Dear Friends,
There are times when the fences of Carswell press on me and I feel as if i can't move or really breathe. I feel hemmed in. It is then when I have to look up at the sky...it's spacious and wide....Right now, the light blue calms me and the orange-tinted clouds of pre-dusk still the restlessness that haunted me today. There was a fight on our unit last night. Now this is not the first fight I've witnessed but it is the first one I've seen in our unit. No one was seriously hurt, thank God. But in the flash of an eye it happened and the jeering and encouragement of some of the other women bothered me a lot. We were all locked down and confined to our beds after that. At first no bathroom breaks were allowed and then bathroom breaks were granted. There are times the cruelsness of this place astounds me. I found it hard to sleep then. When I did, I kept having dreams about having to leave and not be allowed to enter. I'd go, in my dreams, someplace pnly to be told I was not allowed. I'd turn and try another way. I'd take Thunder (my dog) with me and the dog was not allowed. Needless to say, not a very restful sleep.
I keep busy writing, mostly letters to you all, some poems and now trying to write something on healing and stories. I have found toward the latter half of my stay at the Carswell Hilton, a prayer spot under an old cottonwood. It is still too close to the compound but no one walks right by. I have seen this tree every day but only today when I was so in need of a hug and a quiet conversation that I wandered over to this tree. I can feel the rootedness of this ancient tree. It helps root me in the present moment. I also close my eyes and I see myself under a tree of my childhood relishing a late spring day like I've done since I was a young child. I find the outside healing...inside the echo chamber of our unit I sometimes feel stifled. I will so need to canoe down a quiet Missouri stream when I get home.
I want to tell you the story of a 23 yr. old woman who came here about 2 weeks ago. Lisa just found out the cancer they found, at another prison, has spread to her brain. Originally it was in her sinus cavity but delays in treatment have made it such that they will have to perform extensive surgery now. I can not imagine at 23 yrs of age being told I have cancer w/o the support of family or friends...she was alone, save a strange guard, when the doctor gave her the news. Now she will have to have this enormous surgery and when I asked when, she said they won't tell her for security reasons. She will be shackled to the bed, shackled in the van. Shackled after surgery. One woman told me when she went outside Carswell for tests, she had to sign papers that said should the van become disabled or there is an accident en route, she will wait by the roadside for security to pick her up! She is a very trustworthy source.
My heart hurts for Lisa. Please, please hold her in prayer. She is such a sweet woman. Very brave. She is teaching me so much about FAITH--practical faith...faith that is REAL not words but honest to goodness real life.
In three days I will observe my birthday (It was the 22nd). I don't think there will be a fiesta. I told Alec (my son) that I wanted them to go out and celebrate for me. I think I will celebrate in my heart with gratitude for being alive, for all the gifts this past year of life has brought and for the gifts of this present moment of life. I have given up counting years and instead use it as a kind of landmark. A time to say thanks for what has been and a hopeful yes to what is and what will be. At first I thought it will be a bit of a depressing birthday given the place but then I thought of what I am celebrating and that does not preclude any place...besides Carswell has given me gifts and has been and is a teacher. Maybe that day I will look for SPECIAL gifts. Each day brings gifts of its own. Some days I am able to recognize the gifts better than other days. So really I think it will be a fine day-that part is really up to me, isn't it?
I want to share with you all some poetry and writings of Thomas Merton from the Book of Hours, which by some miracle reappeared in the chaplain's office. I want to also apologize to you all b/c it is a bit long. Mostly I apologize to Beth who has to type this up!
"Go tell the Earth to shake
And tell the thunder
To wake the sky
And tear the clouds apart
Tell my people to come out
And wonder
Where the old world is gone
For a new world is born
And all my people
Shall be one.
So tell the Earth to shake
With marching feet
Of messengers of peace
Proclaim my law of love
To every nation
Every race
For the old wrongs are over
The old days are gone
A new world is rising
Where my people shall be one
So tell the Earth to shake
With marching feet
Of messengers of peace
Proclaim my law of love
To every nation
Every race
And say
The old wrongs are over
The old ways are done
There shall be no more hate
And no more war
My people shall be one.
So tell the Earth to shake
With marching feet
Of messengers of peace
Proclaim my law of love
To every nation
Every race.
For the old world is ended
The old sky is torn Apart.
A new day is born
They hate no more.
They do not go to war
My people shall be one.
So tell the Earth to shake
With marching feet
Of messengers of peace
Proclaim my law of love
TO every nation
Every race.
There shall be no more hate
And no more oppression
The old wrongs are done
My people shall be one."
Then I close with the end of Victor Frankl's book "Man's Search for Meaning" (no underline or italics available on here!)
He writes, "So let us be ALERT-- ALERT in a two fold sense:
Since Auschwitz, we know what people are capable of,
And since Hiroshima, we know what is at stake."
Thanks for your love and prayers...I will write again soon...please call your congresspersons and let them know about SOA and issues I have mentioned, please. Read between the lines, you know what I mean--
With love,
Tina
P.S. Another young woman in need of support...SHe has 3 young children and is SO trying to do right by them. Encouragement would be wonderful for her.
Katrina Rodgers #04521-063
Two writings Tina included in the last letter. These are her personal poems typed on a typewriter originally.
"Doing Time" by Tina Busch-Nema
Here in prison we're all doing time
serving an arbitrary punishment
for a crime, real or imagined.
But while doing time, how to measure time?
Crossing days off a borrowed religious
calendar seems as impersonal, dehumanizing as
the prison itself.
Measure, perhaps by the blossoming cottonwood tree
Pregnate with grape-like pods
Sending downy white balls floating gently
down to litter the earth.
Or maybe measure by the gift of ripening
fruit of the mulberry tree.
Where for days, birds, squirrels and humans alike
pluck dark purple berries
And savor an unexpected sweetness from a bitter place.
Perhaps measure by the daily antics of the raven
fledglings who just weeks ago lay as eggs in
messy, toilet paper strewn nests
Now frantically they flap around squacking
Noisely, demanding food from weary mothers
And so it goes, days fade into the dark of night
And nights give way to the light of day
as seasons come and go.
And trees shed their seeds
and bear fruit
and baby birds leave their nests
All while we're doing time.
"Through the Razor Wire" by Tina Busch-Nema
Blurs of yellow and black feathers dip and soar
playfully chasing their mate or their supper
through the razor wire
Some perch gently, as light as air
Watching, waiting, singing without a care, all the while we watch
through the razor wire
From inside the fence I watch in wonder and envy at
how these tiny finches escape the glint of the blades meant
to slice and mame
And as I watch the women corralled by this wall of deadly wire
I notice that inmates, too, fly, in their mind's eye
through the razor wire
HOME
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Friday, May 25, 2007
May 17, 2007
...Maybe it is not a one time shot.
To be honest, I am finding little patches of clarity where I sense God's presence and have the sense that miracles are happening as we speak. The peace crane class continues and I am hoping we can make cranes for everyone here at Carswell--guards, staff, and inmates included. I am astounded that the squares of paper have been folded into a thing of beauty and from that, some hope and goodwill has happened. God's small miracles on a grand scale...Grand b/c you can't imagine what this means at a place like Carswell.
