Nectar for the Soul

While walking back from the phones today, I saw a hummingbird perched on the razor wire that tops the fence that divides our yard. It was joined by a second and they began flitting about each other in and around the razor wire. It lifted my spirits to see the hummingbird, the first I've seen in several years.

Then I began to wonder: would they make it out to the desert before using up all their energy by beating their wings so furiously? Would they make it to the sweet nectar that fuels their bodies and lies outside this desolate barren land surrounded by fences? I was concerned for the hummingbirds.

Then I thought, how similar to my own predicament. Will I make it out beyond these fences to some sweet nectar to fuel my spirit? My life force is ebbing away and this institution is sucking away my soul a little bit every day. How can I re-energize my spirit, my life force, my soul?

I suppose I must make do with the nectar of literature, or writing, of music, and of movies rather than the more nourishing nectar of authentic life experiences. I must be nourished, or at least satisfied with a simpler expectation of what constitutes a meaningful life experience.

For example, the other night at chow I was stuffing a bag of Lay's potato chips in my sock to enjoy later that evening (we've been getting cursory pat downs as we leave the chow hall recently.) As I looked around, I noticed another inmate at another table doing the exact same thing. We caught each other's eyes and we both began to laugh. It was a simple moment, outside the range of the life experiences to which I was once accustomed, but in that moment there was a connection and an acknowledgement of the absurdity that our lives have become.

It is these simple moments that can provide nectar for the soul, that make life worth living, and keep us going in spite of the obstacles placed in or paths.

Gestapo Tactics

Since arriving in prison, some 2 ½ years ago, I've been hearing horror stories about the Tactical Support Unit (TSU). They are the "special teams" who would come in if there's some kind of prison riot or other dangerous situation. On the yard they are referred to as the "Ninja Turtles" or "Storm Troopers". After an experience with them on our yard, I call them the Gestapo. Typically, prison stories tend to be highly exaggerated, but in the case of the Gestapo, they didn't come close to the reality.


Our yard was on "hard lockdown" for two days so that the Turtles could search each of the 32 runs on the yard. A hard lockdown means meals are brought to us and any essential movement is escorted by officers. As a worker on another yard, I usually get to miss out on such experiences, but a few weeks ago I was not so lucky.

The Storm Troopers struck quickly and entered the run in full force shouting out orders and expletives. "Alright you f*****s, down to boxers and t-shirts and line up with heads down. Anyone looking around will be going to the f*****g medic!" Scare tactics for sure, so I thought, then they grabbed a guy and dragged him off the run and outside. "Somebody always wants to be a f*****g hero!" I hadn't seen or heard the victim do anything. Another inmate who looked up so see what was happening was also dragged out with excessive force.

The rest of us were strip-searched and marched out to the Day Room. "Chin to chest, hands behind our backs." We were packed together cross-legged, hands behind our backs. On the floor near where I was sitting was an honest-to-god turd -- I assume from someone who had sat there before us and was either scared or just unable to hold it. We sat that way, on hard concrete, for about an hour. When people tried to shift their bodies due to discomfort, they were reproached forcefully.

I, myself, was literally sweating due to the pain, even though I regularly meditate in a similar position. It was agony. Finally, we were allowed back in and it looked like a hurricane had come through the run.

The real horror of the situation was not revealed until lockdown was over and we started communicating. Between 40 to 100 inmates had been treated for medical issues from the beatings in every run. The victims' transgressions were "looking around," "asking a question," or other imagined offenses. One man with a prosthetic leg was beaten for not moving quickly enough. An older man with a blood disease had severe bruising all over his body.

This was apparently far more extreme than anything that even long-timers had ever seen. Several of the "regular" corrections officers wrote up reports due to the excessive brutality. There is supposedly an investigation underway, but it is unlikely that anything significant will come of it. The administration has been issuing disciplinary tickets to inmates who have complained.

What's really incredible is that this happened on two consecutive days, so even after the administration learned what had transpired on Day 1, it happened again on Day 2.

