Ruminations on Insulting God

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Dear Dee:

              

                I’m jumping ahead a bit to the “church” portion of this letter to talk about the subject of forgiveness. I get the distinct impression that all the forces of The Field are reaching out to tell me that it’s time to forgive myself. First, there was the Scott Alexander sermon, which is still resonating. Then today, I read a piece from “Chicken Soup for the Prisoner’s Soul.” It was very evangelical and not of much interest to me. But when I finished, I turned the page to insert a bookmark and saw that the next chapter was titled “On Forgiveness.” The page contained the following quote: “Forgiveness is not the misguided act of condoning irresponsible hurtful behavior. Nor is it the superficial turning of the other cheek that leaves us feeling victimized and martyred. Rather it is the finishing of old business that allows us to experience the present, free of contamination from the past.” 

               It seemed to carry the same message as Rev. Alexander’s sermon: If I am to get on with my life, self-forgiveness is essential. I don’t think I told you that after I wrote my apology piece for The Oakdale Chronicles, Tony handed me a biblical quote, I think from Ephesians. It said, in essence, that if I refused to forgive myself after God had already done so, then I was insulting God. It didn’t really connect with me right away. In fact, it made me a little angry, though I appreciated Tony’s good intentions. I didn’t really care if I was pissing off a god I didn’t believe in. I knew I couldn’t just declare myself forgiven if I didn’t feel it in my heart. But the collective effect of these last two messages is that I have begun to feel it. I have been praying (to the better part of myself, as always) to find room in my heart for this forgiveness. I think within the next few days, I’m going to try to find someplace quiet – perhaps the chapel or the rec yard – and hold a little ceremony for myself. I will meditate (something I’ve rarely been able to do since coming in here) and grant myself the forgiveness that I need. It’s time to move on.

                Speaking of moving on, my case manager had still not acted on re-submitting my transfer request as of last Tuesday. She had promised to do so within two weeks and this coming Tuesday will be one month. But I will continue inquiring about it every week until she acts. She did promise last week to include Barbara Lee’s letter with the application, though she said she couldn’t guarantee that someone else wouldn’t pull it out en route. We shall see.

                This past week saw the most savage and brutal confrontation between two men that I’ve witnessed or heard of since I’ve been here. They got into a fist fight over, of all things, whose turn it was to use a microwave oven. It only lasted a few seconds and seemed to be over and done with. But at 4 AM the next morning, one of them, still feeling wronged, got up, heated up a cup of water to the boiling point and added honey to it, creating a kind of homemade napalm. He then went to where the other man was sleeping and threw it in his face. When the guy leapt out of bed, the other one beat him in the head with a combination lock tied to the end of a belt. I didn’t see that part of it but I was awakened by the sound of it. They both went to the hole later that day. I have no doubt that the attacker will be shipped to a medium security facility. Someone that brutal has no place in a low.

                Today’s sermon was my last, so I hope more are on the way. If nothing comes before next Sunday, I have an old issue of The Quest tucked into my sermon envelope for just such an emergency.

                The chalice lighting from PM was on immigration and people following their dreams.

                The sermon by Rev. Chris Bell was on “Fear and Freedom.” It was from 2006 and he talked about how Bush had used fear to manipulate public opinion and how he had devalued the meaning of the word “freedom” with his nonsensical invoking of such phrases as “they hate us for our freedoms.” Bell said the desire for freedom is universal and is a human, not a political consideration.

                This dovetailed quite nicely with Rev Fleck’s piece, which was a rumination on the misuse of power. He took issue with Lord Acton’s famous quote, “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” He agreed with the second half but disagreed with the first, citing the power that a parent has over a child.

                All for now.

Love, Steve

Family Ties

(Note to reader: Any book on prison psychology will talk about the extreme difficulty of maintaining family ties while in prison. Yet, it is the single most important factor contributing to the mental well-being of the inmate while they are in as well as their success in reentering society when they get out. This letter illustrates Steve's frustration in trying to maintain his family relationships.)

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Dear Dee:

                As I write these words, you are still peeping at the leaves. But you should be at home to receive this when it arrives. I hope your vacation was a renewing experience; perhaps even spiritual, as resplendent nature often can be.

                I have had some difficult phone conversations of late with our daughter.  I know she has a lot on her plate right now, which accounts for some of the stress.  But this experience – and yesterday’s call – have set me to thinking and I have decided that I need to change some of the ways in which I have been relating to her.