Somehow I have a hunch that it is this concept of accepting our lives, holding the journey of our lives as sacred that we find peace. Maybe peace is achieved not as much by outward revolutions as it is by inward revolutions of the heart. And maybe, I'm not sure but just like a deep, deep wound it heals from the inside, from inside each of us bring healing power to the world outside. Again I am not sure of what I feel but somehow through out history horrible atrocities happen and the healing happens from within and moves on outside. So if I can forgive and heal my own hurts then perhaps this is how I forgive the guards. And I can forgive them than perhaps some of the bitterness and heaviness is relieved not by me but by them.
Oh well, I want to close with a couple of Merton quotes from The Book of Hours...
"Oh, the depths of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!"
A door opens in the center of our being and we seeem to fall through it into immense depths which, although they are infinite, are all accessible to us; all eternity seems to have become ours in this one placid and breathless contact.
THis is the litany for tonight:
"No matter how simple discourse may be,
it is never simple enough.
No matter how simple thought may be,
it is never simple enough.
No matter how simple love may be,
it is never simple enough.
The only thing left is the simplicity of the soul of God,
or better, the simplicity of God."
My prayer to God, who can do all things and for whom nothing is impossible is to own this mystery which is life...to love well, not properly, but well with a fire burning...to simply and generously love. Somehow I think it is in loving, giving love that we receive peace. And the world will know peace-
PLease, please, please hold the so very sick and the young, confused and scared women who are here...please hold them lovingly to the light so they might know love and peace.
With so much respect and love to and for each of you as you live peace in the world,
Tina
Continue to send origami paper!
"While there is a lower class,
I am in it,
while there is a criminal element,
I am of it,
And while there is a soul in prison, I am NOT FREE!
May 17, 2007
"To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you."~Lewis Smedes
Dear Friends,
As I was wiping tables yesterday I found a question welling up inside me. Many of the women I am with constantly ask me if the protest I did was worth it given the circumstances I find myself in. I consistently say yes and I do not lie. I do mean it. Yes, I do not regret for an instant.
But the question that welled up in my heart is a little different....I thought, what is the most important thing I can do? Is closing the SOA? Is it standing up to the powers that cause such death and destruction? Is it ending torture or war or poverty? And what came from deep inside me was this...I think the greatest most important thing I can do is to simply love! And out of loving comes the rest. The stand I took at Fort Benning was simply an act of love and prison is a consequence of loving people. Here in prison I have come to love some the women here and listening to them and doing what I can are acts of love and consequences of loving. I have come to understand that what is done out of love is what is my heart's desire and that wanting the SOA to close, working for peace and an end to torture and war in and of themselves simply acts of loving people. This is not theory or nice words...it is my heart's desire. It burns in my heart. It makes my love for my husband and my kids burn inside of me in a deeper way.
I am by no means a saint..I am learning. THis prison is one of the more unlikely places to learn about loving kindness. I keep on thinking about the words to one of Carrie Newcomer's songs..."God speaks in rhyme and paradox. THis I know is true." And as I listen to the Mother F---ing this and M.F. that banter that goes on outside my little cell...Ironicly there is God, too. A real God or Grace or Spirit not a theological theory...no there is Maria and Elaine talking, one comforting the other..there is the lone deaf inmate who just found a new arrival who is deaf and their hands FLY in their desparate yearning for conversation. And paradoxically, there is God in that "thank you" from a guard or just the sheer absence of the usual crude, rude, and demeaning behavior we usually experience. There is Grace in those small and large miracles as I witness one wheelchair-bound woman teach another how to make a peace crane...and the light in her eyes when she sees her handiwork!
Last night we had some unusual drama. A poor mother raven got up our 4 flights of stairs and eventually got into our unit. If flew from rail to rail to rail on the second tier. Women were screaming, cursing, laughing, and running around with towels draped over their heads. There were 100's of ideas on how to catch the poor thing. I tried to throw a sheet over it. Others threw food, popcorn, crackers to it. Some tried to throw shoes at it or hit it with their mesh duffle bags. And where was the guard? Locked in his office. I left, went to Mass and came back. Finally we got the bird in the bus-stop which is a little larger room. One woman is swinging her commissary bag, screaming. "I'm gonna kill the f---ing bird." A few times she nearly hit me in the head. I finally grabbed the bag and held on while one of my roommates caught the poor thing. An enormous cheer went up along with some more coloful language...and I thikn an audible sigh from the congregated group of guards. I'm happy to say the bird lived! That was enough excitement for an entire year.
I have also had the experience of having someone "packed out" on a moment's notice. Ms. Mary is perhaps the one and only kindred spirit I have on my unit. She is from AK...we work the dining room together. ONe minute we are running around wiping tables and the next she is gone. No chance for good-byes. I did catch up with her after work to give her a hug. Mary was the only person I felt comfortable asking for a hug when the weight of this place was just too much. There were not strings, no layers of anything, nothing hidden with her. She is simply a good soul. They are not relling her where she is going. She was just told to throw her belongings into a trash bag and take it to Registration and Discharge. She even had to pack her own shoes, underwear, and bras...she had to give back her khaki shirts and pants and socks. She was issued "flight clothes" which are a sportsbra that is so stretched out it gives no support, a flimsy khaki shirt and pants about 5 sizes too big. THey gave her blue slip on deck shoes which flopped off her feet. No socks and the soles of her slip ons were completely through. If it rains, she might as well go barefoot. These are her only clothes till she gets to where ever they are transferring her. She will probably spend days if not weeks in these same clothes while being transported from county jail to county jail. Folks, this is common...she will find out where she is going once she gets there. Meanwhile she can't call her daughter to tell her anything...the reason: securit risk. My heart aches for her.
Then there is a young 23 year old who just found out she has cancer in her sinus cavity and nose. the cancer has also spread to her brain. She was told shackled and alone. Her parents were not there. She will see doctors, go through surgery and recovery on her own. She will be guarded 24/7 even when she uses the bathroom. She will be shackled to the bed or while being transported. Even in the recovery room while she is unconscious she will be shackled to the bed. If she dies on the table her death certificate will say escape by death and she will be "soft-cuffed" in the body bag. Hopefully she will live...hopefully her age is on her side. Those of us who know her pray for her. She made a peace crane yesterday. Think of your 23 yr. old son or daughter or brother or sister...at the time when perhaps they need family around the most...it is denied.
This, my friends, is so inhumane. I know I keep on using that word. I have witnessed inhuman treatment before in my life but the DAILY manifestation, the hourly manifestations, time after time, after time beat down on one's heart...and what keeps people human are those small and large acts of kindness that pop up day after day.
I am continuing to pray for the ability to forgive and not carry the heavy sacks of anger around. I found, in a Woman's Day magazine of all places, a page on for-give-ness...there is a small blurb about the "F" word. Now the other "F" word is used her with the regularity the likes I've never seen but this "F" word is about a website called www.theforgivenessproject.com. I will be looking this up when I get home. If anyone finds out what this is please let me know. I try day after day, incident after incident to forgive the cruelty, the indecent behavior, the contemptous, rude and brutal treatment. It is a very, very conscious effort on my part. It is like literally slowing down my natural reaction of anger and contempt and dropping those stones which come in the form of thoughts and/or words or snide remarks. It is so hard. It goes against the grain so much. SOmetimes quite a few times, actually, I fail. But there are those times when I drop it all and do Tonglen instead. I breathe for myself and for them. I realize we are both victims of an injust system. It seems to help if I can think about how we are alike rather than isolating myself and/or them into us vs. them camps. It is so much easier to forgive someone I identify with than someone I have out in a foreign camp. Perhaps these are the first steps to loving enemies...finding ways in which they are not enemies anymore..finding them human.