I wonder what type of person can act in such a way. While not all of The Turtles were as aggressive, not one did or said anything to prevent the horrors. I think about how -- in Nazi Germany -- huge segments of the population committed horrible crimes while others allowed it to happen. This "follower" mentality is a terrible and powerful force. And we are considered the criminals! Nobody deserves such abuse.

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 Greatest Symphony

My kids were with my siblings this past week, as their mom was off hiking someplace, so I took advantage of an opportunity to call them.  I was unable to get through to my sister, so I tried my brother.  He answered the phone and there was a cacophony of background noise.  He whispered into his phone "I can't really talk, but listen to this.  It's your son!"

I then heard the music, it was his elementary school band.  The sound reproduction was not of the highest caliber, but I could clearly hear the tune.  It was reminiscent of some John Phillips Sousa Marches.  I had a flashback to days of my youth, riding the carousel at one of the parks in my hometown.  They played three pieces that I heard, and the concert was finished.  My brother agreed with my assertion of the carousel music, the last piece most certainly was played on the merry go round, we decided.

The music sounded like it was coming through a tin can, and I suppose it was.  But to me, it was the most glorious symphony I have ever heard!

My son made his way to the phone before my 15 minutes were up.  I told him how awesome they sounded, and he wholeheartedly agreed. 

"I wish you could have been here, Dad," he said, with sincere conviction in his voice.  "Me too, son" I replied as the phone cut us off.

I've missed so many things with my kids because of my incarceration, and it hurts far beyond words.  But for a few minutes, on a random Tuesday evening, I was there, and the world was right if only for a moment.

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?

You've probably done time in prison if...

You've probably done time in prison if...

-you carry your own toilet paper to and from the restroom, even in your own home.
-you bring plastic bags to restaurants and smuggle out food in your socks.
-you dutifully report to your bunk, err, bed, for " count time".
-you never want to see the color orange again...  Ever
-you can use a spork as a knife, a spoon, a fork, and also as a utility tool.
-you write back to "junk mail" hoping for a continued dialogue.
-a stranger in your bathroom comes as no surprise.
-you can't take a shower without some kind of shoes.
-you ask people around you, who you don't even know, if they are going to finish everything on their plate.
-you convert all monetary figures into cigarettes and ramen soups.
-you can reassemble a package of saltines, some leftover processed meat, some squeeze cheese, and other tidbits into a veritable thanksgiving feast with a single plastic bowl and a microwave.  (Which you eat with a spork).
- you always walk in the same direction around anything and on the same side.
-your too weak, two week paycheck is more than the yearly salary you once earned.
-you think Nescafe instant coffee is premium bland and makes a find cup o' joe.
-you wait to eat until you hear " turn out for chow".
-you " courtesy flush" the toilet repeatedly, regardless of where you are.
-you know how badly broken the justice system really is.

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.

Non-communication and Misunderstanding

 

Lately I've been thinking a lot about the events and conversations that transpired between Jess and I in Honduras, the second trip. This was a fact finding mission to discover if our relationship was real, and might have a chance to blossom into something significant.

We had true, meaningful, and in-depth communications on who we thought we were, what we wanted in life, and in a partner, and most of all what we considered to be our weaknesses, flaws, and insecurities. I see now, in hindsight, that nearly everything that transpired was revealed, albeit indirectly, in those conversations. Yet neither of us were willing, or able, to see the signs.

Jess had repeatedly commented that I seemed "perfect" - a claim that I vehemently denied. In my mind, my pornographic compulsions we're certainly among my many imperfections. I told Jess about the "schoolgirl" fetish I had, but withheld the extent and the details.

She revealed several traumatic episodes in her life that have contributed to her "suit of armor" and a fear or unwillingness to commit to a relationship. She even went so far as to ask if I was truly willing and able to take on that baggage. My naiveté reply was to "bring it on." Famous last words, so to speak, but I meant it with all my heart.

Now I realize that neither of us really understood or accepted the words of the other. Were we too caught up in the idea of love and romance to clearly see the implications of our confessions? Were we blinded by love, or the thought of love? Did we assume that we could overcome the flaws and insecurities of the other? That love could triumph over all? Probably all of the above. At least from my side that is.

