editing/translating" some of this writing, as his English is not particularly strong. It's been incredibly moving to read about his difficult journey, his dream of escaping the violence, hatred, and genocide of the Sudan, and his incredible joy and relief at the opportunity to go to America, fulfilling a dream. Then, to be caught up in the U.S. Justice system with little understanding of the system, few resources, and little support and to find himself locked up in an Arizona prison, possibly for life, for a crime he did not commit.

Then there's Larry (yeah, not real) who I'm helping with an appeal on his case. Larry is an older guy (mid-50's) who was a civil engineer with a pretty nice life. He drunkenly exposed himself in proximity of a group of people. He signed a plea agreement with an expectation of 1.5 years of prison and a term of probation, the recommended sentence of pre-trial services. The judge, upon the recommendation of the prosecution, aggravated both counts to two years, to be run consecutively, to each be followed by lifetime probation, giving him four years and two lifetime probations. (This two lifetime probation is a common ploy in Arizona, as released felons were choosing to return to prison  to avoid the lifetime probation, to "kill their number".  It didn't really work, as many still do.) We're trying to get the sentence reduced, and to run concurrently, as the sentences are dependent on one single action. The aggravating factor was "harm to the victims".

Finally, I met Keoni (this is his real name – he wanted me to use it), who heard i was trying to start a peer counseling program here, due to the incredible lack of services offered for therapy or counseling. Keoni has been working with members of the Integral Theory and Integral Life Practice community.

Integral Theory, developed by Ken Wilber, "makes sense of how all the worlds' knowledge systems...fit together and can elevate our awareness  Drawing on science, psychology, human development, spirituality, religion, and dozens of other fields, Integral Theory is a frame work for understanding ourselves and the work we live in." For more information, visit www.integral-life-practice.com.)

Keoni has been studying and working on Integral practices for several years and was asked to write an article for The Journal of Integral Theory and Practice.  Cindy Lou Golin, a prominent member of the Integral community, received a grant to create an "Integral Inmate" peer education program in the hopes of creating a framework for personal growth for inmates, led by and for inmates, with the support of the Integral community.

Anyway, Keoni asked for "coaching" in his writing and has shared loads of interesting and powerful ideas, articles, and books so that I can better understand this concept.  Anything that increases my knowledge and elevates my state is of value to me.

So these are some of the ways I have given my life meaning and purpose in a difficult environment, along with the essays that I share with you.

Prison Art

These are pictures of birthday presents that I had made for my kid is last year.  My son is a big fan of the Harry Potter books, so I had a likeness of him contract is in a Harry potter quidditch scenario. 

My daughter is an avid scuba diver.

 

 

I sent my other son a likeness of himself playing bongos; I don't have a photo of it, nor do I know if he received it.

It's hard to make birthdays and other holiday special for your kids when you are in prison, but fortunately there are many talented and unique artists here who can help make this so.  The whole process is rather unique and different from going to a Wal-Mart for a gift.

Artists in prison are pretty inventive and creative.  There are, of course, talented sketchers and painters who do some amazing work.  I've seen some incredible origami and other similar art using cut strips of paper.  The most amazing, to me, are the sculptors - the MacGyvers of the prison art world.

These figures are sculpted out of bread.  That's right - the stuff you make sandwiches with.  The artist uses a secret process, combining the bread with glue, bagels, and other secret ingredients to make a workable, pliable, clay-like substance.  For reasons somewhat unclear to me, actual clay is contraband.  We are allowed paints, which is what is used to cover the figures, and then they are covered with a "homemade" shellac type substance, and are dried out for several days.

These gifts were not cheap, from a prison perspective.  I had to pay approximately one bag of rice, one bag of beans, three ramen soups, two granola bars, and a coffee for each of the images.  That translates to $10.00 in "outside" currency.  Bear in mind that I earn 40¢ per hour at work.

Shipping them is a whole other process.  I used a Pop-Tart box stuffed with newspaper and toilet paper wrapper.  That was covered with used Manila envelopes.  A process to be sure, but I've got the time and my kids are worth it.

The George Bailey Principle

The other night I was able to fulfill my yearly tradition of watching "It's A Wonderful Life". I had a variety of thoughts based on the movie that I would like to share here.

The first is that one's life situation strongly influences one's perceptions of reality. I have been watching this movie every year for many years and I realize how differently I perceive it based on the condition of my life at that time. This is probably true of every good movie and every experience, but for "It's A Wonderful Life" it's particularly clear.

After I had spent several years traveling the world, I saw the movie as a tragedy. While it's true that George has friends and a rich life in Bedford Falls, he never got to follow his lifelong dream. I viewed Mary as a foul temptress who prevented George from his bliss. Having spent years globetrotting, I was a very aware of what he lost.

Later, after marriage and children of my own, I could appreciate the beauty of a home, family, and stability. Even after my divorce, I realized how intensely the world revolves around one's own children. I realized that George's life was not the tragedy I once thought it to be.

Presently, sitting in prison, reflecting on all that has transpired, I focus on the importance of friends and family support in you. When George was really losing it, Mary really stepped up to support, to assist, and to save the day. She stuck with and believed in her husband, even though he was a bit unstable and in spite of the allegations against him. I felt profound envy that George was with a woman who truly loved him and believed in him and that his community focused on his acts and achievements rather than speculations, allegations, and his faults.

I wonder how I'll see the movie in years to come.

Another powerful aspect of this film is the idea of what the world would be like without you. I assume that everyone who watches the movie applies this idea to his own life. What a measure of one's value! So when I apply this to my own life...what do I find? Is the world better off for my having been in it? Who would be better off if I had never been born? How have I influenced the world for the better?

Had I never been born, I wouldn't have downloaded those pictures. Would the victims of that child pornography have been better off if I had never downloaded the pictures? Would their lives have been different? I don't really know. I had no contact or communication with them, I didn't take the pictures or pay for them, or distribute them, but who's to say how that karma influenced the flow of life? I have said things and done things that have hurt others, that I wish I had never said or done. How did those things influence the lives of these people?

And what positive influence have I had on this world? Well, obviously, had I never been born, my amazing kids would not have been born, and I expect great things from them. I want to think I had a positive influence on my many students, and maybe really strongly in a few cases. My globetrotting lifestyle likely inspired several family members to do the same or similar. I'd like to believe that maybe some of my encounters with people all over the world had some positive consequences. Overall, I truly think the world is better for my having been in it.

It seems that this idea would be a wonderful way for the justice system to evaluate a person who made a mistake. I call it the George Bailey Defense. Is the world, or community, a better place for the accused having been in it? How have their actions directly harmed the lives of others? How have they enriched the lives of others? What kind of hole would be left if they were removed from society? It seems like this holistic approach might be a better benchmark for the value of one's being.

