I received my first gift early this morning from the Universe. A stunningly gorgeous sunrise. The colors were vibrant and amazing...pale pink (had a powdery feel to it) to cotton-candy pink (yummy!) to a light hint of purple...then magenta...and finally a rust red. What a way to wake up!
Gift Number Two happened during linen exchange: clean sheets, uniform, socks and undies. The socks were BRAND NEW!! AND I think the undies were too. Usually it's obvious that many men have stepped into these articles of clothing...not today!! There is a Santa, Virginia! It's the little things in life that make me smile these days! My most precious gift is knowing I have family and friends rooting for me, caring for me...please KNOW how much I hope your holiday season was as awesome as my sunrise!
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I never imagined myself sitting in a jail cell on this day. I've planned several Christmas Eves over the years: Santa (moi!) delivering gifts to my children when they were young; working food bank , bringing dinner to homeless folks; sleeping under the lighted Christmas tree with Mrs. Claus - BUT NOT THIS!!
There is not one single outward sign or indication that it's Christmas time here in 'the tank"! I made an origami tree altho' the Charlie Brown Tree looked more like a Christmas tree than my origami. But the Grinch Guards took it away. :( I live in a world that isn't remotely normal anymore. But I know it won't always be like this. I do have a sense that i will survive. Inwardly, I feel the Spirit of Christmas tonite. I think some of the other tribe members in here do too. Today I received greeting cards from my children and my wife. Reading their notes lifted my spirits and put a smile on my face. Funny how a few words scribbled on the front (and back!) of a card can ignite the visceral feeling of LOVE. I'm alone in here...yet I'm not because I know people "out there" care about me. Wonder what Christmas Day will bring??? I've been pondering the purpose of incarceration, prison...and jail. I've come up with five reasons for such a system- there are probably more but here goes: Recompense/Restitution Some form of compensation should be afforded to victims when propery is stolen or damaged or the ability to earn a living is impaired. Something equivalent for the injury seems only fair...mandatory. Punishment - Puritanical Righteousness - Retribution - Suffering I wonder if we would have fewer crimes if compassion instead of punishment was offered while in the state called incarceration. I've been here a coupld of months and I have to say that I have not seen any guard extend any amount of compassion to any inmate. And, as you might expect, when a guard leaves "the tank", the inmates have nothing pleasant to say about him or her. The cycle of hatred - I know that's a strong word yet that is what I FEEL in here - the cycle of hatred continues when only punishment is applied. Protection Society is somewhat protected while an offender is confined...and then??? Rehabilitation If the 'system' would invest the time and money to teach the inmate a trade, s/he might not return. The recidivism rate MIGHT just lower. I'll bet it's high...I'll bet it's over 60%! There's an old parable about giving a hungry man dinner. The trouble is that he becomes dependent of someone else to provide him dinner; however, if he's taught a skill (to fish), he can take care of himself and his family. The 'system' feeds us three times each day. All we have to do is be awake! Rehabilitation might also protect society! If the inmate had a trade, they might be less likely to return to a life of crime. I cannot tell you the number of conversations I've overheard about the crimes my tribesmen will commit when they get out! They are convinced they wont' get caught the next time. And, at the end of the day, they just don't know any other way to make their way through this life. Education and job training would help...I'm certain of it. Time to Think Someone famous once say "the unexamined life is a life not lived" (something like that!). Well, being "locked up" with nothing to do 24/7 has given me plenty of time to examine my life. Given that I've done accounting work for 39 years, you'll understand why I call this review my 'life-audit'. I have more liabilities than assets. My balance sheet is out of balance. But this audit has alerted me to what has to be done to balance the books. I hope I have enough time. The subject of mercy...justice...jails and prisons is more complex than these five thoughts on the subject and when I re-read this blog, I feel it's a little naive...yet it's what is on my mind and how I feel tonite. I'm venting over the loss of my friend... and wishing you a wonder-filled 2015. ;)
The days will start to get longer now. I'm looking forward to more light. I spent Winter Solstice yesterday "in the dumps"! I guess it was a new moon which may have intensified the energy. But today started out happy enough and then...at 4PM, the rug was pulled out from under my feet! A new friend was suddenly transferred to another jail! He had no idea where or why. He's a sensitive man who loves words, prose and poetry...and man, does he love his family...and they love him. I was counting on more substantive conversations. He has read Rilke, Rumi and Tagore. He thinks. He openly emoted in "the tank" and was not ashamed of his tears. He once told me that letting others see him weep might let them see their own humanity. This haiku is for him...and for them: Fragile, sensitive Rabindranath the poet, Mankind can be saved. He was here for lunch and gone before dinner - POOF! Once again,, something "good" is taken from me. But what was I thinking. This is not summer camp, it's JAIL! It's punishment! I will be hard-pressed to attempt making another friend in here.