                Since the day of my arrest, she has never articulated how she feels about me having done what I did or being where I am. She had been a good and loyal soldier in expressing her love and support for me. But she has never verbalized – unless perhaps to a therapist – how all of this has affected her. My sense is that she is strung as tightly as a violin string right now. Her baby is due in a month, and a whole new avalanche of stress will be descending upon her – the total dependence of a new life and, of course, the additional pressure that will ensue as the 3-year-old begins to realize that she is no longer the sole focus of her parents’ lives. But I think one of the major stress points in her life right now – and for some time in recent years – has been me.

                My weekly phone calls to her began at her request so that she would know with some comfortable regularity that I was okay. Along the way, they became – for me – a means of connecting with the outside world and feeling supported. I think it also contributed to a certain level of neediness on my part. But these weekly calls always begin with that unctuous recording, informing the recipient of the call that she is receiving a call from an inmate in a federal prison. Then the call is further interrupted twice more to remind her of that fact, just in case she has succeeded in putting it out of her mind. I believe that these calls are creating and sustaining a higher level of stress for her. I think she would appreciate hearing from me a lot more if the calls were less of a ritual, less frequent and more irregular in pattern. I can honest say that I have acquired sufficient coping skills in here to ensure my continued safety for the rest of the time that I am in here. She doesn’t have to concern herself with that.  This isn’t me being churlish or running off to pout. This is a dad who loves his “little girl” more than anything else in the world and I’ll do anything to make certain that she doesn’t become overwhelmed by stress.

                Then there is the matter of our granddaughter herself. I was determined to force the issue and make myself a factor and a presence in her young life. With your help, I’ve tried to do that, but I have to face the fact that it isn’t working. We all had a good laugh over the fact that she handed the phone back to her mother and said, “I can’t see him.” But the reality is, at the age of three, if you can’t see something, it doesn’t exist. From where I am, there is no way for me to be able to be the same kind of presence to her as people she sees all the time. That doesn’t mean I will shut her out or stop trying. But I will have a much better chance of gaining some purchase in her life when she gets a little older. If I can get that transfer to a California facility, I will be able to have visits from her. But in a couple of years, when she understands what a prison is, I will not want for her to see me like this. I think I will have my best chance with her after I am released. At that time, her little brother will be just a little older than she is now and I can be a good and loving grandfather to both of them. So, while I will continue to try to communicate with her, I am going to have fewer expectations and, as a result, fewer disappointments.

                About that transfer request, as of last Tuesday, my case manager had still not submitted it. I told her I plan to check with her once a week and she is okay with that.  She did have Congresswoman Barbara Lee’s letter on my behalf on her desk, so at least it is on her mind.

                Now on to “church.”

                The sermon by Bruce Bode was called “Living with Contradictions” and dealt with the possibility of considering more than one truth. He cited as an example the experience of physicist Niels Bohr, who tried to describe the nature of the elementary units of light electrons and protons. Under some lab conditions, these units behaved as though they were particles, while under other conditions, they appeared to be waves. While most physicists would insist that they were either one or the other, Bohr said they were both. This was used to illustrate the point that we do not have to choose just one belief out of many on a given subject, nor should we worry about how they fit with other ideas, even if they seem to be in conflict or to contradict each other.

                I am still resonating with last week’s sermon and I have been continuing my attempt to make room in my heart for self-forgiveness. I feel like it is coming soon.

                At dinner tonight, I was chewing on some corn and felt something hard. It was a tooth from my upper bridgework. I had so hoped that these dentures would make it through with me. One of my cellmates had a similar mishap a couple of months ago and asked the dentist here to glue it back in. (He had the tooth intact, as do I). He was told that they don’t do that here. They will clean teeth and pull them but that’s all. So it appears that I will have to go through the rest of this experience looking like one of those back-bayou rednecks. Oh joy!

Love, Steve

Thank you, Rev. Alexander

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Dear Dee:

                Saturday morning. Gray and hazy. The unit is quieter than usual, thanks to the number of men out on the rec yard this morning. I thought it wise to take advantage of the relative calm and begin my Sunday letter to you a day early.

                Thank you for “outing” me on A Congregation of One. I think you stated my case well when you said the “anonymity made him feel less than genuine.” That says it all.

                As always, it is fascinating to read my own words from the distance that time provides. While the thoughts, feelings, and emotions are all too familiar, the words seem new to me. With total detachment, I can regard some words, phrases and paragraphs and consider how they might have been better rendered; at other times, I can admire the beauty of a well-turned passage.