Negative Lessons

I have made mistakes in my life, everyone has, and I've done things, said things, and have carried myself in ways I am not proud of. On the whole, however, I believe that I have lived an ethical, noble, and generous life. I have always tried to treat my fellow human beings with kindness, love, and respect. This whole prison experience has truly challenged and shaken many of the beliefs that I hold to be honorable. The characteristics that society extols as righteous, and that we try to convey to our children, are not only absent from the whole judicial journey but are often discouraged in favor of lesser quality. I hope to illustrate some examples through this essay.

Honesty is a trait I have always revered. I have attempted to practice and model it throughout my life. Honesty has been discouraged and punished throughout the duration of this experience. It started when the letters of honesty, admission, explanation, an apology sent to Jess were turned over to the police as evidence against me.

The very first thing that all the attorneys I spoke with said was "say nothing to no one." This notion was further reinforced when my therapist phoned police regarding issues that had been discussed in complete confidence (or so I was led to believe). Had I lied, or kept silent from the outset, things would have been different.

The "prison culture" also discourages honesty to the point where correctional officers are told that everything inmates say is a lie. This is certainly a gross exaggeration, but it's not without some merit.

Communication, I've always believed, is an essential component of conflict resolution. Virtually all attempts at dialogue with my ex fiancée have been met with silence. Even when communication was present, Jess' content was short on substance and full of false hope. 

This policy of non communication is reaffirmed in prison, the courts, and in county jail. "Do not discuss your charges", "show no weakness", "shown no vulnerability", and other similar ideas are reinforced in words and actions. I've even discovered that efforts to manage my anxiety through medication and counseling (for the few months it was available) have increased my "risk score" in the prison classification system.

Perhaps the greatest revelation is the inherent injustice of the justice system as a whole. Justice is not blind, it is led by politics, economics, and personal ambition. "Innocent until proven guilty" is rhetoric fed to schoolchildren with little relationship to the way things are. I once imagined a judge to be a wise and unbiased pillar of society, carefully examining evidence and weighing the claims of the opposing parties. In truth, the prosecution really controls the proceedings. Plea bargains are coerced by threatening absurd sentences - (in my case 100 to 300 years!) And this results in a forfeiture of many of one's constitutional rights to due process of law.

I was flabbergasted to learn recently that the role of the prosecutor, according to the Arizona Supreme Court, is to seek the ends of justice, to refrain from bias, exaggeration, and sensationalism. The reality is to secure a conviction, but any and all means necessary, as quickly and extremely as possible.

The "negative affirmations" of prison itself are every bit as devastating to the soul and spirit of a convict, and ultimately to society itself. The idea that we are "pieces of shit" is repeatedly conveyed by the attitudes of staff and through the media. That we all have positive qualities and a capacity for success is not a message conveyed by the system. It is systematically hammered out of us through unfair treatment, irrational and capricious policies, and a lack of courtesy and respect.

The prison culture, unfortunately, is no better. The ideas of racism and segregation are among the first lessons that are conveyed. "This is the white area of the dining hall," "that is the black ramada", "be ready to stand up with your race if any kind of trouble develops" are some of the messages given. Even in signing up for a volleyball tournament, there is a section for race on the signup sheet.

By and large, to secure a position of authority within the prison society, it is done through physical intimidation, fear, and threat. Violence is the first and often the only way to settle disputes. The white "heads of the yard" have their own table in the chow hall, further alienating and illustrating their "status". I suppose this is not so entirely different from our elected officials, but that does little to foster trust or any sense of involvement in one's community.

The policies of incentive are woefully counterproductive. The idea of "time off for good behavior" is really an ancient relic. Parole is not even available for those sentence after 1996 (the system was abolished then). One can seek a commutation of sentence, but in spite of a number of positive recommendations by the clemency board, the governor has steadfastly refused to grant these reprieves.

Arizona does offer an 85% "good time release" to many prisoners, depending on the sentence. However, this is pretty much guaranteed and offers little incentive in terms of behavior. It's true that it can be denied for extremely disruptive conduct, but it's pretty much a given for most who have it available.

The "earned incentive program" of the DOC policy is similarly weak in offering real incentive. The perks for good behavior are increased pay, more phone calls per day, more visits per week, and higher limits on store spending. That sounds pretty good, but the difference in pay from save 25¢ to maybe 45¢ per hour does not nearly allow for additional phone calls or additional "store" limits. Many in here do not have much of a support network outside these fences, due in part to many of the policies inherent in the system, so more calls, more visits, or higher store limits are meaningless. Even at the highest pay rate, we don't make enough for the minimum spending limit. Even with family members who are supportive and visit, I have never used up all of my weekly visits; and phone calls are financially too prohibitive to make more than a couple times a month - less than that if the inmate has to pay from their wages.

There is no perceived value to showing initiative and responsibility through prison jobs. The pay is better than nothing, but only slightly, and there are other factors that discourage such efforts at productivity. I, myself, work on another yard, as the inmates at that yard are in maximum lockdown. Because of this, I get to wait hours and hours each week for the inconsistent bus to arrive both to and from the other yard. I have limited opportunities for library hours on my own yard. (In one 6 week period, we had library time twice.) I receive smaller rations of food, because the "lock down" inmates are deemed to require fewer calories as they have no physical exertion. The occasional "treats" that are available on my yard (such as cinnamon rolls and ice cream sandwiches) are not available to workers on the lockdown unit. There is no additional compensation for these workers, so many inmates will not do these jobs. I put up with these inconveniences because I like my job and my boss, but that only goes so far.

Taking initiative and attempting to suggest improvements to the system tends to be met with bitter opposition and can result in being labeled as an instigator or troublemaker. Life can be made even worse than it is already, encouraging us to remain passive and keep under the radar, rather than being proactive, creative, or taking initiative.

Attempts to seek any relief through the courts are met with similar resistance and obstacles. Access to legal resources is woefully incomplete, inadequate, and limited for those who have no means for legal representation.

The court system is a maze of hoops and procedures such that even educated inmates have little chance of navigating it successfully. And the truth is not nearly as relevant as procedure. An attorney once said to me that "I don't know of any cases where a decision was reconsidered because of the facts, only because of errors of procedure".

My most recent appeal was denied, as expected, but contained the most wonderful piece of legal speak I have read thus far: "...in this case, a reasonable probability is less than more likely than not, but more than a mere possibility." Apparently my assertions did not satisfy this crystal clear standard. In my case, the state filed the reply several days late with no repercussions, but a friend just had his petition dismissed when, although it was mailed prior to the deadline, it arrived afterwards.

All of these scenarios fan the flames of resentment, injustice, and futility that an incarcerated inmate is trying to overcome.