I was understanding and accepting of her imperfections, though I certainly did not realize their depth and the potential outcome of those issues. I'm sure she would say the same, she obviously did not recognize the none too subtle hints I gave her as to my sexual issues and dysfunctions. I can only speculate as to her reasons for overlooking them.

Fast forward some eight months from then, when everything fell apart. We both had illustrated examples of our imperfections and destructive patterns of behavior. The consequences of that conflict were of epic proportions.

I often get stuck on the idea of choice and intention. I tend to view the consequences as a result of her choices, as a direct result of her actions. But was it not, in fact, my choice to download the material in the first place? Absolutely it was. Then, however, I also made a choice to stop. I had not downloaded anything in years, and I had committed to not looking at those images and to delete them out of respect for our relationship. That seem to matter little to Jess. Then there was never any intention to hurt Jess, or anyone for that matter, but we all know that intentions have little value. What were her intentions? I may never know.

I was working on my patterns, though it seems that she made no attempt to break her patterns of closing up and running away in spite of her promise to communicate about problems. In fact, she went a disastrous step further to involve the authorities. I'm sure that she had her reasons, I'm sure they made sense to her at that time, perhaps they still do. Perhaps the destruction to me, my family, our common son, and even to her own life situation were but a small price to her. Perhaps she saw no better ways to deal with it. Why was talking about it not an option? Was there no way to communicate, problem solve, and compromise that would not land me in prison? There are so many alternatives that seem, to me at least, far more productive and far less destructive to all parties involved.

I realize that her imperfections, the traumas of her life, and her patterns of insecurity may have veiled those options, or distorted them beyond consideration. It matters little now, though I believe that by understanding these things we might both better be able to grow and improve on our personal issues.

I do not want to imply an "I'm right, she's wrong" attitude. I know this is not the case, but I do know for certain that I was already working on overcoming my flaws. Admittedly, I did not confront them head on, as I now am doing. I was tiptoeing around them, afraid of the implications of revealing them fully. (And, obviously, that fear was very much justified.)

Is Jess learning, growing, and healing from this experience? I don't know, but I hope so. Her journey is very different from my own, with different constraints and difficulties that come with being a single parent. She likely has far less time or energy to pursue the means of self introspection that I unfortunately have the luxury of doing.

I still believe, with every fiber of my being, that we could have healed and grown so much more effectively together, than we are able to do now. But that's a futile sentiment.

What is the purpose of sharing this with you all? I'm not entirely sure. The hope that I can help prevent others from a similar fate, though it seems that the circumstances of my situation are probably rather unique. I do believe, however, that we all have a tendency to overlook things when love might be involved, and that while we might talk, we are not really communicating, and that when we listen we are not always hearing. More often than not, the consequences of this are minor, but then again, sometimes they're not.

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.

Thought Crime, Part 2

Part 2: Potential Prevention (or barriers thereof)

Several people, including Jess, have inquired as to why I did not seek some kind of treatment earlier, before my secrets were revealed, especially since I claimed to be working on these issues.  (I suspect that some are dubious of this claim, but again I must be satisfied with my own knowledge of this truth.)

It seems to me that my present situation should adequately address this inquiry.  To be truly honest with a counselor or therapist is a potential ticket to prison.  So it seems, as well, is an attempt to be truly honest with a fiancée.

Ironically the consequence of my actions continues to prevent me from getting professional help, as well as surrounding me with others as misguided, or more so, than myself.  There is a sex offender treatment program (SOTP) available in the prison system, but not on my yard.  I looked into a transfer, but at present the wait list for the program is several years.  There is also a concern that information shared in this program could be used against you later on.  This may seem like inmate paranoia or a rationalization, but it's written into DOC policy and has been conveyed by various attorneys in publications and to their clients here.  Yet still, there is a waiting list.

This course must also be taken (at your own expense) upon release from prison whether or not it is taken here, and still there is a waiting list.  So the idea that sex offense felons do not have a desire to heal is obviously not the case.