Our Peace Crane Project continues on. By now you have gotten the internet message to send origami paper. Please do if you can. The women on the 5th floor chronic care unit have taken up the idea to make a crane for each person in this prison. It's too hard to cut squares from magazines...I am typing up a small message about peace cranes to hand out with the birds. I don't know if I will be here to see each person get their bird but I feel as if a strange seed of peace has been planted here in the most unlikely place. And so it goes on and on.
I willl try to write more frequently in the remaining time I have. I have many stories to tell. Women who have specifically asked for advocacy of media or just word of mouth. Women who just want a voice and of course I will oblige. Please continue to hold us to the light which dispells all darkness. The light which heals and keeps reminding us we are precious human beings.
With love,
Tina
To be honest, I am finding little patches of clarity where I sense God's presence and have the sense that miracles are happening as we speak. The peace crane class continues and I am hoping we can make cranes for everyone here at Carswell--guards, staff, and inmates included. I am astounded that the squares of paper have been folded into a thing of beauty and from that, some hope and goodwill has happened. God's small miracles on a grand scale...Grand b/c you can't imagine what this means at a place like Carswell.
Somehow I have a hunch that it is this concept of accepting our lives, holding the journey of our lives as sacred that we find peace. Maybe peace is achieved not as much by outward revolutions as it is by inward revolutions of the heart. And maybe, I'm not sure but just like a deep, deep wound it heals from the inside, from inside each of us bring healing power to the world outside. Again I am not sure of what I feel but somehow through out history horrible atrocities happen and the healing happens from within and moves on outside. So if I can forgive and heal my own hurts then perhaps this is how I forgive the guards. And I can forgive them than perhaps some of the bitterness and heaviness is relieved not by me but by them.
Oh well, I want to close with a couple of Merton quotes from The Book of Hours...
"Oh, the depths of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!"
A door opens in the center of our being and we seeem to fall through it into immense depths which, although they are infinite, are all accessible to us; all eternity seems to have become ours in this one placid and breathless contact.
THis is the litany for tonight:
"No matter how simple discourse may be,
it is never simple enough.
No matter how simple thought may be,
it is never simple enough.
No matter how simple love may be,
it is never simple enough.
The only thing left is the simplicity of the soul of God,
or better, the simplicity of God."
My prayer to God, who can do all things and for whom nothing is impossible is to own this mystery which is life...to love well, not properly, but well with a fire burning...to simply and generously love. Somehow I think it is in loving, giving love that we receive peace. And the world will know peace-
PLease, please, please hold the so very sick and the young, confused and scared women who are here...please hold them lovingly to the light so they might know love and peace.
With so much respect and love to and for each of you as you live peace in the world,
Tina
Continue to send origami paper!
"While there is a lower class,
I am in it,
while there is a criminal element,
I am of it,
And while there is a soul in prison, I am NOT FREE!
May 17, 2007
"To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you."~Lewis Smedes
Dear Friends,
As I was wiping tables yesterday I found a question welling up inside me. Many of the women I am with constantly ask me if the protest I did was worth it given the circumstances I find myself in. I consistently say yes and I do not lie. I do mean it. Yes, I do not regret for an instant.
But the question that welled up in my heart is a little different....I thought, what is the most important thing I can do? Is closing the SOA? Is it standing up to the powers that cause such death and destruction? Is it ending torture or war or poverty? And what came from deep inside me was this...I think the greatest most important thing I can do is to simply love! And out of loving comes the rest. The stand I took at Fort Benning was simply an act of love and prison is a consequence of loving people. Here in prison I have come to love some the women here and listening to them and doing what I can are acts of love and consequences of loving. I have come to understand that what is done out of love is what is my heart's desire and that wanting the SOA to close, working for peace and an end to torture and war in and of themselves simply acts of loving people. This is not theory or nice words...it is my heart's desire. It burns in my heart. It makes my love for my husband and my kids burn inside of me in a deeper way.
I am by no means a saint..I am learning. THis prison is one of the more unlikely places to learn about loving kindness. I keep on thinking about the words to one of Carrie Newcomer's songs..."God speaks in rhyme and paradox. THis I know is true." And as I listen to the Mother F---ing this and M.F. that banter that goes on outside my little cell...Ironicly there is God, too. A real God or Grace or Spirit not a theological theory...no there is Maria and Elaine talking, one comforting the other..there is the lone deaf inmate who just found a new arrival who is deaf and their hands FLY in their desparate yearning for conversation. And paradoxically, there is God in that "thank you" from a guard or just the sheer absence of the usual crude, rude, and demeaning behavior we usually experience. There is Grace in those small and large miracles as I witness one wheelchair-bound woman teach another how to make a peace crane...and the light in her eyes when she sees her handiwork!
Last night we had some unusual drama. A poor mother raven got up our 4 flights of stairs and eventually got into our unit. If flew from rail to rail to rail on the second tier. Women were screaming, cursing, laughing, and running around with towels draped over their heads. There were 100's of ideas on how to catch the poor thing. I tried to throw a sheet over it. Others threw food, popcorn, crackers to it. Some tried to throw shoes at it or hit it with their mesh duffle bags. And where was the guard? Locked in his office. I left, went to Mass and came back. Finally we got the bird in the bus-stop which is a little larger room. One woman is swinging her commissary bag, screaming. "I'm gonna kill the f---ing bird." A few times she nearly hit me in the head. I finally grabbed the bag and held on while one of my roommates caught the poor thing. An enormous cheer went up along with some more coloful language...and I thikn an audible sigh from the congregated group of guards. I'm happy to say the bird lived! That was enough excitement for an entire year.
I have also had the experience of having someone "packed out" on a moment's notice. Ms. Mary is perhaps the one and only kindred spirit I have on my unit. She is from AK...we work the dining room together. ONe minute we are running around wiping tables and the next she is gone. No chance for good-byes. I did catch up with her after work to give her a hug. Mary was the only person I felt comfortable asking for a hug when the weight of this place was just too much. There were not strings, no layers of anything, nothing hidden with her. She is simply a good soul. They are not relling her where she is going. She was just told to throw her belongings into a trash bag and take it to Registration and Discharge. She even had to pack her own shoes, underwear, and bras...she had to give back her khaki shirts and pants and socks. She was issued "flight clothes" which are a sportsbra that is so stretched out it gives no support, a flimsy khaki shirt and pants about 5 sizes too big. THey gave her blue slip on deck shoes which flopped off her feet. No socks and the soles of her slip ons were completely through. If it rains, she might as well go barefoot. These are her only clothes till she gets to where ever they are transferring her. She will probably spend days if not weeks in these same clothes while being transported from county jail to county jail. Folks, this is common...she will find out where she is going once she gets there. Meanwhile she can't call her daughter to tell her anything...the reason: securit risk. My heart aches for her.