A whole other host of "negative messages" comes with the societal reactions to the scenario that prisoners find themselves in. We teach our kids that we all make mistakes, that we learn from them and become better human beings. Yet people who have committed offenses of a sexual nature seen excluded from this maxim. Lifetime probation and lifetime registration, with severe restrictions on residency, employment, and social interactions and are given in virtually all cases, regardless of the nature of the offense. We made mistakes, in most cases we acknowledged them and learned from them, so why destroy our lives forever with little opportunity for truly making amends?

My understanding of friendship and my faith in humanity have been challenged and tested from this experience. Many of those whom I considered to be true good friends have abandoned me completely. Others, who I might not have expected, have risen up to provide support and encouragement. Most people, it seems, do not really want to hear about a reality that might negate their preconceived notions about how things are. I suppose that's not surprising, but what is surprising is when it happens from people that you love and care for, from those you thought would believe you and offer support.

My "once best friend" provides an illustration of this. After the tragic incident, he suspended any and all communication for several months (perhaps at his sister's request). He agreed to communicate on the day before I was to turn myself into the police. I had hoped for some insight as to why and how his sister had chosen such a destructive and disruptive approach to the situation. His response was, "what else could she have done?".

Personally, I can think of many options that might have been more effective, productive, humane, and efficient, but it was clear to me that my "friend" had little desire to hear about that. He also asked me to leave Jess alone, completely. I know he was being a supportive little brother, which is higher priority than a friend, but it was also clear that he did not want to understand my reality, the love I have for his sister, or the love of a father for his child. I had hoped for an affirmation from a friend, that I was not a piece of shit or an evil monster. That affirmation never came, from him or from many others who I thought might believe in me.

And therein lies the real horror; that all of these "negative affirmations" feed us, that we might buy into them and believe them, that we might doubt ourselves and the qualities that we thought we'd possessed; that growth and improvement are futile, or even worse, impossible. That our hearts, our souls, and our humanity are without value, and are being chipped away a little bit every day.

I hope that I might have that faith in myself, and the strength to overcome these obstacles to development, but they are many, they are strong, and they seem never ending. Is it any wonder that our correctional institutions are having little success an affecting any positive outcomes?

Quitting vs. Letting Go

It's been a while since I've posted anything new here.  There are a couple of reasons for that.  One is that I've had precious little feedback from this blog, so I have a tendency to think "why bother?" Then, recently, I've gotten some support and encouragement from people who actually are reading my words.  Thank you!  You know who you are.  I acknowledge that I write primarily for myself, so it shouldn't really matter if anyone reads it or not, but it does mean a lot.

The other reason is that the nature of my thoughts tends to remain on topics that have been addressed here again and again.  Well dear readers, I'm sorry to say that this will be no different, though perhaps there is a slight evolution to the nature of my thoughts and ideas, so here goes.

The pain, suffering, resentment, and betrayal that have so excessively haunted me these past 2 1/2 years have hardly abated since " the incident".  I often find myself thinking that if I could just let go, or give up, that I might make myself less bloody miserable.

Yet when such thoughts arise, I find myself reluctant to do so.  I clench up, physically and emotionally, and oftentimes tears start flowing.  What am I afraid of?  Why would any sane person cling to such painful and debilitating feelings and ideas?  Then again, can I really control these things?  This essay will attempt to address some revelations on these concepts.

I think that one primary reason I fear letting go, is that I am equating "letting go" with "giving up" or "quitting" and that's an assault to my ego and my stubbornness.  I don't want to admit to myself that I may have been horribly wrong, that the woman I fell so hopelessly in love with is perhaps not that person at all, that she does not deserve my love, and/or that maybe she is not such a wonderful human being.  I don't want to believe that, so I create tension, attachment, and denial, and my ego steps in to assert control. But perhaps I'm looking at things with the wrong perspective.  I'm realizing that giving up and letting go are, in fact, two very different processes.

Giving up could be construed as admitting defeat, allowing those negative thoughts to take control and to assert dominance.  It's conceding that all that past was a sham of deceit and treachery.  Letting go, on the other hand, is nothing of the sort.  It's an expression of claiming one's power, and that whatever the reality might be is not so clear or even important.  It just is, there's no clinging to "right" or to "wrong".  These ideas do not really exist.

Quitting is allowing negative emotions such as anger, hatred, and frustration to get the best of me, to dominate mind and soul.  Letting go is acknowledging that these emotions might arise, perhaps with frequency, but denying their power over who and what I am.  It's observing them and saying "hmmm...  That's interesting" and then moving on.

Quitting is to lose hope and give up on the notion that things could get better, that I might one day understand things, or that a resolution, of any sort, is possible.  Letting go is not so conclusive, it acknowledges that things will change, and does not concern itself with what that change might mean.

Giving up is stagnancy, immobility, single mindedness, and blindness.  There's no effort to adapt, to change in approach, or even to have an approach to one's problems.  Letting go is accepting the impermanent nature of all things and concerning oneself with the present.  As far as the future goes, things will be different and alternate approaches may or may not be appropriate.

Quitting is not caring what might happen to others, maybe even wishing ill upon them.  Letting go is hoping for the best, but realizing it's all beyond your control.

Giving up, in the case of my still unseen son, has a sense of abandonment inherent in it, a position that repulses, terrifies, and infuriates me.  Letting go however, is trusting that things may turn out OK in spite of the crappy situation that is.  That I'm here, when or if he needs me.

Giving up is black and white, right and wrong, good and bad.  It's all about winning or losing.  Letting go does not make such distinctions.  It's the middle path without labels or blame, acknowledging that things rarely conform to such cut and dry extremes.  It's about deciding to play a different game altogether.

Quitting is denying the existence of love and giving up on ever finding it.  Letting go acknowledges love, yet has no expectations from it.

The past I must take is clear, but knowing such things and living such ideas is the true challenge.  I fear that letting go requires forgiveness, and I'm not so certain that I'm there yet.  But at least I have a rudimentary map of the landscape to follow.  That's a pretty useful tool to have.

The Hero's Journey

I must play many mental games to help me get through this incredibly difficult experience.

I have found that a Buddhist philosophy makes much sense and a fine a strategy for dealing with the pain and suffering that is this life.  It is not to deny the existence of such suffering, but to shed the ego's attachment to the pain and suffering and above all to the clinging desire for things to be different than they are.  This is an aspect of the illusion, or maya, that Buddhists speak of.

Another way to look at things is to realize that life is the Hero's Journey.  And that all of the crap that is thrown at us are obstacles to be overcome by the "hero".