                The sermon well is once again growing shallow. After I consume tomorrow’s, I will have two left – still plenty of time for you to mine some more of them.

                Okay, per your request, a few words on the subject of depression. It is sadness squared. It is as though a tremendous weight is pressing down on me and the simple act of getting out of bed in the morning is almost beyond consideration. It is as though someone has thrown a thick quilt over you, rendering your world dark and airless. Hopelessness turns to despair and all joy is wrung from you like water from a sponge. It is difficult – almost impossible, really – to see beyond this black point in your life to a time when you might once again regard the world as a welcome place. It’s not difficult to understand how people in this condition can embrace death as a release. It’s not a place to which you ever want to go; not a place to which I ever want to return. Does that do it for you?

                I have consumed 61 books since the one by Ruben “Hurricane” Carter, so the details are a little hazy. It was last March. I recall that he had a strong message but that he had attempted the book without help from anyone else and the prose was clumsy and not very engaging. What made you think of that? I put a grade beside each book in my reading log and I have “Eye of the Hurricane” a C-.

                If you are able and so inclined, could you use the enclosed page to order a crossword book for me? I go through them quite quickly; at the rate of about three puzzles a day. I hate to keep asking you for things but I do want to keep that old “brain tingle” going.

Sunday, October 7, 2012 – “Church”

                Today’s sermon, “May Your Pillow Catch Fire” by Scott Alexander, is one of the most eloquent and deeply passionate that I’ve read yet. Thank you for sending it.

                It affected me on a very personal level because its message spoke directly to me; this at a time when I still wrestle with the guilt, shame, and self-loathing that stems from the crime that led to my incarceration. Alexander’s central theme is beautiful in its simplicity: one must feel good about one’s self before one is able to express much goodness toward others. Despite its stark simplicity, this idea has been eluding me.

                As you know, it is my aim to pay my karmic debt by being of service to others, both here and when I am released. The sermon drives home the importance of forgiving myself and healing from these self-inflicted wounds in preparation for leading a better, more positively focused and productive life. It will require a deeper level of self-awareness than I have employed in my life to date. I honestly believe if I had attained this awareness of self earlier and kept myself plugged into it, I would not have done what I did. I simply would not have been capable of it.

                Alexander said, “When you turn your back or withhold goodness and decency from some fellow human being, you undoubtedly do so from some wounded, broken, or insecure place in your soul.” I have searched for the words to explain how I could have done such a horrible thing. I think I have found them in that simply stated sentence.

                The sermon also stresses the importance of passing the values of compassion and decency on to our children, not just in what we say but in what we do. We need to model it for them. I hope I have done that with my children and that my aberrant behavior has not negated all that went before.

                This sermon was a real barn-burner and it has provided me with a wealth of food for thought.

                As I reached for Dr. Fleck’s book, I stopped myself, deciding that I wanted to let Alexander’s words sit with me and not muddy the waters. So I’ll return to Fleck next week. For now, I’ll let Scott Alexander’s message simmer and take root. (Pardon the mixed metaphor!)

                Time again to close.

Love, Steve

Risk Factor

September 30, 2012

Dear Dee:

What can I say? I was fairly well blown away by your chalice lighting. It was so well written and filled with such a generosity of spirit. It brought tears to my eyes. I have often wondered if anyone could possibly understand the level of shame and regret that I feel over what I have done. Having read your words, I now know that there is at least one who does. I wish I could have been there to hear those words spoken and join with those who showered you with hugs. Thank you for seizing the opportunity to speak openly about such a sore and tender subject.

            Thanks for sending the conditions of my supervised release. No surprises there as it is as it was laid down by the judge at sentencing. I will definitely appeal to the probation officer about a computer and Internet access as they are essential tools for my writing. I will also appeal the ban on being able to go to the movies. You know how much I love that and, honestly, it seems so arbitrary. As long as I agree to stay away from kiddie matinees, limiting myself to 10 p.m. shows on Wednesday nights, it shouldn’t pose much risk. Of course, you and I know there is no risk at all at any time but they don’t know that. They don’t mention other places such as malls or fast food restaurants where young people tend to gather. All of this had no relationship to what I did (except the Internet part) but it is based on what a judge was able to imagine what I might do. I just hope I draw a probation officer who is open to dealing on these issues.