Then there is a young 23 year old who just found out she has cancer in her sinus cavity and nose. the cancer has also spread to her brain. She was told shackled and alone. Her parents were not there. She will see doctors, go through surgery and recovery on her own. She will be guarded 24/7 even when she uses the bathroom. She will be shackled to the bed or while being transported. Even in the recovery room while she is unconscious she will be shackled to the bed. If she dies on the table her death certificate will say escape by death and she will be "soft-cuffed" in the body bag. Hopefully she will live...hopefully her age is on her side. Those of us who know her pray for her. She made a peace crane yesterday. Think of your 23 yr. old son or daughter or brother or sister...at the time when perhaps they need family around the most...it is denied.
This, my friends, is so inhumane. I know I keep on using that word. I have witnessed inhuman treatment before in my life but the DAILY manifestation, the hourly manifestations, time after time, after time beat down on one's heart...and what keeps people human are those small and large acts of kindness that pop up day after day.
I am continuing to pray for the ability to forgive and not carry the heavy sacks of anger around. I found, in a Woman's Day magazine of all places, a page on for-give-ness...there is a small blurb about the "F" word. Now the other "F" word is used her with the regularity the likes I've never seen but this "F" word is about a website called www.theforgivenessproject.com. I will be looking this up when I get home. If anyone finds out what this is please let me know. I try day after day, incident after incident to forgive the cruelty, the indecent behavior, the contemptous, rude and brutal treatment. It is a very, very conscious effort on my part. It is like literally slowing down my natural reaction of anger and contempt and dropping those stones which come in the form of thoughts and/or words or snide remarks. It is so hard. It goes against the grain so much. SOmetimes quite a few times, actually, I fail. But there are those times when I drop it all and do Tonglen instead. I breathe for myself and for them. I realize we are both victims of an injust system. It seems to help if I can think about how we are alike rather than isolating myself and/or them into us vs. them camps. It is so much easier to forgive someone I identify with than someone I have out in a foreign camp. Perhaps these are the first steps to loving enemies...finding ways in which they are not enemies anymore..finding them human.
Our Peace Crane Project continues on. By now you have gotten the internet message to send origami paper. Please do if you can. The women on the 5th floor chronic care unit have taken up the idea to make a crane for each person in this prison. It's too hard to cut squares from magazines...I am typing up a small message about peace cranes to hand out with the birds. I don't know if I will be here to see each person get their bird but I feel as if a strange seed of peace has been planted here in the most unlikely place. And so it goes on and on.
I willl try to write more frequently in the remaining time I have. I have many stories to tell. Women who have specifically asked for advocacy of media or just word of mouth. Women who just want a voice and of course I will oblige. Please continue to hold us to the light which dispells all darkness. The light which heals and keeps reminding us we are precious human beings.
With love,
Tina
May 14, 2007
Dear Friends,
Someone passed on this Maya Angelou quote. I love it. She says: "I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refused to be reduced by it." Definitely I say I will not be reduced!
I write at the half point of my stay at the Hotel Carswell! I am sitting in the law library! Six chairs...that's it! If someone else comes and wants to study law or look up their case...well I will have to leave. The typing room has 12 typewriters! There is one copier and this is for ALL inmates, 1700 of us. It is not working well at all so if someone, like Ms B wants to make copies of legal documents on her case and the copier is not working well...(It leaves a black streak down the bottom of the sheet) well then we all, esp. Ms. B and those working on their appeals SOL (shitty out of luck) I kid you not. One lousy printer and she could not file it on time b/c Carswell might not get the one and only copier fixed on time...
These "little" things are so annoying and can turn deadly. FOr example two elderly women each told me how one has an enlarged heart and congestive heart failure and the other has blood clots in her legs. Neither one could get a pass for the elevator b.c the doctor who saw them said that decision had to go before the Medical Reviews board. A friend of mine said the one with heart problems should wear a sign around her neck that says I am a heart patient. If you find me unconscious on the stairs, please call my family. So they walk 4 flights of stairs everyday, many times a day while the Medical Board decides if the can have a pass for the almighty elevator no less...Ridiculous!!!
I continue to read Man's Search for Meaning. It is giving me so many insights into how even the horrors of the concentration camps have very, very similar dynamics to what happens here at Carswell. I know we don't have the gas chamber threat or physical deprivation like the Holocaust but the psychological dynamics between inmates and guards, inmates and inmates, and inmates and the fence...my God! I wonder if people realize we are recreating in a small way, yet a powerful way the same dynamics. Honestly I am sure people don't know. In a way unless yhey lived through being in prison they could never really know. I don;t say this braggingly, not at all. It is just the reality. It is the same with someone who has fought in and/or survived a war. I may imagine the fear, the horror, the adrenaline rush, etc but I really really don't know. Now I am not saying I understand the horrors of living through the Holocaust. But how Frankl talks about the dynamics of suffering, apathy, stealing to survive, picking through another inmate's clothes or bedding when they leave, the dynamic of guards, the picky rules meant to demean and keep someone under their thumb. I can go on and on. I find it fascinating and sad! The wastage of life over and over...young and old, well and sick, guilty and innocent. And the wastage goes on and on in ever widening circles...the children of prisoners, the spouses, the parents, the friends, All of the ripples of destruction continue to move out generation upon generation.
I wish I could discuss this book with each of you point by point b/c it seems so importatn at the moment. Frankl puts into words much of what I have felt and feel. He talks about apathy, blunting of emotions...I see this ALL THE TIME! It is a way to control and keep people under thier thumb. It is also one of those emotions that keeps one self centered, despairing in a quiet sort of way.
Thw way food becomes the center of prison life. Here poeple live by either the menu or the microwave law. The microwaves are controlled by few and fought over frequently. It becomes like the lowest common denominator. Commissary is another issue. It is the small, little seemingly insignificant stuff that become big issues here.
He talked about the spiritual development or lack thereof. My gosh how I see this dynamic. He says that he realized at one point that the salvation of people is through love and in love. How true this is with or without prison. He goes on to say,"Love finds its deepest meaning in his spiritual being, his inner self..." The inner life of a prisoner tends to become more intense that they experience the beauty of art and nature as never before. I have seen this in myslef. I walk outside and notice birds, flowers, trees, even ants. It is as if takig away the big things like freedom and controlling our every movements make a person focus on what they can't take away or control.
Then he talks about suffering. I am still digesting what he talks about on this subject. He talks about how he sensed at one point his spirit piercing through the gloom. He talks aboout how he struggled to keep his mind and inner freedom intact, his yearning for privacy and silence. my God how this fills me...today, this morning was my day off and so I got up and spent the morning outside before it got too hot. THere was silence...only the song of the birds and occasional hello from the women walking the track. Honestly this was the very first time I had silence and uninterrupted time to just meditate, write and drink in the silence and beauty. I came back to the unit and I felt as if I could do it again. I could be here and find peace amid the absolute chaos and noice. Yes! I think there can be stillness in noise...there can be a space un between all the chatter that one can find some stillness. I am amazed at this. I hit points, walls such as when I was so sick and could not get time off the rest or when the noise got so loud and out of control and constant that I was so tired when I had to get up at 4 am...I hit the wall again but the amazing thing is when I hit that wall and I think, "my God this is impossible, please help." Then just as I ask, there is help...it is right there and I just have to smile and then laugh right out loud!!! And i realize that I am walking with God...as Psalm 23 says, I fear no evil for you are there with your rod and staff to give me courage..And yes...if we walk through the valley of death...I fear no evil for you are there with me to give me courage." I can not tell you how very very real these words are. I've said this psalm MANY MANY times over and over...But now, now the words are so very real. Now the words are living words not just nice or kind or thoughtful words...