The quest itself is the ultimate goal, not the "destination", or the "prize," or success, or failure.  It is how we carry ourselves on the voyage that really matters.  There is no golden fleece or Holy Grail and anything that may seem to be a reward is impermanent by nature.  It is the journey that strengthens us.  It is the trials, the tribulations, the joys, and the sorrows along the way that help us to discover what we are and who we are in our hearts and souls.  Essential to the path is the conviction to see it with brutal honesty and compassionate openness.

Perhaps it seems odd that a "hero" can be a sex offender (whose "offense" involves neither sex nor contact with any other person), but the hero is within each of us, and is often times easier to discover in times of despair and depravity.  Perhaps it is easier to grow and find strength in those rough patches.  When all is well and happy it's easier to be sidetracked from the real journey.

It seems that love is very much similar to, and in all likelihood a part of, this hero's quest.  As with the quest, there is no certainty of any reward at the end of the sojourn.  There is no golden ring, and though there may be a golden ring, it is as temporary and elusive as all else.

Does this mean that love is not worth the effort?  That journey, too, will shape us and assist us in learning and knowing.  Love can bring out the best in us, and the worst in us, sometimes simultaneously.  We can face its difficulties head on with strength, honesty, and conviction or we can run in fear from its tendrils.

Both the quest and love are fraught with false trails, illusions, tricks, temptations, and deceptions.  Seeing, knowing, and discovering the true path is essential, yet elusive.

The hero's quest (and the path of love) are solitary endeavors.  While it's pleasing to have others who have faith in the hero, who believe in the quest, and who lend assistance on the journey, the hero must ultimately confront the dragon alone.  So it is with "love", the hero cannot control or influence the love experienced or  given by another.  How rare and fortunate when two such paths should converge upon one another, which is when real magic can occur.  Yet love cannot require nor expect reciprocation, and can still exist without it.  It happens all the time.  There is still strength, richness and pain (lots of pain) in a solo journey.

The journey may well be one of insanity, like that of Don Quixote de la Mancha, but perhaps that is the most sincere form of the quest.  For who in their right mind would undertake such a foolish expedition with no thought of reward, riches, completion, or reciprocation.  Yet that is not only the reality, but the requirement.  The quest is oftentimes thrust upon us unwelcomed and uninvited and it's up to us to accept or decline.

The expedition is not easy, no one said it would be, and if they did they were lying.  If it's easy it's not the true hero's quest and/or is still incomplete.  Perhaps the journey's "completion" ends with nirvana, or enlightenment, or the interconnectedness of all things, or communion with the cosmos, or maybe the quest itself is already all of those things.

Strange and fascinating travel

I have been extremely fortunate in my life to have traveled the world rather extensively.  I have spent time in some 20 countries, oftentimes for more than just a few weeks.  I love observing and experiencing  different cultures and customs, seeing different architecture and geographies, eating different foods, encountering different religions, and hearing and talking with people from a different background than my own.

My time traveling, living, and working in other countries remain some of the most satisfying in my life.  It's not always easy, but it's usually most interesting.  There is not a single country that I regret visiting, and few that I would not want to visit again.

When I finally "settled" into Tucson son, Arizona, with a wife, a home, and kids, I went through a bit of an identity crisis.  I would say that this contributed, at least in part, to my divorce.  Eventually,I realized that this new phase of life was in fact another part of my journey.  Parenting was a new frontier to experience.  It came with its own perspectives, it's own language, its own strange customs, and even its own foods.  To look through the eyes of my children, the whole world was magical, new, and wonderful again.

I held this notion as I grew along with my kids, and I always encouraged them to experience their lives and their world to the fullest.  Now, I'm in another stage of the journey.  I am spending the longest period of time "outside" the United States in a strange land called the Department of Corrections, or DOC.  It's truly unusual and not one of the favorite places I've been.  Not only would I not want to visit again, but I think I'd rather not have even visited once.  But here is where I am, so I will continue to try to learn from the strange culture that I find myself in.

The country is very small, with little in the way of flora and fauna, and chain link and razor wire protect its borders.  It's very hard to get a visa to leave this country.

There are a variety of languages spoken here.  Spanish and spanglish are very common and there are several dialects of English that are hard, but not impossible to understand, among these are "homey", "nigggah" and "Gangsta".  People in this country speak unusually loud and like to insert expletives into their conversation for no reason at all.

The national costume is orange.  They even wear orange hats and shorts as well as orange jackets.  A few of the resident wear uniforms, but they have travel visas and do not have to stay in DOC.  All of the residents are male.

The food is a rather bland and lacking in freshness and creativity.  It seems that no fruit or vegetables are grown or even imported into this land.  Many people crowd into a small amount of space and do not have refrigerators, or stoves, or other common appliances.  They have great skills in combining a limited number of resources into microwavable meals.

The society is very much a caste system, based on racial heritage, physical size and strength, age, and ability to procure resources. The "heads" of the villages do not get their position through elections, they seem to be appointed.  They are responsible for the behavior and harmony of their own Clan members.  They also try to maintain peace between clans by talking to other Clan and other village heads.  It is not the custom to resolve differences directly with members of different clans.  It is acceptable to resolve differences with members of your own Clan.  It is also the strange custom to belittle your Clan members and to suggest a wide variety of sexual acts that they should participate in with yourself. with them, or any number of other people, including the woman who gave birth to you.

The punishment for transgressions against clan rule is generally a punch in the head, administered by the clan heads.  It is reserved for more extreme situations like disrespect, inability to pay one's debts, and unacceptable behavior.

The country utilizes a barter economy.  There is trading, gambling, and games of chance where the entry fee is a soup, an envelope, a pouch of coffee or the like.  The Super Bowl pool was the equivalency of a dollar in merchandise, but not "fish, toiletries, or other lame goods."

A very strange custom is the "lighter box shuffle." There are no lighters or matches in this land, but there are electric boxes that can light your cigarette.  There is a strange ritual involved with the lighting of one's cigarette.  People will walk farther to get to a person for a "jumpstart" than they will to the box itself.  This is understandable if the box is not working, but it seems to be the preferred way of doing things.  Also, when one is standing at the box with a lit smoke, it seems insulting to use the box rather than to get a light from them.  And some do not want you to actually touch or take their smokes, and others expect you to do so.  Again, I'm still unsure of the proper protocol even after nearly two years in this country.

Other strange rituals involve removing your clothes on a regular basis for inspections.  In fact, the "homes" are routinely searched for contraband.  At times the residents must wait in the day room in their boxer shorts while this happens.  (There are no briefs in DOC.) Sometimes dogs are present for the searches, and they are none too friendly.

But the residents of DOC are an interesting lot, with interesting stories and very diverse backgrounds.  They have as much to teach me as the citizens of other countries I've visited. Many have elaborate body art.