Jess also questioned why I withheld this tragic secret from her at the start of our relationship.  Again, her reaction to the situation speaks for itself.  If I had been honest at the start, would it have made a difference?  Would she still have reported me to the police?  And if not, why not?  If, as she claims, she truly believed me to be a risk to others, how would the time and manner of disclosure change the potential (or lack thereof) of inappropriate behavior?

Or perhaps the reality is that I was turned over to the police out of anger, or because I was not fully honest.  I certainly realize how dramatic and horrifying this discovery must have been.  I feel horrible for causing that pain, but communication, explanation, and cooperation might have been more beneficial to everyone.

I also wonder about the ethical implications of my lack of full disclosure about my habits.  When the consequences of this discovery are so disproportionate to the crime, and so devastating to me, my family and friends, is it morally wrong to hide the truth?  I really do think that honesty in a relationship is essential, and I violated that trust. Yet in a situation like this, it seems less clear.

In truth, my reasons were more selfish than that.  I never in my wildest dreams even considered that she might go to the police.  No, I hid to the extent of my destructive habit because I was embarrassed, and because I didn't want to risk losing her.  This was selfish, I know, but I was so incredibly in love.  That's hardly a good defense of my actions, but well, there it is.

The point here, which I just a rambled a way from, is that because of the assumptions of society, the attitudes of the justice system, and the lambasting by the media, there are really very few options available to someone seeking help in dealing with these issues, until perhaps it's too late.

This is a significant issue that requires a major shift in perspective and an openness to the uncomfortable realities of the human condition.

I know this topic and these ideas have been rehashed here in various ways ad nauseam, but this is where my mind goes again and again.  I am unable to work through this with any truly objective party, so I do so with thoughts and words to myself, and anyone who might happen to read this.

I know that I am not objective, but I sincerely hope that I am making sense.  As always, I encourage responses and comments.  I encourage you to call bullshit on ideas you disagree with.  I would love to hear opposing viewpoints and considerations I may have failed to address.  I try to view these situations and thoughts from other perspectives, and I might omit these observations from my ramblings, but would welcome those in this forum.

Thought Crime, Part 1

Part 1: prosecution and persecution

I am guilty of downloading child pornography.  I have never tried to deny that fact. I realize that this is reprehensible, and that the models of this industry undoubtedly have undergone horrible physical and mental trauma and abuse.  I contributed to this industry, and to this abuse.  I cannot take that back, but can move forward to understand and mend my karma, my mind, and my soul.

The consequences of this crime; 7 1/2 years in prison, lifetime probation, and lifelong registry as a sex offender, with restrictions on where I can live, where I can go, and what I can do, are predicated on the assumption that I am " incurable" and will or would undoubtedly act out on the fantasies that might have led to downloading such despicable material.  (Disclosure: these images were not of abuse, rape, or any sexual acts.)

Prosecuting and sentencing a person for potential and assumptive behavior is indeed a dangerous path.  One that I wish to explore in this essay.

I realize that many (perhaps most) people "buy into" the prevailing sentiment and media portrayal that a person with child porn (CP) is a sex crazed, evil, and perverted child molester.  That this is not necessarily the case seems to matter little.  Most people have little or no actual connection to these issues and would rather not think about them.  Few are willing to really question or understand the rationality of this assumption.  Even my fiancée --  who observed me interact with my own kids and students, and who claimed to want to marry me -  was unable or unwilling to explore these untrue assumptions.

I know the reality.  I know that might porn addiction led me to some dark places.  As is common with addiction, I needed more and more of my "drug" and explored more extreme content.  The child porn was one example of these extremes.  I am also fully cognizant of the line between imagination and reality.  This line was never in question and one that I would never cross.  I acknowledge that this is not the case for everyone, but those with a lack of awareness between fantasy and reality are, fortunately, the extreme minority.

This is by no means limited to sexual abuse issues.  This minority exists in all of the darker spheres of humanity.  There are serial killers, people who shoot up schools, who kill their own children, who stalk, kidnapped, and torture.  They are truly sick, and truly dangerous to society.  But to make assumptions of one's potential behavior is an extremely slippery slope.  We really don't know who is capable of these atrocities, so where do we draw that line?