I am realizing that each person walks in this world, with in their own skin. Yes we are loved, carried at times, and we carry others but that basic living, loving, suffering, joy and sorrow we live through and live with...this is ours and ours alone. Each of us have this sacred journey. We make choices on this journey. I think there are times I want to run away from suffering, hoping someone can take it away. But now I realize that somehow all these things are not to run from but to be embraced, cherished, they are part of our living and by God, I want to live every speck of it. It is not lonely, this aloneness..it is a Holy aloneness that I believe strengthens our commonness...strengthens the human family. It is as if when I take responsibility for myself and my life, then it adds something to the dignity of the world...a small light of a life lived...maybe, and to be honest, gratefully, not lived perfectly..I don't want to be perfect b/c it would not be any fun really...and I would have nothing to learn from and grow deeper from...But accepting what life gives rather than wanting something different from life. THis is a glorious gift tihs living...even in a place like Carswell where Hell seems to be made real on earth. No somehow in embracing where I am, I am finding small bits of freedom...I don't know if I am more loving or compassionate. I still get so angry sometimes at the just plain old meanness. But I am praying for them (the officers) I pray esp. for the nasty and seemingly hateful ones. Honestly I want to forgive them. There is one level that says I want to forgive them then there is another level of actually forgiving. That next step is a bit of a mystery to me honestly...I want to but when they act like jerks and idiots then I feel the disgust rise up in my soul. then i find actually forgiving seems impossible...so I pray about it. I actually do LOTS of times. And maybe it is something I have to do agian and again and again. Maybe it is not a one time shot.
(I will finish the end of this letter at the beginning of the next, tomorrow) Sorry!
Someone passed on this Maya Angelou quote. I love it. She says: "I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refused to be reduced by it." Definitely I say I will not be reduced!
I write at the half point of my stay at the Hotel Carswell! I am sitting in the law library! Six chairs...that's it! If someone else comes and wants to study law or look up their case...well I will have to leave. The typing room has 12 typewriters! There is one copier and this is for ALL inmates, 1700 of us. It is not working well at all so if someone, like Ms B wants to make copies of legal documents on her case and the copier is not working well...(It leaves a black streak down the bottom of the sheet) well then we all, esp. Ms. B and those working on their appeals SOL (shitty out of luck) I kid you not. One lousy printer and she could not file it on time b/c Carswell might not get the one and only copier fixed on time...
These "little" things are so annoying and can turn deadly. FOr example two elderly women each told me how one has an enlarged heart and congestive heart failure and the other has blood clots in her legs. Neither one could get a pass for the elevator b.c the doctor who saw them said that decision had to go before the Medical Reviews board. A friend of mine said the one with heart problems should wear a sign around her neck that says I am a heart patient. If you find me unconscious on the stairs, please call my family. So they walk 4 flights of stairs everyday, many times a day while the Medical Board decides if the can have a pass for the almighty elevator no less...Ridiculous!!!
I continue to read Man's Search for Meaning. It is giving me so many insights into how even the horrors of the concentration camps have very, very similar dynamics to what happens here at Carswell. I know we don't have the gas chamber threat or physical deprivation like the Holocaust but the psychological dynamics between inmates and guards, inmates and inmates, and inmates and the fence...my God! I wonder if people realize we are recreating in a small way, yet a powerful way the same dynamics. Honestly I am sure people don't know. In a way unless yhey lived through being in prison they could never really know. I don;t say this braggingly, not at all. It is just the reality. It is the same with someone who has fought in and/or survived a war. I may imagine the fear, the horror, the adrenaline rush, etc but I really really don't know. Now I am not saying I understand the horrors of living through the Holocaust. But how Frankl talks about the dynamics of suffering, apathy, stealing to survive, picking through another inmate's clothes or bedding when they leave, the dynamic of guards, the picky rules meant to demean and keep someone under their thumb. I can go on and on. I find it fascinating and sad! The wastage of life over and over...young and old, well and sick, guilty and innocent. And the wastage goes on and on in ever widening circles...the children of prisoners, the spouses, the parents, the friends, All of the ripples of destruction continue to move out generation upon generation.
I wish I could discuss this book with each of you point by point b/c it seems so importatn at the moment. Frankl puts into words much of what I have felt and feel. He talks about apathy, blunting of emotions...I see this ALL THE TIME! It is a way to control and keep people under thier thumb. It is also one of those emotions that keeps one self centered, despairing in a quiet sort of way.
Thw way food becomes the center of prison life. Here poeple live by either the menu or the microwave law. The microwaves are controlled by few and fought over frequently. It becomes like the lowest common denominator. Commissary is another issue. It is the small, little seemingly insignificant stuff that become big issues here.
He talked about the spiritual development or lack thereof. My gosh how I see this dynamic. He says that he realized at one point that the salvation of people is through love and in love. How true this is with or without prison. He goes on to say,"Love finds its deepest meaning in his spiritual being, his inner self..." The inner life of a prisoner tends to become more intense that they experience the beauty of art and nature as never before. I have seen this in myslef. I walk outside and notice birds, flowers, trees, even ants. It is as if takig away the big things like freedom and controlling our every movements make a person focus on what they can't take away or control.
Then he talks about suffering. I am still digesting what he talks about on this subject. He talks about how he sensed at one point his spirit piercing through the gloom. He talks aboout how he struggled to keep his mind and inner freedom intact, his yearning for privacy and silence. my God how this fills me...today, this morning was my day off and so I got up and spent the morning outside before it got too hot. THere was silence...only the song of the birds and occasional hello from the women walking the track. Honestly this was the very first time I had silence and uninterrupted time to just meditate, write and drink in the silence and beauty. I came back to the unit and I felt as if I could do it again. I could be here and find peace amid the absolute chaos and noice. Yes! I think there can be stillness in noise...there can be a space un between all the chatter that one can find some stillness. I am amazed at this. I hit points, walls such as when I was so sick and could not get time off the rest or when the noise got so loud and out of control and constant that I was so tired when I had to get up at 4 am...I hit the wall again but the amazing thing is when I hit that wall and I think, "my God this is impossible, please help." Then just as I ask, there is help...it is right there and I just have to smile and then laugh right out loud!!! And i realize that I am walking with God...as Psalm 23 says, I fear no evil for you are there with your rod and staff to give me courage..And yes...if we walk through the valley of death...I fear no evil for you are there with me to give me courage." I can not tell you how very very real these words are. I've said this psalm MANY MANY times over and over...But now, now the words are so very real. Now the words are living words not just nice or kind or thoughtful words...