            When I gave my friend here the “Process Theology” sermon, I told him I was not trying to dissuade him from his own beliefs but to make it clearer to him what mine were. After he read it, he said that we could “agree to disagree.” I don’t think he found much merit to it. He is so immersed in his fundamentalist Christianity that, if it isn’t in the bible, it isn’t true. What I love so much about Unitarian Universalism is that it doesn’t just permit us to question, it requires it of us. Those who see the bible as the “undisputed word of God” don’t seem to want to acknowledge that it was written by mortal men and subject to all their personal agendas and prejudices. How else could we end up with Leviticus 20:13, which urges us to kill all gay people – and blame them for it.

            Your New England vacation plans sound wonderful. Please don’t worry about how I’ll react to news of your fun times. I do not despair about how free people spend their lives. I might envy it a bit but that’s okay. (I also envy your Samsung Galaxy Tablet. How could I not?)

Church – The chalice lighting was a very well written piece by ME titled “Role of Life,” in which she used the rules for mountain-biking as a metaphor for living. The one that resonated the most for me was, “When you have fallen off your bike and landed on your backside in cactus, you really find out who your friends are.”

            The sermon by Daniel Gregoire talked about beginnings and how he stumbled onto UU almost accidentally, leading him not only toward a new faith but a ministry in it. It’s relevance to me was that I would probably never have come to UU if I hadn’t done what I did that brought me here. My arrest and the very public humiliation that followed made me realize how bereft my life was of spirituality and created a very real need for me to reach out and grab onto something. It’s quite common, from what I’ve seen in here, though most tend to gravitate toward a more traditional Christian faith. For me, it still needed to make sense and UU fit the bill perfectly, allowing me the latitude to search through what I did and did not believe.

            The section I read from Peter Fleck’s book was a wonderful piece on our tendency to deny reality under adversity until such time as we are no longer able to. I want to Xerox it and send it to my friend Eric, who still struggles with what he did and why he is inside. I think it might help him.

            That’s it from me. Now go see the leaves and enjoy all that beauty.

Love, Steve

Dee's blog, but who is Dee?

September 12, 2012

Dear Reader,

My friend was about 2 and 1/2 years into his 6½-year ordeal in September of 2012. His weekly letters to me had drawn me into his psyche. I’d gotten an intimate view of his shame, his regret, his despair. I’d felt his longing to once again be regarded as a worthwhile human being; I’d felt his fear of the future that awaited him upon his release.  One day in September of 2012, I learned that my local UU minister was going to do a service on forgiveness. Each of our services included a personal reflection as the chalice lighting. Forgiveness had been a topic at the forefront of my mind for over two years and I felt compelled to share my thoughts, even though I was petrified at the prospect of doing so. I thought that it was the one small thing I could do to raise awareness and understanding of someone in Steve’s situation. This is the reflection that I gave in front of the approximately 400 people who attended the service:

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about forgiveness in the last couple of years—ever since the day when my ex-husband and the father of my daughter was arrested. With too much time on his hands and an active imagination, he began to play a character in chat rooms—a character who exchanged emails containing child pornography pictures. He thought it was just a naughty, secret game he was playing.

He has expressed his deep and unrelenting regret countless times in letters to me. He has struggled to retain a shred of self-respect in knowing that he would never actually abuse a child physically or otherwise. He has come face-to-face with the realization that self-forgiveness is really the hardest. He has come face-to-face with his shadow self.

After reviewing some writings of Carl Jung, he wrote to me these words: “Learning about the ‘shadow self’ has gone a long way toward helping me reconcile myself with what I did. Prior to accessing this material, I was in a considerable quandary. I have always regarded myself as a ‘good person.’So how does a good person end up doing such a terrible thing? A thing that leaves his life in ruin? A thing that violates, to the core, his entire moral center?

I have always loved children and have always believed that they should be cherished and protected. So, what led me to do what I did, to participate--even from afar--in the abuse and exploitation of innocent children?

I’ve spent time analyzing the impact of  my verbally abusive father and my neglectful mother, but the answer is that neither I, nor anyone else, is wholly a good person. Nor is anyone completely bad. We are, all of us, creatures of both darkness and light. I let the darkness come out to play. I didn't take the steps I should have taken to insure that the light prevailed in my life. I'll never make that mistake again,” he wrote.

So, for me,  the question became: Could I forgive him? Could I help my daughter to forgive him?