I acknowledge that viewing CP is a likely risk factor toward sexual abuse.  The extent of this connection is really not known due to insufficient research.  An interesting article by Rachel Aviv called The Science of Sexual Abuse appeared in the January 14, 2013 issue of The New Yorker.

In this issue, she addresses the " Butner study redux" a 2009 study published in the Journal of Family Violence that is commonly cited by the courts to validate the extreme sentences and restrictions on CP felons.  In the study, 85% of the subjects convicted of child pornography crimes confessed to committing other sex crimes as well, an average of 13 per prisoner.  This study was cited on the Senate floor and five times in the Department of Justice 2010 National Strategy for Child Exploitation Prevention and Interdiction.

Further investigation of the validity of this study by the author led to some startling facts.  The program "required" the patients to "accept responsibility for a life of deviant behavior and thoughts." If they did not admit to such activities, they were accused of being in denial, and would be expelled from the program.  This meant returning to the general population of the prison, where sex offenders are routinely subjected to violence and abuse.

These study subjects later admitted that they just made things up to stay in the program and receive praise from the group.  They made " cheat sheets" in groups with fake names and details to "remember" in therapy.

Michael Setu, a psychiatry professor at the university of Toronto, reviewed the only six studies he could find on this subject and found that the Butner study was a " statistical outlier." The research is inconclusive.

"According to the largest study of released prisoners, conducted by the Bureau of Justice, the re-arrest rate for sex offenders is lower than that for perpetrators of any violent crime except murder." (Aviv) Yet this is the only class of felons with such draconian restrictions.

Now, if we are indeed going to pursue this line of thought, this "strategy of justice" to protect society and especially children from potential abuse, we should be thorough. There is ample research that people abused in their youth are statistically significantly more likely to be abusive themselves.  Should they be placed under restrictions?

I'm sure there is research that shows a correlation between drug use and alcohol abuse with a number of heinous crimes, including those of sexual abuse, so should drug users and alcoholics be on the sex offender registry, for life?

But let's not stop there.  To truly and accurately "predict" one's likelihood for sexual abuse, we must consider other factors as well: How many sexual partners, the age of losing one's virginity, sexual "games" played even prior to puberty would certainly contribute to potential sexual abuses.  We must consider the nature of one's sexual history.  Did they ever experiment with a pet?  Did they have sexual activity with a relative or a step-sibling, at any age?  Have they ever been with multiple partners?  Or used sex as a means of control or for getting what they wanted?

But even this is insufficient, we must also consider the sexual thoughts, fantasies, and imaginings going on in their minds.  Have they ever had "impure", "immoral," or "illegal" thoughts and fantasies?  And what about going to strip clubs?  Are these patrons not more likely to rape or abuse others?  And what of "legal" pornographic habits?  Is looking at legal models dressed up as young schoolgirls less likely to lead to acting out on one's fantasy?  Is this not a similar mental game?  And is looking at porn in general a predictor of potential rape?  If fantasy leads to reality, that's not a ludicrous assumption.

What about the attitudes and environment of one's childhood, particularly toward social expression?  Was it repressive and restrictive or was it permissive and open?  I'm sure both extremes lead to potential sexual inadequacy, and potential sexual abuse.

All of this and more shape our minds and the potential for inappropriate actions.  Ultimately, it's the ability to separate imagination from the reality of acting out.  Ultimately, it's one's conscience, one's knowledge of right and wrong.  How do we measure that?

In my case, the psychosexual history evaluation was an attempt to do just that.  Many of the questions  - well, most of the questions -- I've just addressed were posed to me.  I answered honestly and openly, even when not proud of the answers.  It revealed an extremely low risk (0.05%) of likelihood of inappropriate behavior.  Yet I was sentenced to 2 1/2 years above the five year minimum sentence for a single image of child pornography.  I got life probation on count number two.  I have lifelong registration, unsure of where I can live, what employment I'll be able to get, and even the nature of the relationship with my own children.