I am realizing that each person walks in this world, with in their own skin. Yes we are loved, carried at times, and we carry others but that basic living, loving, suffering, joy and sorrow we live through and live with...this is ours and ours alone. Each of us have this sacred journey. We make choices on this journey. I think there are times I want to run away from suffering, hoping someone can take it away. But now I realize that somehow all these things are not to run from but to be embraced, cherished, they are part of our living and by God, I want to live every speck of it. It is not lonely, this aloneness..it is a Holy aloneness that I believe strengthens our commonness...strengthens the human family. It is as if when I take responsibility for myself and my life, then it adds something to the dignity of the world...a small light of a life lived...maybe, and to be honest, gratefully, not lived perfectly..I don't want to be perfect b/c it would not be any fun really...and I would have nothing to learn from and grow deeper from...But accepting what life gives rather than wanting something different from life. THis is a glorious gift tihs living...even in a place like Carswell where Hell seems to be made real on earth. No somehow in embracing where I am, I am finding small bits of freedom...I don't know if I am more loving or compassionate. I still get so angry sometimes at the just plain old meanness. But I am praying for them (the officers) I pray esp. for the nasty and seemingly hateful ones. Honestly I want to forgive them. There is one level that says I want to forgive them then there is another level of actually forgiving. That next step is a bit of a mystery to me honestly...I want to but when they act like jerks and idiots then I feel the disgust rise up in my soul. then i find actually forgiving seems impossible...so I pray about it. I actually do LOTS of times. And maybe it is something I have to do agian and again and again. Maybe it is not a one time shot.
(I will finish the end of this letter at the beginning of the next, tomorrow) Sorry!
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
May 9, 2007
Ok, I am almost caught up! One more after this one and everyone will be up to date as far as I have received letters. Thanks so much for your patience.
Dear Friends,
I sit here looking out the window which is about as long as my arm high and wide with these square gray bars that run vertical from top to bottom. My window looks on to the base. I see the fence that keeps us in,a few sheds and lots of trees. There are water towers in the distance, one is painted red and white check. In the very distance I see cars. But they look very small from my vantage point...not real!
I try to imagine myself on the other side of that fence. WHen I see the cars, it reminds me of going someplace. I sometimes forget what the "outside" us like. I remembered the first time I realized this, it scared the hell out of me. Now I honestly don't panic. Somehow even with the avalanche of mail I get, I find it hard to remember any other life but this one. Psychologically speaking I thikn one's world while in prison gets whittled down to work, inmate concerns, court cases, and appeals and mean guard complaints. Inmates can become very isolated and self-centered. There are exceptions...Like the women on the fifth floor chronic care unit. I have taught them for the past two afternoons how to make peace cranes. Now they are getting the hang of it and teaching others. I've told them the story of Sadako and the Ten Thousand Cranes. They are making cranes for the very ill on the 4th floor. (These are women who are sicker than they are.) When I got to class today there was an envelope with folded cranes to add to the shoebox collection and paper they had painstakingly cut from old magazines. (Lots of things get reused in prison). One woman with tears in her eyes told me how two years ago she saw this address to send cranes to...A children's peace project in Japan. She was going to make the 100 cranes and in return they would put a plaque with her father's name who fought in WWII. She told me her father was dead but she wanted to remember him. Then she had a couple of strokes and a heart attack and could not remember or figure out how to do this. She said she has been praying for someone to teach her this for two years. She told me all of this with tears in her eyes. She is confined to a wheelchair and will "escape by Death" when her time comes. It's the only way she will leave prison, when she dies. But you know she is now teaching others on her floor and is the biggest contributor to the Carswell Peace Crane Project. She does not yet keep them for herself. I feel so humbled as I work and hang out with these ladies. Despite strokes and severe handicaps they try and are determined to learn. Their futures are not rosy and bright but their spirits are so strong and alive and vibrant. I learn so VERY much fom them. My crane class is just my excuse to hang out with and learn from them!! And so the peace crane revolution goes on! I'll update later.
I have discovered the joys of ear plugs. Now the noise is muffled. it is stil there, just not as loud and distracting. I am learning as I go..."seat of your pants" school here at Carswell. Let me say my pants are wearing thin by so much "scraping by." But I have clear conduct and I hope I can keep it that way. I'm sure my brother Bob will be happy to read this.
ANd I hear more stories...Now people introduce me to people who tell me their stories...Today one woman told me of her friend who had to leave the prison grounds for chemo. The guard from here would bring her to the hospital. It was an all day wait. The woman would have no sack lunch so while it was bad enough she was having to get chemo, she would sit all day hungry! Remember prisoners are NOT allowed to handle any money. The officer from Carswell would send out for her lunch, eat it in FRONT of the woman waiting hungry and then give her the empty container her lunch was in and tell her to throw it away~
Two women told me of medical issues...One has an enlarged heart and is put in a second floor unit where she MUST climb 4 flights of stairs b/c the Medical Board must REVIEW her request for an elevator pass. Another elderly woman who has a blood clot in her leg also must climb 4 flights of stairs to a second floor unit b/c her case, too, must go before this board before she can use the elevator. I just find this mean spirited and bears no purpose.
I am reading Man's Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl (thanks Reggie). (Beth's added explanation: This is written by a man who survived the Nazi camps in Germany--how his search for meaning in that horrible place actually kept him alive. Some of it is difficult to read but it is definitely an important account) I just had happened to shove it in my pocket before I went to my "job" this morning. It is NOT allowed to bring 'personal items' into the dining room but I had a call out to the eye doctor which would mean a long (in this case 2 hr) wait and the book is small so I could get it in my pocket. I am only about 50 p. into it b/c people wanted to talk but I was so struck how his insights into the psychology of the camp is so similar in some ways to the psychology that happens here, especially among long term folks. He talks about self-defense, how prisoners get down to primitive levels of self-preservation. He talked about how apathy blunts emotions...how people become desensitized to the brutality and about the mental anguish injustice causes. How anxiety over one's own future takes center stage. I have seen these things he describes on a small scale here. While it is not that people are getting physically beaten, they are beaten down psychologically. I have seen people get dressed down and am grateful it is not me...instead of standing up to the guard. I am looking forward to reading more of this book. I think he speaks to universal human emotion and behavior in crisis...I find it interesting that the concept of imprisonment regarldless if it was the horrific scenes of Auschwitz or behind the razor wire at Carswell.
I wanted to apologize for my preaching in the last letter. I realized more and more as I read another chapter in Pema Chodron's book When Things Fall Apart that somehow it is a blend of internal changes that lead to external change. I am only reading this book a chapter at a time so I can digest things. Sometimes I have to read a chapter twice. THe last chapter I read was "Servants of Peace." One thing that stuck out was the challenge to not become moralistic..she encourages the 'flexible mind.' She uses the phrase "a kind of bull shit detector that protects us from becoming righteous."
She writes, "When we are training in the art of peace, we are not given any promises that b/c of our noble intentions, everything will be okay. In fact, there are no promises of fruition at all. Instead, we are encouraged to simply look deeply at joy and sorrow, laughing and crying, hoping and fearing, at all that lives and dies. We learn that what truly heals is gratitude and tenderness."
