A Father's Lament

I talked to the kids on the phone this morning. On my second call, I had to cut off my time with my son as I had my monthly Buddhist Service. I could not focus on the service, or discussion, as I could only think of my kids. They had been telling me about putting up trees at their mom's and their aunt's (my sister). These were always my activities with them.

My kids were always a center of my life, I could never understand how any parent could "abandon" their kids either physically or mentally. I know I was never the perfect dad, but I tried to be as close as I could. A friend sent me a few more pictures of my "new" son, who I've never met, including one of Jess holding him up and smiling warmly and lovingly into his eyes. I guess there's also a video of him walking. He does not even know I exist, and I feel he's been robbed from me. Even worse, now I'm one of those parents who abandoned their kids. But it wasn't my choice.

So I thought I'd copy a journal entry I wrote several months ago while thinking of my kids. Here it is:

10/26 I've been thinking of my kids even more than usual recently. One reason for this is the approach of Halloween. That was always one of my favorite times with them. I took them most years, whether it was my turn or not. We would usually trick or treat in our neighborhood.

I also usually took them to the All Souls Day/Day of the Dead procession, a huge event in our town that is a cross between the Mexican Day of the Dead and Mardi Gras. It was a big deal with my gang of friends and we constructed elaborate floats on several occasions. I involved the kids in that process as much as possible.

This led me to think of other traditions and activities that I may never have with them again. I used to be "the monster" when we went to any park, chasing them throughout the jungle gyms, up ladders, over bridges, and down slides. They never tired of that game, but when I get out they will be long past it. The same is true for bedtime stories, which we still were doing "when it all fell apart". Of course they were doing much more of the reading then.

Some traditions will still be alive, I hope. "Question time" and "story cubes" were, and I hope will be, a part of every meal. It was a way to create bonding and sharing at the dinner table. I was so very proud when one thanksgiving, and the huge table that included several strangers to the kids, my son stood up and yelled out "question time!"

Another tradition that might live on is "pizza and a movie night" if, that is, I'm allowed to have my own children overnight. Perhaps the movies that we watch will "grow" along with the kids, but I did enjoy watching classic cartoons, and Pixar films, and great kids' movies with them. When I started allowing them to choose, the quality wasn't always of the same caliber!

(Later that day) WOW!! I just got a letter from my daughter. She was telling me how much she missed many of those exact things I just wrote about! She also reminded me about "monster in the theater," where I chased the kids around the aisles after the movie was over and the cinema cleared out.

This led to the unpleasant thoughts about how this punishment of my crime also punishes the kids and has little to do with any recovery or strengthening of communities. It is only destructive. There are so many other productive, constructive, effective and efficient ways to dispense justice, but that is for another day.

Imagine

In pondering and writing about all of the events and circumstances in my situation, I think about the callous and faceless nature of the court system as a whole.

I had very little opportunity to present myself to the courts as the human being that I am. The vast bulk of the process is lawyers dickering with each other, filing motions, affidavits, and petitions. Several of my court appearances were to read a charge and set up another date. Other times, for one side or the other, were to postpone or extend, to set up another date, and so on.

So I wonder, why could there not be a process where a judge just talks with the defendant. The system would probably cry out the courts are already so overburdened and backed up that there is neither the time nor resources for such an endeavor. Yet it seems to me that it would be less cumbersome and time consuming than all of the motioning, posturing, and dickering that goes on now.

I had to undergo extensive psychosexual evaluations, but ultimately they seemed to mean little to nothing to the judge or prosecutor. So why the charade of this procedure? Perhaps as a true component of the judicial system there could be a risk analysis and a treatment proposal that actually carry some weight.

The system itself perpetuates this lack of "cutting to the chase". One should never speak without a lawyer. In most cases the lawyers do the majority of the talking. A lawyer is necessary to navigate the maze and hoops of the system.

But why must it be this way? Ostensibly it is to protect the rights of the accused, but that seems not to be the case. That the courts are "out to get you" should not be the reality, though in my experience and also from listening to and reading about many others, this seems to be so.

I realize that I'm seeing and hearing about only those who have been found guilty and are incarcerated, but the scenarios are both commonplace an astounding. I acknowledge that I can't believe everyone's story, but the truth is that we are already in prison so there's little incentive to lie. Most all that I talk to will readily admit they are guilty, but there are often tales of outlandish assertions on exaggerations that add to the consequences. And relevant circumstances that aid and reduce the offense are dismissed as immaterial. Anything damaging is fact, and anything exonerating is suspicious or irrelevant.