Probably, you can relate to having hurt someone’s feelings or having influenced someone negatively during one night of recklessness, or, because of inertia or laziness, having missed an opportunity that you could not reclaim. I can think of times I was haunted by just having said the wrong thing or not saying the thing I should have said. Times when I was careless and something terrible almost happened stand out in my memory.

How much worse must it be to live with a regret for mistakes that do not blow over, living with a deed whose effects you cannot take back or alter? What is left when that happens? Society never forgives you. I think all that is left is seeking a place where you can exist in a culture of forgiveness.

As it turns out, I have become a major source of moral support for Steven Kent, my ex-husband, who I now call my good friend, and, along with the UU Church of the Larger Fellowship Prison Ministry program, I’ve been able to enrich his bleak life with the knowledge that the Unitarian Universalist movement offers one place on the outside where he might feel like he could belong and be welcomed when he finally gets out of prison—at its best, a place where we can all find some sanctuary from the eternal judgment of society and of self-righteous people.

I light the chalice for all places with a culture of forgiveness.

As I reveal in my chalice lighting but have not hitherto revealed in this blog, my true relationship with Steve is not only as a friend, but also as the man I chose to marry some 40 years prior and the father of my child. And I forgive him.

Yours truly,

Dee Ray

My Brother’s Eulogy Delivered

Sunday, Sept. 23, 2012

Dear Dee,

My brother continues to fade away and I strongly suspect that he’ll be gone within days. He is bedridden now and not eating at all. I think I told you that I sent my nephew some words to read for me as you did at Joe’s memorial. But it occurred to me that Dennis is still able to hear them. So I called him on Friday and read them to him. I wasn’t able to get through it without breaking down, but I finally made it and he seemed appreciative. This turn of events has kicked up a whole new batch of guilt on my part for putting myself in a place where I am unable to be where I should be—at my brother’s side. It has also stirred up no small amount of anger at the BOP for refusing me the transfer that would have put me closer to my family so that I could have spent some time with him over the past few months. They give lip service to the idea of family being a key part in the rehabilitative process but when it comes down to reality, it’s all just self-aggrandizing puffery.

Church today had to be performed with headphones on and the radio tuned to static to mask the roar of the crowd at the sports TV. How I ache for the sound of no sound!

The sermon was from January of 2010 by Rev. Thomas Disrud of the First Unitarian Church of Portland titled “Speaking the Language of the Soul.” Rev. Disrud talks about the difference between the soul and the spirit, the soul being that part of us that speaks to matters of life. He quotes Jung: “The soul is the archetype of life, embedded in the details of ordinary everyday experience. In the spirit, we try to transcend our humanity; in the soul, we try to enter our humanity fully and realize it completely.

I will close with this “prison fun fact.”

From time to time, one inmate will emit a high-pitched “whoop, whoop, whoop” sound. This is then picked up by others in the unit until it sounds like a pack of coyotes in a feeding frenzy. We don’t hear it as much now that our former “unit counselor” (who we called “the Whistling Idiot) is gone. But it is a signal that he or someone in authority was approaching and to “get your shit together.” One day, I was reading a David Baldacci novel when I saw a reference to the “whoop, whoop, whoop” as it is practiced in the ghetto and on the mean streets. It is done when a police car enters “the hood” and it is picked up by others and passed on as a warning that it’s time to get your drugs and your “ho’s” off the street.

All for now. Hope to hear from you soon.

Love, Steve

I Can’t See Him

Monday, Sept. 10, 2012

Dear Dee,

Your 9/4 letter arrived today and there is so much to answer that I thought I’d get an early start and then finish it off with the “church” part on Sunday. To refresh your memory, Robert Bly is a poet who was one of the central figures in the men’s movement back in the ‘80s when I first got into men’s work. His book, “Iron John,” along with “Fire in the Belly” by Sam Keen, were the two texts that were very central to defining the men’s movement. It’s interesting to note that, although the movement proved to be a passing fad, my men’s group still meets faithfully once a month in Los Angeles. All but two of the men in that group have stayed in touch and have been very supportive of me. The other two have never been able to bring themselves to forgive me for what I did. It’s interesting, too, that the person I considered to be my closest friend before this happened falls into the “no forgiveness” camp.