Today I got a chance to see the distance I've traveled in the past two months. A new species entered the tank. Let's give him the blog-name, Raby. A white male, early 40's who has never been in jail!! He's scared, sleeps a lot, cries (quietly), doesn't eat much, casts his eyes downward and looks confused...the deer-in-the-headlights kind of confusion....THARN!! (Google it!)
He was given Bunk 13, which is at the other end of "the tank" from me...that's the LOUD END. The bunk bed next to me (#11) was empty so I asked him if he wanted to move into that spot. "Yes"....a big YES was his immediate reply. As we talked, he seemed to mellow out a little. I remember when I was thrown a lifeline...I think I had been here about a week. I was asked if I wanted to move closer to a couple of tribesmen who'd been nice to me...one had offered me a book to read. After a week without pencil, paper and books, I felt blessed! Being able to simply chitchat with those men made a huge difference in the quality of my life. They gave me hope that I might survive this journey through Hell. "THROUGH" is the operative word here because initially I was convinced that I had entered the realm of the Devil himself and I was destined to suffer everlasting punishment. I still have days when I wonder if I will ever get out of here. But, for the most part, I know...I believe there is Life Beyond The Tank. For now, I have befriended Raby, hoping to share that belief and encourage it in him. Last thing Raby said to me as he tucked in to find sleep was "Thank you, you've saved my life." That is difficult for me to believe yet I remember feeling that way too when Rod offered me that book. A little kindness can make a difference in the life of a fellow human. Smile at a stranger today and say hello. Raby is expecting to leave the day after Christmas so I'll have maybe a week with him. His presence is a gift to me. Well, I'm gonna be here for another month or so...more boring time...HELP!!??? I've decided to reach out to ya'll...hoping you will keep my mind/brain going by sending me some reading material. We do have a library by means of which I have enjoyed Nora Roberts work!?@# Not bad...just not my usual fare! You can choose articles from the news (paper or mags or internet...I am not choosy!). You can send anything that I can read...perhaps your very own writing! I love to read...it takes me away from "the tank"!! Pretty please...with sugar on top...send anything!! I have lots of "spiritual books" and some classics so I am looking for "junk reads". I'll attach a list of mystery writers and such...in case you choose to send a book. The jail has rules...of course....and you cannot send more than six single pages in an envelope. As for books...here are the important rules (the ones I know): Any book
(Editor's note: The site is pretty self-explanatory. I gave them $5 and got 500 credits yet am still puzzled about how much each email "cost"!! Trust is the key to using any "correctional" website!! Remember this is one woman's opinion...and it's not worth much more than a latte!) When I first arrived in jail, I fought against being here. I focused on all that I was missing. Slowly...it felt very slowly... I settled in and finally began to think of it as a sabbatical...an opportunity. Two months ago, I was raging with anger! Today I read, write and sleep. I eat (access to the commissary helps on that subject) and I often meditate. I have no agenda, no schedule, no "shoulds". A lot of....mmmm....STUFF is getting digested during this uncharted timeout. I am learning to relax with groundlessness (another term I discovered with Pema Chodron). Am I successful all the time? Heavens NO!! But I am aware when the rug gets pulled out from under me. Sometimes I get curious and sometimes I panic...and somehow I continue. Hoping each of you find peace and joy this holiday season. Relax from time to time...take a couple of deep breaths if holiday panic sets in...walk around the block and remember... Have you seen Disney's Aladdin...