The DOC residents (called felons, inmates, sex offenders, or prisoners) tend to be rather spiritual, and many actually carry around bibles and speak of Jesus and the word of god.  Many other religions are practiced and represented as well.  Saturday mornings bring the sound of drums and the smell of burning wood for the "Chief Clan" sweat lodge.

Friday nights, you can hear the sound of some pagan chant and smell burning sage.  Thursday evenings in "the great hall" there's a cacophony of chants, spells, hums, and other sounds as it's the "multi-faith" gathering. 

There is much waiting around and standing in lines in DOC and the standard of living is very low.  A fulltime, semi-skilled worker will make around $14.00 a week.

It's not a country I would choose to visit, but as I am here for a while I will continue to learn from the strange and unique culture that I find myself in.  Happy travels to all.

Comparisons and Contrast

 

I just finished reading a couple books relating to the Arizona Dept of Corrections.  The first was "Wilderness and Razor Wire" by Ken Lamberton.  He was a teacher in Tucson who was arrested for a sex crime that landed him in prison for 12 years.  The second was "Crossing The Yard" by Richard Shelton, who served as a volunteer teaching creative writing workshops in the Arizona prison system for some 30 years.  Ironically, Lamberton was one of his students.  So obviously, I did some reflecting on the similarities and differences to my own situation and also pondered their thoughts and observations.

I'll start with Lamberton.  Obviously, the whole situation is similar to my own.  His crime was also heavily publicized by the media, and he's gone through many similar experiences as an" ex teacher sex offender." Like myself, he has a strong connection to nature, and much of this book is about plants and animals he observed in his Tucson prison yard.  Obviously, we both have a strong desire to write as an "escape" from confinement.

Lamberton also has a similar outlook on prison to my own.  He writes about " easy time" vs " hard time".  Easy time is retreating from emotions and connections as well as ignoring or resisting one's personal responsibility for one's actions.  Hard time is staring it straight in the face and not blaming others, or the state, as many tend to do.  I acknowledge my tendency to do that at times, though I am questioning policies and attitudes of the system, rather than it being the state's fault that I'm here.  Lamberton and Shelton both share my sentiments on the nonexistent notion of correction or rehabilitation.

Lamberton writes: "It is the difference between discipline and punishment: one looks forward and works toward restoration and health, the other looks backward and tears down, dehumanizes, destroys." It's clear to us both which method the ADC subscribes to.

Shelton, as an observer outside of confinement, had this to say: "it made me increasingly aware of how little the department of corrections cared about programs, rehabilitation, or any of the other fine phrases that were still part of their public rhetoric...  I was reminded, if I hadn't learned the lesson earlier at Florence, that  as far as the department of corrections was concerned, volunteers were shit and educational programs, even those bring their own funding and making the prison look good, were of no importance.  The fewer of them the better."

There are also some big differences between Lamberton's situation and my own.  He had an affair with a 14 year old student, in fact they ran away together.  I never acted on my inappropriate attractions, other than to download pictures.  Another difference, very painful to me, is that not only did his wife not turn him into the police (he was identified by an acquaintance in Colorado), she stayed with him and studied law and worked with the lawyers to get him out after eight years.  She ended up getting hired as a paralegal with the firm she was working with.

Incredibly though, after 18 months of being out, the Arizona Court of Appeals reversed the lower court's decision and he had to return to prison for four more years.

Then, there are situational differences that clearly illustrate the direction of the ADC.  Lamberton wrote about the inmate park and a visitor park, both full of plants and the occasional wildlife.  He caught toads with his kids in visitation.  He wrote about sitting under a tree, playing his guitar, and the 75 pound packages of food that were sent to inmates by their families at holiday time.  There is nothing like this in my incarceration.  I was envious of his "posh" situation.

Then later in the book, as time passes, the trees, plants, and flowers get torn up and the "Parks" get shut down.  The Food Care packages are prohibited, and eventually all sex offenders are declared to be a predatory security threat and cannot go "below" medium security yards.

For a short time he was in my complex, but managed, with the help of his wife, to get shipped back to Tucson, an option no longer available to sex offenders.

I think it might even be worse to have those privileges and lose them, though that DOC continues to chip away at the few privileges that remain.  The all day "food visits" were recently limited to 4 hours.  The list of "acceptable" books and magazines are shrinking exponentially and lock downs and strip searches are more numerous and more thorough.

I realize, of course, there's no purpose in comparing my situation to anyone else's.  Each is unique.  Lamberton's wife is certainly not Jess.  That I think my actions were far less directed toward her or anyone is irrelevant.  Did I hurt her any less?  My situation is my own, and it matters little what I believe about it.

I do get some satisfaction in knowing that both Lamberton and Shelton have made similar observations to my own.  Especially as Shelton was not an inmate, it adds a bit more credibility to my own sentiments that he is not merely whining about his own predicament.  Shelton ends his book with some powerful ideas and suggestions toward the prison system as an entity.

" Over the years, I have grown old while the system spins more and more rapidly out of control, an industry that depends for its energy on the processing of living bodies." He dryly quips about how the "product" of the penal system is a rare recyclable product, and that true treatment programs would reduce the recyclable nature of the product, which is not in the interest of the industry.

He notes, and I wholeheartedly concur, that a fraction of the number of inmates could and should be incarcerated - but in a secure mental hospital, as there are those who are criminally insane and dangerous to society.  But that the majority are neither.

Shelton advocates for people to step up and volunteer at local prisons, to see the real story behind the walls and fences.  Though the institution will resist any attempts at transparency, nevertheless, it's promising to read intelligent published literature on this topic; I thought I'd better grab these books before they are banned as well.

I encourage you to read them and other resources that are based on direct observation or objective data as opposed to media sensationalism or fear mongering political agendas.  Someday, that could be you or someone you love.

(Note from the poster:  The Caged Bird asked me to include a link to this website.  He is in touch with the organization and wanted to connect his blog to their website.   Click on the logo above or here: http://compassionworksforall.org/)

Resilience and Purpose

Each year, right around New Year's, my "crazy, new age aunt" chooses Angel Cards for everyone in the family. This is something that we should try to work on, focus on, and become aware of in the coming year. Jess and I also " played around" with angel cards.

Well, for the last year (2012), I had appropriately been chosen for "resilience". Though I'm not particularly sure how well I did with it. On the one hand, I'm still here, still alive, so I suppose I inadvertently and ultimately succeeded. On the other hand, however, I did make an honest and conscious effort to take my life, so I suppose I should not say that I really demonstrated resilience.

I've been trying to make something of this shithole of an existence. My dictionary defines resilience as "an ability to recover from illness" and I've been working on growing and healing, but I'm unsure if I've truly recovered from anything.

