A room with a view

August 13, 2011
Dear Dee.

Thank you for the letter and the latest sermons. I just got a beautiful picture of K, C, and S (his daughter and family). It’s perfect. I’m not supposed to hang pictures but I didn’t want to put it away in my album, so I have taped it to the bunk above me so that it’s the first thing I see when I open my eyes in the morning.

 I’m sorry my letter had a depressed tone to it. The fact is, either depression is on me like a blanket or it’s lurking just around the corner. I suspect it will be with me for as long as I’m in here. Part of the problem, I think, is that I refuse to accept this as my way of life. I believe that is the first step toward becoming institutionalized. There are people who have been in for two or three years who say, “This isn’t so bad. No rent, no bills, a place to sleep, three meals a day…”  I want to shake them and say, “But you’re not free. You live behind locked doors, cut off from the world.” But I don’t. I blanch over not being able to control my life. I believe that accepting this is surrender. I don’t fight it in terms of breaking rules. But, inwardly, I try my best to keep an independent spirit. And that is probably going to lead to depression. But at least if I get to Terminal Island, there will be counseling available.

I’m jealous of all that you have to fill your life. You have such a varied menu of places to go and things to do. When I get out, I want to get involved in UU work, community outreach, working with the homeless perhaps.

Here are some answers to your questions:

 Yes, we have microwaves that we use for popcorn, but also do a lot of other cooking with them. Often times, when what is being served in the chow hall is just unacceptable, we will choose to “dine in.” I keep a stack of Ramen noodles in my locker. I can add a packet of roast beef or chili to it or make a kind of casserole by adding tuna, squeezable cheese, salsa, and slice jalapenos. It gets the job done, though when I get out, I am quite sure I will never want to see Ramen noodles again.

Yes, the front of our doorless cubicles opens onto what is known as The Common Area, where there are card tables and where people bring their chairs to watch television. Our windows don’t open. There is a view far off of a copse of thick green trees, but the window is heavily streaked with muddy grunge. And between me and the trees are two razor-wire fences. So I have to look through a lot of ugliness to get to the beauty.

As I predicted, we seem to have had a heavy influx of people in here. My unit was built to house 176 and currently has 230. Everyone is concerned that the extra bodies are going to jack up tension levels and trigger some violence. It will certainly result in longer waits for showers, sinks, toilets, microwaves and phones. We only have four phones for all these people.

In addition to a food strike, a work stoppage is possible or, God forbid, a full blown riot. They had one of those here in 1988 and burned the place to the ground.

You are eligible to apply to a treatment facility in the last 36 months of your sentence, that’s why the other guy was able to go.

You commented that you hoped I was still using my mantras to some benefit. Sadly, I have let them slip away. There was one in particular that I used to call upon daily for comfort and for the life of me, I can’t remember it. My memory, it seems, is the consistency of Swiss cheese these days. You said you save my letters so perhaps you can locate the one where I said I drew a mantra from something you sent. (Note from Dee: Upon this request, I went back and reread all of Kent’s letters. It occurred to me as I read that the letters flowed like a book and told a story worth sharing, so I decided to start the blog. Kent liked the idea.)

I’m really distraught about the continued erosion of our political system. There was a time when men of honor like Bob Dole and Gerald Ford, though conservative, knew when it was time to put petty partisan considerations aside and get down to doing the people’s business. No more. It just kills me to know that I will never again be able to cast a vote to help offset the madness.

 “Church” this morning seemed particularly meaningful. In the chalice lighting, PM spoke of the value of music and the joy that it brings to her life and relationships. Galen Guengerich’s sermon spoke of time and what we choose to do with it. This really hit home because it was an injudicious use of time that led me to where I am today. I had all this time available to me and chose to squander it playing a game that led to me being labeled for life a a convicted felon and sex offender. When I think back to what I could have done with that time, what I could have accomplished, what I could have contributed to the betterment of myself and the world around me, I cringe. Some life lessons are hard-learned.

In the “Finding God” book, I read what Martin Burber said about evil; the actual decision to do evil. He postulated that human nature is not evil; what is evil is the misuse of freedom. How true. Perhaps that’s why my freedom was taken away—because I squandered it. Food for thought.

Time to close. My hand hurts from writing. Thank you again for the mind food.

Love, Kent