Thank you for contacting the Probation Office in Oregon. I’m thinking about relocating there when I get out. In order to get permission to be released there, I have to have a place to live already upon my release. My friends, C and C could maybe rent something for me and get it pre-approved. They live nearby, which would give me a support system. You asked about the possibility of my getting into a halfway-house. You should know that sex offenders never get six months in a halfway house—the most I’ve ever heard of is six weeks. The whole purpose of a halfway house is to be able to find a job, which is not likely for a 73-year-old felon and registered S.O. But with my two pensions and the restoration of my social security, I should have a sufficient income to be able to live on, particularly if I’m not in California. I am hopeful that I get a considerate probation officer and can lead a reasonably normal life.

I thought I had written you about Toastmasters, but perhaps not. To be honest, things are so mind-numbingly boring around here that I don’t spend a lot of energy thinking about things that happen here that might be of interest to you. My first Toastmaster’s speech went well. It was voted the best of the four speeches that night.

The monetary system here is not quite the barter system. There are two forms of currency: stamps and commissary purchases. So someone might do something for someone else and request payment—either a book (20 stamps) or the equivalent amount in food or other commissary items. I pay someone six dollars a month to clean the room on days when I am responsible for it. Then at the first of every month, he gives me a list of commissary items to get for him—six dollars worth. As for me, I do not charge people for helping them—such as the typing I do for T or composing letters for others or helping them with projects or critiquing their writing. I get a decent income. My ex sends me $150 a month from my pension checks and I make $30 at my job. In prison, $180 a month is big money so I have no need to “get my hustle on.” I get satisfaction and a sense of purpose from helping others.

You asked about someone here that I had mentioned, J.W. He is an ex-cop S.O. (one of several in our unit) who got 12 years. He did take a plea deal—I shudder to think what kind of sentence he would have drawn if he had gone to trial and lost. That’s one of the things I think is so warped about the system. We are constitutionally guaranteed the right to a fair and speedy trial. But if you actually do go to trial, refusing the plea deal, you are punished for have done so by getting a much harsher sentence. And then, once you plead guilty, you can never appeal your conviction. They have you locked up in more ways than the physical.

I have been walking the track intermittently with my friend, T. It’s been hit or miss because of an intense mosquito infestation. At one point last week, I had seven bites on me at one time. And you may have heard that West Nile virus is heavy in four states including Louisiana. T. is the only man here who I would call a friend. I trust him completely. Despite all his “Jesusness,” he doesn’t press the issue with me.

I was wondering if you would sign up for Google Voice. It would save me a lot of money. When I call you, it costs 23 cents per minute or $3.45 for the 15-minute call. But Google Voice can issue you a number that is local for me. When I call it, it rings your existing number at home or your cell. This would reduce the cost of the 15-minute call to 90 cents. (Note: Fifteen minutes is the limit of time that an inmate can be on a call. At that point they are automatically cut off. At two points during the call, a voice comes on the line saying “This call is from an inmate at a federal prison.”)

My 3-year-old granddaughter won’t talk to me on the phone anymore. I have a theory. I think she is spoiled by Skype. One of the times I did talk to her, she handed the phone back to her mom saying “I can’t see him.” For her, I think it’s all or nothing.

Sunday, Sept. 16

Church today was an emotional experience. It immersed me in thoughts of my father. Both the chalice lighting and the sermon summoned memories of different aspects of his personality and of our troubled relationship. This comes at a meaningful time as I have been considering writing the story of my father and mother, of their coming together and their coming apart, as well as the scars and wounds that endured long after. Much of the story takes place before I was born or when I was very young. I’ve been told enough of it to string together the basic facts, filling in the details and ancillary characters with my imagination. I think perhaps the congruence of this chalice lighting and sermon may be a signal that I should begin.

The chalice lighting from C.L. recalls her younger life with a father who was a rage-a-holic. The only attention he paid her was when he vented his anger at her. That was my dad.

The sermon by Carol Emmerling of All Souls Unitarian in New York summons the image of an emotionally distant father who worked all day, came home to an evening meal that contained no meaningful conversation and then “after dinner, Dad would settle down in front of the TV and that was it for the evening”. Her overriding point was that, while we cannot change the past, we can change how we view it. And in so doing, we can come to a greater understanding of those troubled people who inhabit it. I think this may be the best reason of all for me to write that story.

OK, it is time to button this up and get it on its way to you.