I was told by my aunt that for 2013 I had "chosen" the card "purpose". Wow... That's another good one! And it dawned on me how interrelated the two really are. In order to be resilient I must have some sort of purpose to my life, and that is difficult here. So much of the purpose that I once identified with has been stripped away: father, teacher, homeowner, and pet owner were roles of purpose that defined me, particularly the first two, but they are not a part of who I am at present. I know that I'm still a father, but the purpose of caring for and raising my children is gone.

I sincerely believe that I have been striving to give purpose to this horrible situation of futility and irrationality. I have committed to the path to improve my mind, body, and spirit. I have completed the only college course available to me here, I exercise more than I have for years, I work the 12 steps of sex addiction, I read, I am practicing Buddhist techniques and teachings, and I'm writing this blog and other works. I must confess, though, that I often feel this blog is little more than a journal, as very few seem to read or comment on it, but it's at least "out there".

I'm working as a legal clerk, with the opportunity to learn about the legal maze.

So what else can I do? I know that I must not give up, though I often feel the effort is hopeless. I'm still overwhelmed by emotional suffering. I know that in theory, I must "let go" and not "attach"; that all this is impermanent. I know that I should choose peace over suffering but it often seems I have little choice. The suffering is too pervasive.

Yet I also realize that I tend to feed it. I look at pictures of my children, and I cry. I make an effort to look at the few pictures that I have of Jess with our son, and I cry. I know that is going to hurt, yet I still dig into my box for those pictures. So perhaps I am choosing this misery over purpose.

I don't think that I enjoy feeling hurt. Yet thoughts of Jess arise constantly. Can I make the choice to stop those thoughts from arising? Or perhaps I must allow them to arise and pass with equanimity, without attachment to them. I try, but I'm often unsuccessful.

I'm reading a book by Dr. Harold Bloomfield, called "making peace with your past". He writes: "another source of resistance is an addiction to feeling victimized...you might fear that resolving...issues would leave you nothing to complain about." Is this what is happening with me? I tend to rationalize that very few can really understand the pain that I continue to experience. Yet there are so many in here who can laugh and joke and have fun. Are they just more enlightened than I? It seems like those who exhibit the least amount of respect, reflection, or compassion are the ones most enjoying themselves. Is this just all illusion? Or am I on the wrong track completely.
Bloomfield also writes:

"If you're kicking yourself over a failure or a mistake, shifts the energy of regret to that of curiosity and view what happened in a larger context. Or perhaps it was a necessary aspect of your experience, without which you would not have had certain successes."

Now he's just teasing me, but it gets worse: "ask yourself (of your regrets) what really might have happened had you done things differently:

What experiences might you have missed out on? What people might you not have known? What opportunities might not have come your way? Who might have been hurt? How much love might you have lost or never found? What incidents, illnesses, or other tragedies might have ensued? What job opportunities might not have come your way? What life lessons might you not have learned?

Let yourself imagine the worst, chances are those scenarios are no more unrealistic than the gratifying fantasies that fuel your regrets. Can you accept that in many cases your life might not have been appreciably better if you had done things differently, and in some ways might even have been worse?"

Clearly this advice is not aimed at someone in prison because of their mistakes, having lost everything. Yet I do acknowledge that the ultimate consequences are yet to be revealed, though with probation and lifetime registration, the future ain't really all that bright.

Nonetheless resilience and purpose are necessary for survival. I'll keep at the work.

Hodgepodge of Thoughts

 There was a racial brawl on the yard the other day. One guy went to the hospital because of it. As a result, we have been locked down in our buildings for the past two days. Even for meals, which have been brought to us.

So, I figured that I'd take the time to jot down to a few passages from my journal/autobiography, which will be available someday, somehow, I hope.

I was listening to an NPR show about the war on drugs and the lack of funds and energy aimed at the rehabilitation of addicts. The situation with sex offenders is even worse, as it's something society has yet to really talk about. The following quote was made: " if a friend came to you and said they had an addiction to alcohol, drugs, sex, or even shopping, would the first thing you do be to call the police? Of course the answer is unequivocally no." Yet this is what the woman who supposedly loved me did. With no effort to talk about it, to understand it, or to work through it. Therein lies the primary source of my utter confusion, frustration, despair, and sense of betrayal.

That the "justice" system of this country makes no attempts to understand, aid, or dispense real justice comes as little surprise. That the woman I love did the same is much harder to handle.

It dawned on me that here in the prison culture, the only thing more reprehensible than a sex offender is a snitch. But this thought brings me no consolation, no solace, and does nothing to change my fate nor help me understand things.

On a different topic, I read this in a book: "... Someday soon a woman will truly love you. Whether... you and she lived together all your lives or that you not be united until a long time after your first meeting, you will grow older and so will she. I cannot predict whether you will grow feeble and bent, or gross, or bald, or ugly, but it will not matter. This I can say with certainty: she will see you always as you were when you met. To the end of your days. Or hers."

To me, that means with true love one will see past the blemishes, imperfections, and impurities to recognize the beauty within. Perhaps I don't deserve that, perhaps my transgressions are too much to overlook or to attempt to work through, but I do know with certainty that I would do anything for Jess. I'd have worked with her as much as I could. Even now, I tend to focus on the beauty, strength, and spirit that she possesses. I cannot ignore what happened - what she did to me, what I did to her, what I did to me, and how much it hurt. Nor am I foolish enough to believe that love needs to be reciprocal, I think most of us have found out that this is rarely the case. I did, however, foolishly think that I really had found that so very elusive, so very rare scenario that might lead to a "happily ever after." Now I have little faith that such a thing exists outside of storybooks.

Maybe... Just maybe... I'm completely full of shit.

Struggling To Accept "What Is"

I am obviously still struggling with the acceptance of my situation. The other night, I saw a news report on a woman who was released from county jail for some silly driving offense. That same day, she left her six year old daughter alone in a McDonald's while she went to do "something". When she returned, she was arrested for abandonment. This woman had previous charges for child abuse. The reporter said she could face weeks or months in jail..

And here I sit, for 7 1/2 years for a crime that did not directly harm or endanger anyone. Here I am, with lifetime probation, and lifelong registration as a sex offender.

I am not innocent of the charges, yet I cannot escape the thoughts that I am far less dangerous to society than this woman who has repeatedly endangered her own children.

I realize I do not know the whole story, and I know firsthand, all too well, how the media is not always accurate. But something is just not right about it.

I know, I know... Life is not fair. I realize I messed up. I also know that I am absolutely incapable of harming my, or any kids, in any way whatsoever. Of course, others may not know or believe that, but any investigation into my life's history would corroborate that assertion.

It seems ironic, to say the least, that while I am labeled a sex offender for life, that I feel as though I'm the one who has been screwed; by Jess, by the media, by societal preconceptions, and especially by the state of Arizona.