This is certainly true in my case, and I hear similar tales again and again. There is no attempt at real meaningful dialogue in the justice system. That does not have to be the way.

This is also a problem with our whole political system as well. Everyone has an agenda, which is more important than the good of the whole. Compromise, communication, and rationality play little role in the decision-making process.

Of course how can I expect the court system to communicate or to understand me when even my fiancé was unwilling to do so. While the courts might have little or no inclination to understand the big picture, one would expect or hope that their loved ones would. One would be wrong in that supposition.

Is this an anomaly due to individual circumstances? Or is society as a whole buying into a program of condemn first ask questions later. I notice that the media will always sensationalize the negative and condemn well before any attempt is made to see the whole picture, and if that ever happens, it's already too late.

But it's not too late to shift towards empathy, compassion, and understanding. I'm not suggesting to give felons bouquets of roses, but at least give them a legitimate voice in the process and to propose a course of action and a dialogue that has a productive and constructive outcome. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one! Imagine that!

Injustice In Action

I would like to share some more of my experiences with Arizona's injustice system, again with the hope that it might help anyone who might become entangled in the nets of judicial bureaucracy.

When I first was able to view the police reports of my crime (after it had already been leaked to the media) I was completely flabbergasted at the assertion of some 60,000 images of a "dubious" nature. "Known or suspected images of illegal pornography" was the specific wording. A computer program had scanned the computer and external drive and this was the result of that scan.

I realized that there were duplicates of most of the images, as the search included all files that had been deleted for many months. I also realize that it included the vast majority of which were (while I'm not proud of them) of fully clothed or bathing suit images and not illegal.

I repeatedly and vociferously conveyed this to my attorney. She dismissed the objections as unimportant. When the judgment was made at the sentencing hearing, this factor led to an additional 2 1/2 years of prison time. My lawyer made a feeble statement about not relying on a computer to verify this claim.

Upon my initial appeal my new public defender also failed to raise this objection of mine and eventually my appeal for relief was denied for "no issues of factual objections".

Then, I petitioned the court of appeals, representing myself, and I was able to state my concerns and pointed out that this aggravating factor was not "proven beyond a reasonable doubt."

I just received notification that my appeal was denied. Though I really knew it was a long shot, I've come to have little faith or expectation in the justice system, but it still caused some angst, removing yet another layer of hope to an earlier release.

But what really bothers me was the statement as to the reason for my denial: " (the defendant) did not raise this argument below, instead implicitly acknowledging he had possessed tens of thousands of images. Accordingly, we do not address this argument further."

So my lawyers refusal to voice my concerns in court implied tacit agreement. This point cannot be raised on appeal as it was not raised in the trial court, though I repeatedly brought it to my attorney's attention. Even before the hearing she basically had written me off, and was suggesting that I appeal the decision. After the hearing, she again suggested I appeal and that this could be a valid point of appeal. One would think that, as an experienced attorney, she would know that in appealing a hearing, one is limited to the points that had been raised. I suspect that she didn't want to deal with and actually checking my assertion and wanted my case over and done with.

Of course, in retrospect, I should have been more proactive. I naively assumed that the attorney knew what she was doing. I must also point out that I was taken to the courthouse, in cuffs, after being awakened at 3:30 AM. I was not at my mental best, barely able to choke through the statement I had prepared. The prosecutors words and accusations barely penetrated my mental haze.

Would this issue have changed the outcome? I don't know, but I do know that my judge and prosecutor both have reputations of being severe. My public defender told me straight out that with 90% of the other judges I would have had a lighter sentence. Justice is determined by a roll of the dice it seems.

I'd also have the opportunity to raise this issue throughout the appeals process. While I have little hope remaining, I plan to continue to fight and take it to the next level. At least it's something to do.

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.

The New Year Rants Trilogy

Part I - Asinine Antics

Happy Freakin' New Year

As a new calendar year rolls in, I have the auspicious omen of being on lockdown. Well, at least that excuses me of my resolution to do more running, at least for now. So I figured that I'd spend at least part of the day writing about some of the inane practices and policies of the Arizona Dept of Corrections (ADC).

Recently, the head honcho and big cheese, the "state warden" took a tour of our facility. It seems that he was both astonished and outraged at the amount of "stuff" that we inmates possessed. Apparently he was upset with us about they're being the possessions of two humans crammed into a space originally designed for one. Shame on us.

So as an extremely relevant, appropriate, and logical response to our wicked behavior, the ADC created an initiative that restricts the number of religious books we may possess and notified us of the enforcement of the already existing policy of four boxes per inmate.