Love, Steve

Process Theology or the Interdependent Web

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Dear Dee,

My brother, Dennis, has stopped his chemotherapy and made his peace with fate. Last weekend he gathered his two sons together and explained this to them. He told them about all the arrangements he has made and even laid out his burial outfit: black jeans and a Pink Floyd t-shirt. Usually, once someone reaches this level of acceptance, the end isn’t far away. I told him I hated that it has come to this but I applaud his taking control of his life and destiny. As I did with Joe’s passing, I wrote some words and sent them to my nephew, who will deliver them on my behalf. And so it goes.

I have written to Congresswoman Barbara Lee’s Senior Caseworker to ascertain whether or not the BOP ignored her letter on my behalf. Considering that she sits on the House Appropriations Committee, I think it took some chutzpah to be so disrespectful to her. But overall, it looks like I will be waiting until February to try again for my transfer. In the meantime, please continue to monitor the census at Terminal Island in Long Beach. I know of two people who have transferred there in recent months.

It looks as though my divorce will become final on the 25^th of this month. However, we will not be separating our finances until the house sells. It is my fervent hope that the house sells by the midpoint in my sentence, which occurs next April. That way, I will be able to save my pension checks, which are now going toward house payments, in a savings account for when I get out.

On to “church.”

The chalice lighting from CM was a history of his spiritual growth and the valued associations that he made with people of other faiths throughout his long life. It set the tone for a theme of inner-connectivity that ran through all of my readings today.

The sermon was by Rev. Kate Lore of 1^st Unitarian Church of Portland, Oregon. The sermon’s title was “Divine Persuasion—A Look at Process Theology.” It is no exaggeration to say that my mind was fairly-well blown. Her sermon covered the high points of every one of my beliefs that I have been developing, including much that I took away from the book, “The Field.” Process theology deals with things that are being examined in the laboratories of science, such as “collective consciousness.” She talks of how everyone and everything in existence can be reduced to its smallest component—the atom. And how these atoms ae recycled, so that you or I may very well possess atoms that once belonged to Shakespeare or Joan of Arc. This is precisely what I took away from “The Field” which was where I first saw that these cells in our bodies can communicate with each other and as some scientists believe, with the cells of other bodies. Thus, the interconnectivity of all mankind or, as we UUs put it, the interdependent web of existence. So what I believe, much of which I thought I had made up myself, has a name, and it is Process Theology.

I am going to share this sermon with T, a friend here who is a devout Christian. A few months back, I made a clumsy and fumbling attempt to explain my beliefs to him. But I had to stop because it came out sounding like an attack on his beliefs, which was not my intention. I think Rev. Lore does a much better job of it. I don’t want to try to wean him away from his Christian faith. I just want him to understand mine. I’m sure he’ll still think I will end up burning in hell and that’s OK too. (His belief, not me burning in hell.)

Rev. Fleck wrote of our need to know others and to be known by them (that interconnectivity theme again). He wrote of how frightening it can be to not know or be known. I know how true this is from moving from one county jail to another and finally to where I am now. I will face it again if I get a transfer and yet again if I end up living in a strange city.

That’s it for another week. Love, Steve

Music Soothes the Soul

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Dear Dee,

The big news around here is MP3 players. It was promised over a year ago that they would begin selling them here and the time finally came. All along, I told myself that I wasn’t going to go for it and line these people’s pockets any more than I have to. This is, after all, a land where phone calls are 23 cents a minute, Xeroxing is 12 cents a page and on and on. So it stood to reason that the player and the songs would be overpriced as well and, of course, they are. It’s a SanDisk Sansa Clip+ and it’s $69.20. The songs are $1.55. Well, I held out for a whole week before I caved. It was the lure of having some small measure of control over my life—being able to choose what song to hear when I wanted it. Thus far, I have applied the brakes at 24 songs, lest I use up my entire month’s budget on music. But now I have added a new element to my Sunday “services.” I downloaded two songs by Susan Boyle—her signature “I Dreamed a Dream” and “Amazing Grace.” So I begin with the latter which, in her astonishing voice, puts me in a more spiritual frame of mind. Then I off-tune the FM radio, which is part of the player, to static to shut out the noise and begin my readings. Then I end with “I Dreamed a Dream” again.

I find it hysterically funny that all of the music has been purged of profanity. Just about every song in the Amy Winehouse catalogue has a title followed by (clean version)/ What is funny about it is that I have never been in a more profanity-laden environment in my life, including the U.S Navy. I can’t go for more than about 10 or 15 seconds without hearing the “f-bomb” or some variation of it. The same restrictions apply to the movies they show us—none over PG-13. I guess that makes some kind of twisted sense when you consider that most of the population is at the emotional level of pre-schoolers.