When Chaos comes calling, remember Chaos is master of the surprise, the unpredictable. Chaos can be regarded as extremely good news. It's Sunday and my friends are slowly being released or sent off to prison (as opposed to this jail where "the tank" is located!). There is only one left and I want to share him and a bit of his life with you ... so let's give him a "blog name"...let's call him Karl. I don't know why he is in jail, nor is that important to me. For the most part, he is a soft spoken man. Often, while there is helter-skelter vibes in "the tank", we will sit on his bunk or mine and quietly talk. Two men...sitting shoulder to shoulder, the way men do, chatting to pass the time. He shared with me that he "served in Iraq". This reminded me of a story I heard told by Joseph Campbell twenty plus years ago. Here's what I recall: In ancient times, a warrior returning from battle was not immediately allowed back into his tribe. He lived in a hut in solitude basically decompressing from the horror of war. His tribenen brought him food and conversation and news of the community. When he was ready, he would come home to a great celebration acknowledging the death of the soldier and the life of the man who was a son, a brother, a father and a friend. I told Karl this story. He was quiet for several minutes. Then he shared a story he had written when he first arrived in jail. He gave me permission to put his account in this blog. Here it is...word-for-word: ME I died in Iraq. The old me left for Iraq and never came home. The man my wife married never came home. The father of my four children never came home. If I didn't die, I don't know what to call it. I liked the old me, the one who played guitar and laughed at dumb movies and loved to read for days on end. That me died...from a thousand blasts. Died covered in children's blood. Died staring down my rifle barrel, a helpless woman in the crosshairs and my finger on the trigger. That me is gone. The new me is frantic and can't sit still. The new me didn't laugh for a year. The new me cries while reading bedtime stories to my children. The new me plans to die tomorrow. The new me is on fast forward. The new me is crazy. The new me has a blown-up-swiss-cheese brain and doesn't remember all of the old me but he remembers enough. Enough to be ashamed. Enough to miss the old me. Enough to resent the old me...resent the way everyone mourns him while I am standing right in front of them. When you go to war and die, and come home crazy and with a ragged brain, you get to watch your family carry on without you. Everyone longs for the old me. No one particularly wants to be with the new me...especially me. I've read his mini-memoir three times, it does not get any easier. In fact, since I know Karl and I know what's coming, it's more difficult to re-read. I hope Karl can find a "hut" in which to let the soldier die and the man I like come out into the sunshine. In The Brothers Karamazov, there's a passage that highlights our inhumanity: People talk sometimes of bestial cruelty, but that's a great injustice and an insult to the beasts; a beast can never be so cruel as a man, so artistically cruel. The tiger only tears and gnaws, that's all he can do. He would never think of slaughtering people, even if he were able to do it. I ask again...what is war good for?? Let's end this time with a hopeful thought. If there is any possibility for enlightenment, it's right now. Not at some future time. Now is the time.
- Pema Chodron Since one purpose of this blog is to record and therefore remind me, many years from now (I think!) of the depth and breadth of this abyss, today let's talk about my bedroom, bedding and bedclothes (think Martha Stewart!). My bed is about three feet in width by seven feet in length. It's a platform design made of concrete. My mattress is a pad about three inches thick. I've slept on this pad for several weeks, wearing soft spots that allow parts of my body to feel the firmness of the platform. I was issued two sheets and a synthetic "wool" blanket and one non-absorbent bath towel, approximately 20" x 32". Both the sheets and the bath towel are replaced with ostensibly clean ones about once every week to ten days. I'm still with the original blanket after 7-8 weeks so I don't know when I might get a clean one. I was told it's probably every 90 days. I've described our "uniforms" in a prior blog so there's no reason to go over that again. We get clean ones on Thursday....well, sometimes it's Thursday! Now and again the uniforms arrive on Monday. At the same time, we are issued five pair of underwear and five pair of socks...for a week! I try not to think of the other men who have worn said undies and socks! :( It seems time and schedules and "ownership" are not important in this "underworld". What do I wear to bed you might ask? My uniform of course. It's multipurpose! Yup, that's right...well, really it is wrong...yet I wear this "outfit" 24/7. I've seen only one triabe member strip to his briefs to sleep. He had a Greek god-like body and was clearly proud of it. For the rest of us, it's just too