I was on the bus this morning and I was looking at the people while I was on my way to work. I was reflecting on my day in prison yesterday. To sit in a room full of people hungry for a better life and having the willingness to fight for it, even if only in that moment, is hard to describe although I will try. As I sat facing a room of 100 men, many who have repeated the cyclical reality of the prison system in our country I could feel the desperation. 100 eager physically grown boys hanging on every word as though they were waiting for the one word which would solve all of their troubles. Many so willing to do anything you suggest that if you said to stand on one foot, jump around, scratch your head and sing, then you will find the life you are seeking, they probably would have. When I am present in a hungry room I am able to feel internally, the desperation, the hope, the desire to follow, and the angst. I can feel it as though it has created a dense humidity in my spirit. What happens for me when I feel it, I reflect back to the myriads of times I too have felt this. I then immediately become ready for battle. My mind and my spirit meld together and I become the hope I have discovered. It is as though something is pulling me to express, to transmit the message that they too are qualified for this life they have dreamed of. I have known for sometime that I am in love with my work in the system. Many people think in order to be successful one should have a degree, well dont I? I studied for 42 years. My only desire is to set them free. Everyone finds there niche. Prisoners are mine. Maybe it is because I have lived in prisons my entire life. We all do, but the prisons with concrete and razor wire are where my life feels complete. I most likely will never be that prisoner again but walking out without my people is a prison to me. I have dedicated my life to my work whether I knew it or not. Yesterday I knew it. Keeping silent was torture for me.
Posted on: Thu, 13 Nov 2014 21:05:12 +0000