OK, so each inmate has the theoretical limit of 10 personal books, excluding books of a religious nature, which was essentially unlimited. It might have had something to do with that bill of rights thingy in the constitution.

Anyway, the new initiative essentially includes religious books in the limit of 10. So where does one begin to question the logic of such a move? On a practical level, I know of very few inmates to actually have the full four boxes allowed. I have only two. And there are no limits to the number of packages of refried beans or any number of food items that we may possess, so this makes very little sense as a "space saving" measure.

Then of course there is the "rehabilitative" aspect of such a policy. As already mentioned, there are few efforts or resources directed toward any growth, recovery or rehabilitation of the inmates in this system. The term "correctional" facility is a misnomer. Any real growth must come from personal, internal measures and religion is a path chosen by many as a way to find peace. So, let's limit the opportunities and resources for using that as a tool, even if it does not even cost money to the system.

I myself currently has seven books on Buddhism and yoga, add a thesaurus and a few reference books for the novel I'm working on and I cannot receive any more books. This obviously will make me a better and more responsible human when I finally get out.

This brings me to a second, and related oddity. I currently have two books in "property" that are considered "contraband" as they came (from Amazon) without receipts. This happens with incredible frequency to the point where it seems that Amazon sends a full third of their shipments without receipts. If or when the receipts are mailed to us by the person who ordered the material, we can and then pick them up. If that is, they are from Amazon "proper" and not a third party vendor through Amazon marketplace, in which case we can send them back, or to someone else ( at our own expense), or donate them to our library where we can check them out if they are available.

Of course, there is no record of who actually sends the gifts, so I must play detective by mail to discover the benevolent soul who sent the gifts and then ask them to deal with more hassles. Ironically the two contraband books are both of the spiritual and "self help" nature. "God" forbid I get a hold of such destructive literature.

Part II: Visitation Vagaries

My children pulled a surprise visit on me just the other day, which was of course wonderful, as always. There were also a couple of examples of ludicrous policy that occurred during the visit.

First, I was finally able to get the "Veterans Day" photos that had been ordered more than two months ago. I tried on previous occasions to get the photos taken which are theoretically done to allow us to send them as holiday gifts. The first time I tried, I was told by the officer in charge that the digital camera was out of film. I swear I'm not making this up. The next time it was "too busy" in visitation.

So, this time the camera had "film", and I went to lift up my kids so they'd be roughly at head level with me. Apparently, that is not allowed. Then for the third and final picture --I paid for three, never mind that I expected that meant three copies of the same pose -- we decided to make silly faces. Apparently, that's not allowed. So my son tried to give me a bunny ears. Yep, you guessed it, apparently that's not allowed.

I've spent a good deal of brainpower puzzling over the rationality behind this one. One possible reason might be related to why we must remain clean shaven at all times - to match the appearance on our photo IDs. (Though our hair length has no such restrictions.) So if I were to escape, and someone might see me, they'd look at the picture from visitation (yeah right) and say, "well, that does look like the guy I seen, 'cept he didn't have no bunny ears so it couldna been him."

Or perhaps it might be considered a sign of irreverence or disrespect to all our powerful ADC overlords. It all seems rather nonsensical and mysterious.

The other incident during visitation with the kids occurred after they had decided to make a giant face in the dirt in the outdoors area of visitation. This is something we frequently do when they visit, I'm not sure why, but they like it and that's all that matters to me.

Anyway, this time they decided to fill in some of the facial features with the pebbles that are piled along the perimeter. There are signs posted to remain 2 feet from defense, which are generally ignored by all, including the kids as they gathered pebbles. Eventually, the visitation officer came out and asked us not to do that anymore as he didn't want to get in trouble. OK, fair enough. But then he asked us to return the pebbles to where they came from, which meant going back into the "forbidden danger zone". Perhaps there should be an investigation into the "guiding philosophical nature of the ADC". Descartes, Aristotle, and Socrates combined could not make sense of it all.

Part III: Medical Mayhem

The last of my rants for the day and is far less amusing, and really quite tragic. It has to do with the incredible lack of care, concern, nd common sense of the Medical System of the ADC.

As previously mentioned, at present there is a class action suit against the state for failure to provide basic, adequate medical care. I could fill an entire book with stories that I've heard, but I'll limit myself to a few scenarios that I have experience with myself, so I know them to be factual.

Since the lawsuit's genesis, the ADC has "farmed out" its Health Care to a private company called Wexford. I suspect that decision is related to the lawsuit, but I really don't know for certain. Anyway, the incredible result is even worse access to basic, adequate health care.