I want to be crystal clear that I do not think that collecting child porn is OK, or should be legal, but the consequences should be proportionate to the crime and should be solution, or treatment-based.  Probation, with mandatory counseling is most obvious to me.  I would advocate involvement in a program for understanding the pain and suffering of victims of the sex trade, particularly of child pornography.  A sliding scale restitution fee that contributes  directly to the treatment of both victims and offenders, based on income, seems appropriate and effective.  Imagine the millions of dollars this would save from taxes that go to state prison facilities for these offenders.

The court hurdles and restrictions placed on sex-offender create a lifelong struggle where true rehabilitation and treatment become secondary to pure survival.  Years in prison, exposed to others with questionable decision-making skills, and without any real treatment is certainly not going to help their cause.

I am suggesting that these crimes should not be prosecuted as if there had been actual physical abuse and more importantly without the assumption that there will be.  This way of thinking leads to the "thought crime" mentality I referred to above, and if it were to be expanded to other classes of criminal activity would result in a society that makes Big Brother seem like Ronald McDonald!

Yet at present, this assumption of CP viewing necessarily leading to abusive behavior exists; with the public, with the media, with the courts (and apparently with my ex fiancée).  We need more research, more treatment, less fear, and much more compassion to make things better.

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.

Inefficiency, indifference, and apathy

The title of this piece sums up the general policies and procedures of the overall system of the department of corrections.  I have written about some examples of this in previous posts, and I'd like to add some more.

I was recently notified that I was to receive a legal call at 9:00 AM in the counselor's office of my building.  So, of course, I had to take the day off work, since I work on another unit.  At about 8:15 AM I noticed that the counselor was not in.  This in itself is not uncommon, so I asked the officers on duty in my run how I was to receive this call.  They suggested I check with a counselor in another building to make arrangements.

So I made the rounds to the other three buildings on my side of the yard - no counselors were in.  I returned and explained to the COs on duty.  They contacted a CO3 on the other side of the yard who said he would handle it.

So I wandered up to the gate between yards.  I waited over 15 minutes and nobody came to unlock the gate.  I noticed a counselor head into one of the buildings on my side, so I went over to explain the situation.  He radioed the co3 (on the other side) and then told me to go back to the gate and he would let me through.  I waited another 10 minutes before a passing cop open the gate for me.

Of course there is another gate to get to his office.  I waited there another 15 minutes.  Another CO passed by and I explained that my call was already past due.  He again radioed the CO3, who came out of his office to unlock the gate.

But here's the real issue.  He then looks at me and asks why I waited until the last minute to come to his office!  I really wanted to punch and in the nose!  I kept my cool, thanks to my Buddhist practice.  As it turned out, I missed the call - but miraculously the attorney called back.

This practice of blaming the inmate for the ineffectiveness of staff is ever so common.

Another brilliant example of the department of confusion has to do with the bus ride to the SMU unit where I work.  Every day there are two buses that take employees to SMU.  And every day there is some problem with something.  Paperwork missing, copies not made, workers not on the list, extra people on the bus, not enough people on the bus, or something else.  It often takes up to an hour to go the 1 mile to the SMU unit.

And that's just once we get on the bus.  The bus itself is supposed to arrive around 7:00 AM, however that time actually ranges from 6:30 AM to 9:45 AM.  We are not notified when the bus will arrive, but are expected to be there when it does.  Every worker has a radio, but somehow they are unable (or unwilling) to convey such information.

The primary attitude is that we are a bunch of lying, cheating, immoral, monstrous, evil criminals, so why bother to worry about efficiency.  This is certainly not true of every employee, but it's the general principle guiding procedures.  I acknowledge that security is of the essence in an environment like this, but when something is done multiple times every day, the process should become routine.  The only thing routine here is inconsistency.

Similar inconsistencies abound in the process of returning to our "home" from work.  Some days we get stripped once, sometimes twice, once it was three times, and - rarely - not at all.  And the strip-outs themselves range from, "drop the oranges (pants) and shake out the whites (boxers)" to taking off everything, nuts squeezed, bending over, spreading our cheeks and coughing.

One never knows what the procedure will be, yet the officers will consistently say "you know the drill." What?  Which one?  It's different every day!  Then they will berate as for not knowing the "routine".  "How long have you been doing this?" Is a common question, spoken like we are idiots for not knowing what is expected.