My friend, C.A., came up with some good news—in Oregon, the only hard and fast requirement is that I sign up for the registry. Everything else is at the discretion of the probation officer. Of course, that puts me at the mercy of a single individual who could be merciful or a total jerk. But it would give me a fighting chance, unlike California and its Draconian Jessica’s Law. So I have fixed my sights on Portland. It’s interesting that the sermons that C.A. has been sending for the last year are from the First Unitarian Church of Portland, Oregon, which I assume is her church. Could this be an omen—a beckoning of sorts to tell me that this is where I need to be?

I have started a regimen of meeting Tony and another guy out in the rec yard four nights a week to walk the track for about two miles. The other guy is a retired Navy commander and defense contractor. As always, I meet the most interesting people among the SO population.

I go outside at my own peril. In the wake of a couple of flash flood rains, the mosquito population is burgeoning. They are practically swarming. At one point, I had four bites at one time. And the strain down here is very aggressive. They will bite through your clothing, which I have never seen before.

Church – The sermon was by Rev. Thomas Disrud and was titled “There Is Only Trying.” He posited that for every known accomplishment, there has been the essential ingredient of the willingness to try. His sermon, dated Jan. 13, 2010, came just two days into the new year. He spoke of New Year’s resolutions as an attempt to try doing something differently and lamented the fact that most such resolutions are abandoned within a few days of their adoption.

This week’s message from our old friend, Rev. Fleck, was titled “The Sanctity of the Ordinary” and dealt with the ordinary nature of Jesus’ existence on earth and that his greatest accomplishments were not the miracles ascribed to him—walking on water, raising the dead—but the simplicity of his message to love and respect one another.

That’s about it for this time. Now to slap on some headphones and listen to some Maroon 5…because I can.

Love, Steve

Asking "Why?" on Sundays

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Dear Dee,

I hope you are enjoying your time in the east and the celebration of a 100^th birthday. It was once a goal of mine to live to the age of 100. Now I have attached a qualifier—I would like to survive to that age if the quality of my life warrants it. I don’t want to be hanging around just for the achievement of a goal. I don’t want to be a burden to others, of course. But I also don’t want to spend all of those years as a fugitive, which may become my lot; nor do I want to spend the time homeless and adrift, which is another distinct possibility.

I’ve been thinking a lot this past week about how very tired I am of living this way. Since I am not yet halfway down the road, it’s much too early to be feeling this way, I know. Others around me still hold out hope that pending legislation or other factors will result in the shortening of their sentences. I clung to those hopes for the first couple of years into this. But I have developed what I believe is a more realistic outlook. Anything that depends on change through the political process is doomed to failure.  No politician wants to risk being tarred with the “soft on crime” brush. And no politician wants to be the bearer of the standard that advocates mercy or understanding for sex offenders. So I have accepted that the front gate will not open for me until July 19, 2016. I do know that a change of location to a place that is run more like a low security would be a very welcome one, particularly if it was to someplace where I could see my family.

This letter has a distinctly negative tone and I apologize for that. It’s not depression talking. I am still keeping that devil at bay. But there is a certain enervating quality that sets in as one views the world moving on from a vantage point that never changes. It’s frustrating, for example, to watch the innovations in technology without being able to experience them first-hand. Or to follow my brother’s declining state without being able to help and support him.

Church: The chalice lighting was by JR, who spoke of stepping outside of his comfort zone in order to perform in public and the joy that it has brought to him.

Amy Levy-Lyon’s sermon, “Falling Apples,” focused on the need for a child to ask “why?” and how we move away from that as we grow older. She lauded those of the Jewish and UU faiths for questioning the world, scripture and just about everything else. I thought about the fact that I was reading her words in a place where questioning is not only not encouraged but not permitted. Of course, I can still do so privately and regularly, particularly during these Sunday “services.” That is where I can still claim some small measure of freedom and it feels exhilarating when I do so.

Rev. Fleck writes of “angels,” stripping them of their wings, halos and supernatural properties and giving them a real world perspective; examining the behavior of people who give of themselves for the good of others. How often have we been the recipient of such good words and said or thought, “You’re an angel.” It makes the title of “angel” a worthy and realistic goal.

Another week down with 205 to go. Next month, on the 21^st, I will have served 1,000 days. And so it goes.

Love, Steve