cold to go au naturale. I am looking forward to a "REAL" bed, clean sheets and a comforter tucked inside a duvet...fluffy pillows (no, they do NOT issue pillows, of which I always slept with TWO!) and a quiet night's sleep...ahhhhh...the thought of it!! FREEDOM TO SLEEP IN PEACE...with clean pj's! As you go to bed tonight, be aware of...be mindful of your bed, your bedding and sleeping attire...whatever they are...and perhaps be grateful?!? Some have asked for a description of "the tank". Below is a diagram of the bunks, bathroom and "day-room". When I first arrived here, I was given the "inmate handbook". There is information in this "handbook" about the privilege of using "the day-room" . I remember being excited to think I could get out of "the tank" every day to read, write, talk with others, etc. I think it was the end of my first day here that I became aware of the fact that I became aware that NO ONE LEFT THE TANK!! I was isolating back then but took the risk to ask my bunk mate where the day-room was located. He was a nice man, did not laugh at me or show my naïveté to the tribe members in "the tank". Instead, he smiled and pointed to the two game tables about six feet from my bunk. The "day-room" is embedded within "the tank"! :( Except for "visitations", my new world is "the tank"...24/7. AND, with thanks to our favorite architect, Leon, here's a visual for those of you who wanna' SEE my world! In "the tank", I have lots of time to think, read and write...and chat with my tribe members!! It's getting dark which means dinner is Coming Soon! There are no clocks so I estimate time by the lightness outside my "slit window".
Fathers and teacher, I ponder "What is Hell?" I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love. -Dostoevsky Tis the Season of Love...enjoy in joy! My cousin, who has worked with various prison systems and earns her living as an engineer, expressed frustration that the guards won't issue me earplugs. Well, dear sweet cousin, my new upper bunk mate just created a pair for me! I didn't ask him to make 'em. He asked me how I was doing and I told him I was struggling because I cannot sleep at night....too much noise! Your thoughts of earplugs for me manifested! Thank you!
How did this tribe member do it? Necessity is the mother of invention...no doubt. He stuffed cotton, taken from his medicine bottoe, into the finger tips of some rubber/plastic gloves. You see the tribe cleans "the tank" each night and we are provided with some kind of rubber gloves for this duty. Sometimes a tribal member finds himself with an extra pair of these and gets creative! I just tried out my new ear plugs and I think this is going to do the trick! Friday, 5:30AM....FINALLY! I slept through the night..."all in one piece" as an Englishman I once knew would say. My delightful slumber was the result of two events. The earplugs I mentioned above and the human/guard that heads up the graveyard shift. He's new and his approach to "control" is definite! At 10:00PM, each member of the tribe is required to sit on his bunk for "head count". The last name of each tribe member is called from a roster by the sergeant in charge. The response is one's first name. Just like in grade school, a few play with the rules and respond with "here" or someone else's first name. when that happened last night, this new sergeant simply stopped and waited until "the class clown" responded properly. When the sergeant was finished counting heads, he gave a little talk...lecture? "The day-room tables are open for reading and writing until midnight. Keep the noise down so those who are sleeping, can." Then he simply returned to his station. As soon as the door clanged shut (yup, just like in the movies...a horrible sound...more on this later), the sergeant's retreating back was showered with expletives. "What a dick!" and "F -you!" and worse words...perhaps beyond your imagination!?@ Over the next ten minutes, I listened to the volume in "the tank" slowly and predictably increase. I remember thinking "I hope my new earplugs work". BUT WAIT!!! The new sergeant came storming back into "the tank" with two uniformed assistants! He pulled five tribe members out for a "time out"!?@# He told us the next time he had to return, the five would go to "the hole"...not a positive reinforcement!! By 10:45PM, you could hear a pin drop! I sent a thank-you to the graveyard shift a few minutes ago in the form of what is called a "kite"...basically a note on a form we use to communicate with our captors! Penny wise-pound foolish??? I hope not! I have an edema on my left elbow, probably due to a fall I took when I first got here. This "flesh wound" was the size of a golf ball a day or two ago. It's smaller today. I've been thinking about going to "the nurse" but that would cost me five dollars. Five dollars is 38 minutes of TalkTime with my sweet wife. So I'll monitor it. She is more important! FULL MOON SATURDAY The morning was pretty ordinary (as ordinary as any in "the tank"!). Pretty quiet. Visitation was noon til 1 PM. Then back in the cave, the moon exploded! There was bloody fisticuffs. Both