Within the class action suit are several instances of dental malpractice. I have recently been experiencing a toothache and decided to go to dental, to see what they said. I submitted a Health Needs Request (HNR), and amazingly received a pass to the dentist within a week. I had to take a day off of work only to have the dentist not show up and all appointments canceled. A week later, I got another appointment. The dentist looked in my mouth and banged on a tooth with a sharp pointed solid steel implement of destruction and asked if it hurt. "Well, yes, it does," I replied. He informed me that that it needed to be pulled. I suggested perhaps a filling instead. "No, no, it's too deep for that, on the outside you could get a root canal, but we don't do that here." Now I've never heard of dentists making such a prognosis with a 2 minute peek and a rap on a tooth. I said I'd like to consider my options, not relishing having a tooth ripped out of my jaw. "That's fine," he said and made me sign a "refusal of treatment" form, effectively relieving him of any and all responsibilities or consequences.

Another all too common scenario that seems to be escalating in frequency is a sudden and inexplicable cessation of medications. I receive meds for high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and an antidepressant. Last month, the cholesterol meds were not refilled. A new policy in place since Wexford took over is that we cannot talk to the medical staff about any medical issues, we must submit an HNR. So, after two weeks of no word on my meds, I sent an HNR requesting either a refill or an explanation as to why they were discontinued. The letter came back with a nurse's initials, I assume to confirm it had been received. But there was no explanation, plan, or even a comment on the content of the letter.

In speaking with other inmates, this too seems to be fairly common. One good friend has had his heart meds stopped for two months, he has sent three HNRs and has not gotten a reply to any of them. Others have shared such tales, and even more ludicrous ones, of doctors blatently refusing to see patients with legitimate health concerns. Blood tests are frequently given, but the results are never shared, nor are any problems in the lab work actually acted upon. The staff seems to go to extremes to avoid actually addressing concerns. It seems that Wexford offers more training on avoidance than on medical treatment.

As the number of inmates and the sentences of incarceration continue to increase, the logical place to cut costs is by neglecting basic medical care. After all, we are nothing but a bunch of monsters, whose lives are of little concern or value to society as a whole. Refraining from medical treatment is a cheap and easy way to make room for the next batch of prisoners. Though it would be even more efficient and quicker to just put us in a gas chamber. There's a policy that would make some sense.

Giving Thanks

The vast majority of my writing and thoughts tends to be on the negative side. Given my current life circumstances, I reckon that is both understandable and forgivable. Yet it really serves no constructive purpose and certainly does not change my situation.

In honor of the season of giving thanks, I would like to look on the bright side for a change, and count my blessings. This may be a short essay. OK, here goes... The end.

Just kidding, I do have things that I am thankful for. First and foremost, are my beautiful children. They give me a reason to wake up each morning, and they keep my hope alive in a dark and dreary situation.

I am thankful that they are relatively happy and healthy children. Well, at least two of them are, as far as I know. I do know (from pictures) that my new son is extremely beautiful, but I know nothing about his health, mental state, or his level of contentment in life.

I'm thankful that they are all well loved, by their dad and their moms. I'm thankful that they have a loving parent to fill the void left by my incarceration.

While I certainly do not believe my sentence is fair or appropriate, I'm thankful that it's not worse. I should be out before my oldest graduates from high school.

The conditions here may not exactly be plush, but I'm thankful I have food and a "bed." I'm grateful that I was able to swap my "magazine -thin" mattress for a "phone book -thick" one. It may only be a Fargo, North Dakota area code thickness, but it's better than nothing.

I'm thankful for my health. In fact, my weight is the lowest it's been in some 20 years, and I exercise more than I ever have in my life (with the possible exception of high school football). I'd like to believe that the 6 1/2 years of my life that are lost will be made up on the tail end.

I'm extremely thankful for books -- many times in life I've lamented having such little time to read. That's not a problem I face right now.

I'm thankful that I have seen and experienced so much more of the world and most people have or will in a lifetime. I'm thankful for my education, from school, from family and friends, and from life.

I'm grateful for the support, love, and faith from my family, who still believe in me despite my mistakes. I don't know that I could survive this ordeal without that belief.

I'm thankful for the handful of friends who have not abandoned me. Such an experience as this illustrates the very best (and the worst) of humanity. I'm thankful as well for those in here who give me encouragement and a shoulder to lean on.

It's frequently said, in here and out there, that "it could be worse." It's easy to forget that here, but it's very true. Yet by the process of elimination, there must be at least one person who cannot say that. I'm ever so thankful that this person is not me.

Happy Holidays to all!

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.