When I thought about this I looked at the women around me, those who are sooo tender. Those who are so grateful (some who have gotten letters or I've shared books are sooo grateful to be thought of and/or remembered). The statement of Pema's seems to hit the nail on the head...all we have is the pressent moment, the simple joys of talking with someone, or walking on the track or watching the yellos birds zip in and out of the razorwire fence. The sorrows if the women's stories and the pain in their eyes when they share. THe laughing at Ms. J or Ms. B's statement--they have this dry, state-the obvious-sense of humor that has me rolling...So I guess it is not the big things that lead to change but the small things that bit by bit, step by step, sharing of one story and then another that we learn how connected we are, how much love and loving there is..How precious human beings are...not b/c of any great or small thing they do but b/c of the pain and laughter, the tears and smiles, te loving kindnesses and not so loving deeds...It is not about trying to be good but perhaps just about BEING...The goodness or badness...those things are byproducts of being and I am finding the being part, if I am faithful to not running away ffrom just being in the moment. From that change happens in me...it is as if it really doesn't matter if I am "good" or not. I is not a matter of trying to be anything but present...the rest just happens out of that honesty.
The 250+ women in my unit know that all the mail I get contains prayers from you all to them. THey express such child-like, simple yet powerful gratitude..you can't imagine. And while I count the days till I get home with my family and friends, my heart will break to leave my sisters. THe strong ones and the sick ones, the young and the not so young, the guilty and the innoecent, the ones who know God is with them and those who are still discovering that reality....I will be BROKEN inside to leave them behind the Fence. I wish I could "set the captives free." Oh! I cannot tell you how I long for that day. Please Dear God, tenderly yet with the strength of Hercules, hold these dear women...Blessed are the poor in spirit...yes these are blessed women. Like Mary b/c all they have honestly their poverty is so extreme. Their spirits are so in tune with God's love b/c the have NOTHING else. I know I have repeated this insight over and overbut just like when you see a newborn and you KNOW that within you how horribly much you love this fragile being that is how REAL the reality of God's spirit moves in Carswell.
Well again, I write by the book light I bought and it is very late, 4 am will come far too soon. I've made it a habit of sleeping in my clothes for the next day so I don't have to do as much to get ready in the AM. 10 minutes extra sleep is like a 2 carat diamond.
Good Night, Dear Friends--May the Lord Bless you and keep you close. May God shine her face upon you with a loving and gracious glance and br gracious to you. May God look upon each of you kindly and give your heart intimate knowledge of Her Love. Amen
With Love,
Tina
P.S. Could anyone give me the name and address of Jackie Tobin's prison ministry. A womean here will come back to StL in Oct.
Thanks,
Tina
Dear Friends,
I sit here looking out the window which is about as long as my arm high and wide with these square gray bars that run vertical from top to bottom. My window looks on to the base. I see the fence that keeps us in,a few sheds and lots of trees. There are water towers in the distance, one is painted red and white check. In the very distance I see cars. But they look very small from my vantage point...not real!
I try to imagine myself on the other side of that fence. WHen I see the cars, it reminds me of going someplace. I sometimes forget what the "outside" us like. I remembered the first time I realized this, it scared the hell out of me. Now I honestly don't panic. Somehow even with the avalanche of mail I get, I find it hard to remember any other life but this one. Psychologically speaking I thikn one's world while in prison gets whittled down to work, inmate concerns, court cases, and appeals and mean guard complaints. Inmates can become very isolated and self-centered. There are exceptions...Like the women on the fifth floor chronic care unit. I have taught them for the past two afternoons how to make peace cranes. Now they are getting the hang of it and teaching others. I've told them the story of Sadako and the Ten Thousand Cranes. They are making cranes for the very ill on the 4th floor. (These are women who are sicker than they are.) When I got to class today there was an envelope with folded cranes to add to the shoebox collection and paper they had painstakingly cut from old magazines. (Lots of things get reused in prison). One woman with tears in her eyes told me how two years ago she saw this address to send cranes to...A children's peace project in Japan. She was going to make the 100 cranes and in return they would put a plaque with her father's name who fought in WWII. She told me her father was dead but she wanted to remember him. Then she had a couple of strokes and a heart attack and could not remember or figure out how to do this. She said she has been praying for someone to teach her this for two years. She told me all of this with tears in her eyes. She is confined to a wheelchair and will "escape by Death" when her time comes. It's the only way she will leave prison, when she dies. But you know she is now teaching others on her floor and is the biggest contributor to the Carswell Peace Crane Project. She does not yet keep them for herself. I feel so humbled as I work and hang out with these ladies. Despite strokes and severe handicaps they try and are determined to learn. Their futures are not rosy and bright but their spirits are so strong and alive and vibrant. I learn so VERY much fom them. My crane class is just my excuse to hang out with and learn from them!! And so the peace crane revolution goes on! I'll update later.
I have discovered the joys of ear plugs. Now the noise is muffled. it is stil there, just not as loud and distracting. I am learning as I go..."seat of your pants" school here at Carswell. Let me say my pants are wearing thin by so much "scraping by." But I have clear conduct and I hope I can keep it that way. I'm sure my brother Bob will be happy to read this.
ANd I hear more stories...Now people introduce me to people who tell me their stories...Today one woman told me of her friend who had to leave the prison grounds for chemo. The guard from here would bring her to the hospital. It was an all day wait. The woman would have no sack lunch so while it was bad enough she was having to get chemo, she would sit all day hungry! Remember prisoners are NOT allowed to handle any money. The officer from Carswell would send out for her lunch, eat it in FRONT of the woman waiting hungry and then give her the empty container her lunch was in and tell her to throw it away~
Two women told me of medical issues...One has an enlarged heart and is put in a second floor unit where she MUST climb 4 flights of stairs b/c the Medical Board must REVIEW her request for an elevator pass. Another elderly woman who has a blood clot in her leg also must climb 4 flights of stairs to a second floor unit b/c her case, too, must go before this board before she can use the elevator. I just find this mean spirited and bears no purpose.
I am reading Man's Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl (thanks Reggie). (Beth's added explanation: This is written by a man who survived the Nazi camps in Germany--how his search for meaning in that horrible place actually kept him alive. Some of it is difficult to read but it is definitely an important account) I just had happened to shove it in my pocket before I went to my "job" this morning. It is NOT allowed to bring 'personal items' into the dining room but I had a call out to the eye doctor which would mean a long (in this case 2 hr) wait and the book is small so I could get it in my pocket. I am only about 50 p. into it b/c people wanted to talk but I was so struck how his insights into the psychology of the camp is so similar in some ways to the psychology that happens here, especially among long term folks. He talks about self-defense, how prisoners get down to primitive levels of self-preservation. He talked about how apathy blunts emotions...how people become desensitized to the brutality and about the mental anguish injustice causes. How anxiety over one's own future takes center stage. I have seen these things he describes on a small scale here. While it is not that people are getting physically beaten, they are beaten down psychologically. I have seen people get dressed down and am grateful it is not me...instead of standing up to the guard. I am looking forward to reading more of this book. I think he speaks to universal human emotion and behavior in crisis...I find it interesting that the concept of imprisonment regarldless if it was the horrific scenes of Auschwitz or behind the razor wire at Carswell.