Is this, however, just more mental manipulation to victimize myself? To avoid responsibility for my actions? To blame others rather than myself? Perhaps so, yet I never claimed innocence for my actions. It happened. I know that I am responsible. Is this an attempt to minimize the severity, or is there validity in my assertions?

I know that there is really no true black and white on this or nearly any topic -- just muddled shades of gray. I do feel terrible about it and how it hurt Jess, my family, my students, the unknown victims of abuse, and especially my kids.

I think, however, about some of the various concepts I am learning. We are responsible for, and can only control, our own reactions to external phenomena. So did my mistakes directly hurt Jess, or did she chopse her reactions to the stimuli she discovered? I'm so sorry that it happen, yet her reactions were, in fact, her own.

Yet those reactions landed me in prison. I had no control over that process, though it was ultimately my own karma, coming back to haunt me.

Who are the ultimate victims? What are the direct causes? The indirect causes? Does it matter that my actions occurred in the past? Before and independent of Jess? Does it matter that I was moving past them? It certainly does not change the reality of where I am now, but these thoughts, questions and feelings keep circulating through my very imperfect ego -clinging mind.

Sex Offender Saga... or... Sex Offender Sympathy

I am labeled a sex offender. I will be labeled and branded a sex offender for the rest of my life. Before you lock up the kids and start demanding my crucifixion , I would ask that you consider some of the points I'd like to share with you.

Allow me to start by saying that I am guilty. I had in my procession, on my computer, images of child pornography. I'm not proud of it, and I knowledge that horrors and abuse is that some of the models undoubtedly experienced because of those pictures. I also acknowledge that I contributed to that system of abuse, albeit in an indirect manner. I rationalized that they were "only pictures," that I did not take those pictures, that I did not contribute money toward the system, that they were already out there, in cyberspace. This was foolish, naive, and irresponsible. So please realize that this essay is far more than "sour grapes" toward the system that condemned me.

As a loving parent and a former teacher, I strongly agree that our children need and deserve protection on this planet. But things have gone far above and beyond what is necessary and what is right to protect those children and society as a whole.

Let me first share some facts about the sex offender registration and mentality. First off, all across this nation there are many juvenile sex offenders who have been imprisoned and or branded as a sex offenders, sometimes for life. Most commonly, for having sexual contact with another minor child, even when they themselves were minors. Did you ever "experiment" or "play doctor." as a child? You could be a sex offender! When you were 18, did you ever have a relationship with someone younger? Maybe even a few months younger? You could be a sex offender. Do you ever take a leak in the bushes or behind a tree? You could be a sex offender! Branded and labeled for life, with a host of restrictions on where you can live in which you can do.

I admit that my situation goes beyond this. However, the line between reality and fantasy has never been in question as to my actions toward any human being. The restrictions placed on SOs make the assumption that all people convicted of a sex crime regardless of age, situation or even the actual contact with the victim, are a danger to society. Forever.

This is not the case for murderers, drug dealers, armed robbers, and a whole host of other violent offenders. A sex offender must register their whereabouts at all times, but not so for a murderer. Murderers can live amongst you anonymously.

It seems that thinking, or fantasizing, about something sex-related is equivalent to doing it. It's kind of "precognitive" sentencing, just like in the Tom Cruise movie.

According to a research article by Marshall Burns PhD, in federal statutes, looking at a picture of a boy with an erection is worse than killing him. I know that in Arizona, sentences for possessing child porn are sometimes greater than those for murder, assault, and actually sleeping with a minor (consensually).

The argument for the registry is that these people are going to potentially act on their fantasies. But where does this stop? Have you ever thought of "killing your boss" or your ex? Every human has the potential to do horrible things. A person driving while intoxicated has the potential to kill, yet they need not spend years in prison and register for life, or never touch a car or drink again.

Those who buy illegal drugs do not have the same stigma, yet they could become abusive or neglectful parents, and there is little doubt that the drug trade is responsible for much abuse and violence, sometimes two words innocent civilians. But the casual drug user is not held responsible for that.

There are truly dangerous people in prisons, for many reasons, not least among them true sexual atrocities. But the truth is, these people are the minority of sex offenders. I'm a sex offender without having had sex! (Inappropriate six, anyway.) The laws of child pornography are so inflexible that one of the first lawyers I spoke to pointed out that my ex fiancée could also be prosecuted for looking at the images that she saw when she turned them over to the police. He said that there was already a strong case against her for that. Needless to say, I did not align myself with such an attorney, but it does illustrate the lack of reason and logic in the current laws.

The current persecution of supposed sex offenders is similar to the witch trials of ancient days, an attempt to find or create a scapegoat and as a distraction for society. And it's a convenient target as it's a difficult topic to address. I have a suspicion that one reason it's so easy to condemn these "sexual deviants" is that many of us harbor dark, strange, and maybe even disturbed thoughts and fantasies. It's similar to the notion that the most vociferous gay bashers may have homosexual tendencies that they tried to deny.

Again I admit that I crossed the line by actually downloading pictures, and that went a step beyond thoughts. In no way was I, or am I obsessed with kids as a sexual object - but it was a regrettable part of a wider interest/fascination with pornography in general. There is no predominant interest in such pictures—but there was a curiosity—in large part I suspect, due to the taboo nature of it. I'm no more likely to act out than anyone else, and probably less than some. I am paying the price, I've taken personal responsibility, and I accept the situation. That does not imply that the crime is proportional to the sentence of 7 1/2 years, lifetime probation, and lifetime registration.

The pain, suffering, and destruction to the lives of many offenders and their families is far more damaging to society than protecting of it. For further information and research see the following resources:

www.SOLresearch.org

Reform Sex Offender L (RSOL)

Life in the Cage

This essay this meant to give a brief overview of life on a prison yard in Arizona.  Like most people, my preconceived notions of prison came primarily from television.  The reality of it is rather different.  In some ways better, in some ways worse

The yard where I live it's called a level 3 yard, which is considered " medium" security.  A "1" yard is the "lightest" security and a "6" yard is the highest.  As 6 yard is individual cells, with maybe one hour a day outside.  The meals are delivered to cells, and rec facilities are nonexistent with " common" showers at specified times.

My yard is designated as a sex offender, or SO yard.  In Arizona, S O's are segregated from the general population due to violence against the "lowest of the low," the "scum of the earth." Ironically, due to this fact the population is a bit more educated and tends to be a bit older.  There is far less "gang banger" mentality, and less overall violence, although it does still exist.

I live in a dormitory, with 26 bunk beds making 52 bunks.  There's approximately three feet between the bunks, which were designed for single beds, so the setup is rather compacted.