were then taken to "the hole"! As they were handcuffed and hauled away, I had two thoughts. One of the men (a friend!) was due to be released on Monday. He has a qucik temper and acts before he thinks. That seems to be SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) for many of the tribal members. He and I have been working on "the gap" concept as presented by Pema Chodron. He gets it in his head...he understands that there is a moment between stimulus and response but the implementation trigger seems to be on LOCK! The other thought is that the tribal member who threw the first punch is HIV positive. The HIV factor and the spilled blood means he could be charged with assault - a felony. The guards "tossed the tank" again tonight! Probably because of the fight earlier. Tossing the tank means that a few guards ransack the belongings of all who inhabit "the tank"! This time they took the banana that I was saving for my PBnJ Sunday Snack Sandwich. AND once again, they dumped all my letters out of their envelopes. HOORAY...seriously, I get to read 'em again. I'll cast my eye upon those pages tomorrow morning while the tribe sleeps (a morning ritual for most...which involves 5AM breakfast followed by hours of sleep accompanied by the sound of the TV blaring!). I look forward to re-reading all the lovely things ya'll have written to me!! THANK YOU!!! Sunday the 7th of December - Hawks vs Eagles today. Go Hawks!!! Didn't sleep much last night. I kept thinking about what got me here and what will I do when I get out and can I make reparation, can I somehow "give back" to balance the scales?? I think I mentioned that part of my punishment involves losing my accounting license. After almost forty years in that business, I was finally getting the hang of it - HAH!! So what to do?? I know this might sound crazy and "beyond the Pale" but I'm considering sitting for the License Mental Health Exam (LMHC). Is that wildly impractical?? Someone tell me that it is...please!!! My Master's Degree (in psychology) qualifies me to sit for the license exam. I'm also looking at a PhD so I could advance to the level of a Clinical Psychologist. Are these thoughts the ramblings of an old man...a delusional old man?? Perhaps. Yet I am only 67 years old. A dear friend, now 85 years of age and loving life says the last 10 have been great!! I figure I have 10 - 15 years in which to help others who struggle with depression and PTSD as I have...the "wounded healer", eh? When I consider helping others as my future, I'm hopeful that I still have time to give my life meaning...to make a difference. As I sit on my bunk, watching the movie directed daily by "the tank", I find myself less and less "hooked" by the tribe members and their behavior. A week ago I considered much of their behavior aberrant. Truth be told...I still judge yet less often! I'm watching the eastern sky bloom with the onrushing sun. That's it for now... I couldn't get back to sleep this morning after our 5 AM feeding (you would call it breakfast in your world!) so I watched as the sun woke Mt. Rainier ... a glorious view from my "slit window". Then I wrote this haiku: Venus glows brightly. Morning sun lights up Rainier. Magenta snowball. I am a little nervous today. My attorney is coming to discuss his strategy and I know what I want him to do...I know how I want this to end yet he is the lawyer, basically it's his call. In the words of Viktor Frankl, "You cannot always control what happens to you in life, but you can always control what you will feel and do about what happens to you." So it would seem that my job in this situation is simply to:
Hours later, I am beginning to feel better. I've been "fighting the blues" this week...or maybe I've been "experiencing the blues"?!@# I think I have a handle on the why...or at least part of why I've been so down. Three of the "tank-tribe" have befriended me in the past few weeks. They've made my stay a little less lonely. They help me understand the rules, the ever-changing rules...and they have very interesting stories to tell so I have gotten to know them as human beings in this new world. There are times when we interact and I actually forget that I am in jail!! These three tribal brothers are scheduled to be released in the next week or so and I am feeling a little depressed...sad. I SHOULD be grateful for having met them. They are nice people and they have helped me through a very challenging time in my life. I will try to get to that feeling of gratitude for I know it will feel so much better than this sadness. I remember feeling isolated before they came into my life here in "the tank". I don't want to feel that way again. Having these friends in my life made me feel "normal". To paraphrase the artist Flavia: People come into our lives And leave footprints...and We are never ever the same. These men taught me the ropes and shared their food and some of their life stories with me. For that I am very thankful.
That's all the news that's fit to print for today. |
AuthorPatrick Michael Leonard Archives
August 2020
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