My final example of the day is less of ineffectiveness than it is structured nonsense.  When we arrive on the yard, we are issued one pair of pants, three T shirts, three pairs of boxer shorts, two pairs of socks, and some "lame-o" deck shoes for clothing.  OK, so far so good.  Laundry is to be turned in once a week, and we get it back the next day.  Okay fine.

Then it is against policy to do any laundry in the run, it's not allowed.  Yet many of the inmates here have no money at all, so have no other clothing than what is issued.  Two pairs of socks to last a week, and what about one pair of pants?  How can it be cleaned?

In truth even the indigent inmates will eventually get extra clothing one way or another.  The socks that are sold through the store become holier than the Pope in a month (they are not of the best quality).  The reason I bring up socks is that I got "scolded" the other day for having socks hanging to dry in my area.  I have only three pairs that do not look like Swiss cheese.  Now, I do have a job, so I can buy socks from the store.  Three hours of work for one pair of socks.  And I did...  More than one month ago!  But I have yet to receive them and, as the "property office" is never open when I am not at work.  I could take a day off in which I would miss out on $3.20 pay.  And while it may not seem like much, it would be another 2 1/2 pairs of socks!

Again to be fair, most of the officers never say anything about laundry, unless a captain, sergeant, or warden is in the vicinity, but some seem to revel in bitching, writing tickets, and finding anything they can to cause us suffering.

I often wonder if all this is apathy, ignorance, or a calculated effort to keep us off balance in everything that we do.  I suppose it's probably all of the above: whatever the reason, it successfully keeps us frustrated and confused.

Why I Wonder Why

A friend in here was recently giving me some feedback on my essays.  He told me that as a reader, he would like to see me get past and the "why" that permeates my thoughts and musings.

I gave a sort of laugh and said that, as a human, I would really like to get past though "why" myself, but I'm obviously far from that point.

We talked about how it's really one of the big challenges in this place.  The inability to really understand, and the acceptance of the reality that I may never find answers to the questions that torture me perennially.  Also to acknowledge that it makes little difference to the situation at hand.

There are a myriad of reasons as to why this is such a challenge.  For one thing there is the inability to "move on" to something new.  Everything around is a perpetual reminder of the circumstances that led to this incarceration.  My brother, who is coming off of a tough divorce, talks about the things he can do to "clear his head".  He goes to drumming groups, goes for hikes, takes little vacations, and can see a therapist.  He is talking about maybe trying to "get back on the horse" and perhaps make efforts to date again.  These are not options for me.

Then there is the incredible timelessness of this place.  Because there are no significant or new events or experiences in my life, time has stood still.  It seems as if my time with Jess was just yesterday.  In my mind she's perennially pregnant with our son though he's approaching a year and a half.

The incredibly wonderful feelings I had of being with her and the laughs and joys we shared are still crystal clear in my mind, as is the devastating sense of heartbreak, loss, and betrayal.  "Time heals all wounds," but when nothing is happening, time stands still.  The intervening time does not really exist.

Perhaps due to the nature of my personality, I also have an overwhelming compulsion to make sense of things.  I want to see a reason, rationality, or logic in her actions.  I naively want to think that logic and reason are absolutes that we all share; that the notions of right and wrong, good and bad, cause and effect and even the degrees of those attributes are universal.  This is clearly not the case.

Though when it comes to the operation, organization, and policy of this department of corrections, I am fully aware that logic and reason have little influence.  Paradoxically, I can accept and even laugh at this in spite of the frustrations of living it.  That's not the case when it comes to Jess's  actions.  Nor of my own for that matter.  There's nothing remotely amusing about it.  I can accept the bias and sterility of the legal system and even that of the general public, but I struggle with this when it comes to the woman I love, who I planned on spending my life with.

I realize that love greatly interferes with a clarity of reason and logic.  I understand that love is precisely why it's so hard to deal with it all.  Perhaps love also has something to do with those choices and actions of Jess.  Perhaps, also, I'll never know.