Every day, we have recreation from 8:00 AM until 10:00 AM, 1:00 PM until 3:00 PM, and 6:00 PM until 7:30 PM.  The yard is a barren dust bowl without a tree or blade of grass.  There are "workout stations," a soccer field/baseball field, a volleyball court, basketball court, horseshoe pit, and a bocce pitch.  There are a few shaded ramadas, one for each race.  And there is a wide variety of games and equipment for check out.

Monday through Friday, we get three meals a day.  The food is edible, but that's about it.  Think elementary cafeteria, but a couple notches down in quality.  While it's not exactly "bread and water" it's not far off.  Many days we get eight slices of bread.  One common breakfast is four pancakes, two slices of bread, and cereal.  Talk about carbs!  "Dinner" is a "take home" sack, with four slices of bread, some processed meat, usually baloney, chips and cookies.  That's every Monday through Friday.  On weekends we get two "hot" meals.

There is a store where we can order snacks, tobacco, soda, ramen soup, and other junk foods.  We get no fresh fruit or fresh veggies...ever.  Everything is canned and processed, with the exception of salad which is iceberg lettuce or cabbage.  That's it, I haven't seen a tomato in a year.

The worst aspect is the complete lack of logic or reason in the ever shifting policies.  I take "building maintenance"  classes, which are canceled more often then held, and we often get strip searched upon leaving class.  We go out to the "strip shack" where we get into stalls to strip down.  But get this.  We leave our "book bags" outside the shack, uninspected, and then pick them up and head back to our homes afterwards.  At the gate between yards, we sometimes get patted down, but again carrying a bag full of "store" or something else that never gets looked at.

There is a decent library, which we must stand in line for, sometimes up to 45 minutes.  Really, I feel that half my time is waiting in lines.  For meals, for store, for medical, for library, to cross the gates, and for "programs" that may or may not be held.

I have a small TV, a CD Walkman, and a lot of books.  They make life bearable.  I read, write, meditate, do yoga, workout, and play volleyball.  Yet time still drags.  I once read about prison that days last forever, but weeks and months blend together to fly by.  It's quite true.

The "correctional officers" (C O's) are mostly respectful, but of course there are those with attitudes who use their power  to abuse inmates.  But this lack of respect works both ways - many inmates love to bait the "cops" particularly those who are assholes, which creates a vicious cycle.  I can receive approved visitors on weekends, "full contact", which means no  glass with the phone.  It's actually a pleasant visiting space with colorful murals and a selection of games and vending machines.

The highlight of the year is the "food visit" where family or friends can bring in food from the outside.  It's like a big picnic and one of the few things to really look forward to.  I've had one thus far as I'm a "newbie" or "fish".

The general environment is like a junior high school boys' locker room, as far as mentality goes.  Constant bravado talk of "fucking bitches" and "I'll fuck you up" tend to dominate.  While this mentality is not true of the whole population, the volume and frequency of such talk makes it seem more prevalent than it is.

There is, of course, the ability to procure things if the price is right.  "Spice" is the current drug of choice, as it does not yet register on the urine tests that are administered randomly.  It's a synthetic marijuana type drug.  The "TV" scenario of trading cigarettes for goods is absolutely accurate.  The standard unit of currency is a honey bun, a sweet danish.  As you may imagine, particularly in a sex offender yard, this is the "butt" of many jokes.  Three cigarettes or two "squeeze cheeses"  equals a soup or an envelope, two envelopes equal a honey bun, and a pouch of tobacco is like a $20.00 bill!

Hustling is a means of income for many.  There are "Powerball" lotteries, sports pools, and an entire underground economy in electrical repairs, tattooing, sewing, and "procurement".

The whole "don't drop soap" scenario is not really present, unless one chooses to take that route, which happens but is uncommon.  Again, I believe it's more common on the general population yards.  I don't know of anyone who is an unwilling plaything for a powerful inmate.

I am able to receive books and CDs via the mail, provided they are sent by approved vendors.  There is no list, to my knowledge, of what is "approved".  Amazon works, but Amazon Marketplace does not.  I could not receive a book sent via "the marketplace," but I could allow it to be donated to our library.  Huh?

All in all, it's not a particularly horrible physical environment.  The worst aspects of it, at least for me, are more psychological than physical: I miss my kids, I've never even met my son, and the fact that I was sent here by the love of my life, who I only ever treated with loving kindness.  In the words of Gloria Gaynor, I will survive.

Religion In The Cage

It is sometimes said that Jesus is still alive in the prisons of this world. It's true -- he's over in building 7 in bunk C-33. And he's probably in every other bunk and every single bed everywhere in the world. Inmates spend a great deal of time talking about, debating, quoting, and understanding the bible. Then they go outside and say "Whachoo lookin' at mutha fucka?" and brag about the bitches they fucked and the dudes they fucked up. Oftentimes, the louder they "preach" the bible, the more shit they talk. Of course this is not so for everyone, but it's often the case.

I've been interested in religion, philosophy, and spirituality for most of my life. As a child, I had to go to church every Sunday, but as I grew older I began to question many aspects of Catholicism, Christianity, and religion in general. It seems to me that the single biggest factor in terms of one's belief system was where one was born.

In college, I spent enough time and energy on philosophy classes as electives that it turned into a second major. I tended to gravitate towards eastern religions like Buddhism, Taoism, and Hinduism, but I wasn't sure why. After college, my two years in Cairo, Egypt taught me much about Islam, and then I spent time in India exploring various ashrams and holy places. Three years in Japan added yet another perspective on faith and spirituality.

Being in prison has been one more step in my spiritual development. My intention was to try to join in on as many practicing groups as I could. There are obviously many Christian sects here, as well as Jewish, Muslim, Wiccan, Native American, and Buddhist groups. Unfortunately, I can only "choose" one religion, as far as services and prayer groups are concerned, so I have chosen Buddhism as my path.

The biggest reason that Buddhism appeals to me is the lack of an "all powerful, all seeing, all knowing" deity that oversees all. Buddhism and other eastern religions are much more personal. The Buddha-nature is already within us; we control or choose our actions and the consequences of those actions are our responsibility. It's not "God's Plan", it's our plan - but yet it still connects us to all other living beings.

I sincerely believe that Jesus Christ was a Buddha, which means "an enlightened being", and his message of love and compassion is precisely that of Gautama Buddha and so many others who preach compassion and love. 

What is meditation but sitting still to acknowledge the spirit of God within you? It's a more personal and intimate way of praying. The "holy trinity" of Buddhism -- mindfulness, impermanence, and non-attachment -- make so much sense to me in this confined environment, yet I realize that it that it just makes sense. Period.

I now spend a significant amount of time reading Buddhist, non-Buddhist, and self help books, I meditate 3 to 4 times a week, I practice yoga frequently and I am working things out mentally and emotionally. I hope to share some of my thoughts and ideas with you.