I wanted to apologize for my preaching in the last letter. I realized more and more as I read another chapter in Pema Chodron's book When Things Fall Apart that somehow it is a blend of internal changes that lead to external change. I am only reading this book a chapter at a time so I can digest things. Sometimes I have to read a chapter twice. THe last chapter I read was "Servants of Peace." One thing that stuck out was the challenge to not become moralistic..she encourages the 'flexible mind.' She uses the phrase "a kind of bull shit detector that protects us from becoming righteous."
She writes, "When we are training in the art of peace, we are not given any promises that b/c of our noble intentions, everything will be okay. In fact, there are no promises of fruition at all. Instead, we are encouraged to simply look deeply at joy and sorrow, laughing and crying, hoping and fearing, at all that lives and dies. We learn that what truly heals is gratitude and tenderness."
When I thought about this I looked at the women around me, those who are sooo tender. Those who are so grateful (some who have gotten letters or I've shared books are sooo grateful to be thought of and/or remembered). The statement of Pema's seems to hit the nail on the head...all we have is the pressent moment, the simple joys of talking with someone, or walking on the track or watching the yellos birds zip in and out of the razorwire fence. The sorrows if the women's stories and the pain in their eyes when they share. THe laughing at Ms. J or Ms. B's statement--they have this dry, state-the obvious-sense of humor that has me rolling...So I guess it is not the big things that lead to change but the small things that bit by bit, step by step, sharing of one story and then another that we learn how connected we are, how much love and loving there is..How precious human beings are...not b/c of any great or small thing they do but b/c of the pain and laughter, the tears and smiles, te loving kindnesses and not so loving deeds...It is not about trying to be good but perhaps just about BEING...The goodness or badness...those things are byproducts of being and I am finding the being part, if I am faithful to not running away ffrom just being in the moment. From that change happens in me...it is as if it really doesn't matter if I am "good" or not. I is not a matter of trying to be anything but present...the rest just happens out of that honesty.
The 250+ women in my unit know that all the mail I get contains prayers from you all to them. THey express such child-like, simple yet powerful gratitude..you can't imagine. And while I count the days till I get home with my family and friends, my heart will break to leave my sisters. THe strong ones and the sick ones, the young and the not so young, the guilty and the innoecent, the ones who know God is with them and those who are still discovering that reality....I will be BROKEN inside to leave them behind the Fence. I wish I could "set the captives free." Oh! I cannot tell you how I long for that day. Please Dear God, tenderly yet with the strength of Hercules, hold these dear women...Blessed are the poor in spirit...yes these are blessed women. Like Mary b/c all they have honestly their poverty is so extreme. Their spirits are so in tune with God's love b/c the have NOTHING else. I know I have repeated this insight over and overbut just like when you see a newborn and you KNOW that within you how horribly much you love this fragile being that is how REAL the reality of God's spirit moves in Carswell.
Well again, I write by the book light I bought and it is very late, 4 am will come far too soon. I've made it a habit of sleeping in my clothes for the next day so I don't have to do as much to get ready in the AM. 10 minutes extra sleep is like a 2 carat diamond.
Good Night, Dear Friends--May the Lord Bless you and keep you close. May God shine her face upon you with a loving and gracious glance and br gracious to you. May God look upon each of you kindly and give your heart intimate knowledge of Her Love. Amen
With Love,
Tina
P.S. Could anyone give me the name and address of Jackie Tobin's prison ministry. A womean here will come back to StL in Oct.
Thanks,
Tina
Monday, May 21, 2007
May 6, 2007
Hello from the Great State of Texas and tornado alley.
We have had two tornadoes spotted in our area. The last one was a "headed this way" one. Guess what our precaution was...get in the rooms and we are on the second floor. The first tornado warning was the same. I didn't ask the second time if it would be a better plan to go to the first floor b/c I knew the answer from the first time..."shut up." So we remained LOCKED in the second story of the High Rise which is a large two story building. Sitting duck, I think you'd call it.
Each morning we are greeted with a loud speaker rendition of the Star Spangled Banner played base-wide. I find this a bit ironic b/c many of the women here are extremely angry w/ the gov't and America in general, as it was Them vs. The United States of America that got them here in the first place. People would think that of course every inmate feels they are innocent and of course, we all know they are ALL guilty. I have found out that just the opposite is true. Many who are here on fraud, drug, even murder charges will readily admit they did something. The ones here on CONSPIRACY, they feel railroaded. Most of the elderly and many women, in general I think, get this charge b/c they just happened to own the car their child or grandchild was using when they got busted or someone said they were involved. Heresay gets many people 10-12 years. I do not lie!
If you are poor or stubborn and will not plead guilty, you will do time. If you can't afford a lawyer you will do more time. I promise you I am NOT exagerrating. Prison reform is a real flesh and blood issue to me now.
I am sitting outside this morning. It is windy and warm. There is some sort of tree near the center of the compound where the ravens love to nest. It is a thick, compact tree with a tight tangle of branches which must give their nests and young ones the protection they need fro the almost constant wind which blows through here. It is hard to count how many nests are built in there b/c of the gnarly branches and the oval waxy green leaves that are so tightly woven and give lots of privacy. I have tried but I can't get a good count b/c I can't stand on the grass (another one of the myriad of Carswell's silly rules). Plus i really don't want to get pooped on. These raves are very messy birds! But I think this must be their community tree. They call and chatter with each other from dusk to dawn, fighting, flying, chattering with each other like old washer women gossiping over their clothes line on wash day, except for them everyday is wash day. I am grateful for their playful entertainment but their noisy shrieks and stacatto chatter only adds to the constant din of noise. Even though it is Sunday morning and it is a restful day, the human bantering and arguing that goes on wears on one's ears. Just now one woman yells across the compound, "You come up to my floor and mess with my people again I am going to knowck those gray hairs out of your fucking head." I am biting my lip to keep from laughing out loud. It truly can be comedy central bere sometimes. I know it's really not funny b/c many mentally ill people suffer deeply from the torments of depression, personality disorders, and other severe psychiatric problems. It seems to me that they only receive drugs to try to keep them sedated and manageable. There seems to be no meaningful therapy to go with the extensive drug regiment. Probably the talking they do with other inmates is the closest thing to therapy they will ever receive while here at Carswell. It is a sad warehousing of human beings, many of whom only decompensate further falling into the depths of despair from which they may never recover.
I sometimes wish fro a quiet room away from teh angry exchanges and just the normal chatter of 1600 women plus the shrieking, shrill callings of the ravens...But at least outside on the coupound the endless space of sky and air lets the noise disapate and be blown away. Up on our unit it just echoes around and around till you honestly believe there is no more airspace for sound waves. It is a contant noise chamber. I thought being a mom and used to the fighting, singing and yelling of three active kids, I would be immune to the noise factor of prison. I was wrong. Having lived now for almost 3 weeks w/in the cinderblock walls of the High Rise, I know the chatter of my children will sound like a beautiful opera. I never in my life thought I would say that.
From my vantage point i can see the first wave of visitors filing in . I was shocked last week when I saw children. It was then I realized how much my body ached to hug an innocent little soul, to hold their small, vulnerable being close. I want to breathe in their joy and freshness. It is so unnatural not to have kids around. THey are such a contrast here where constant anger, bitterness, and despair seems to saturate the air we breathe. Just seeing children from a distance seems to bring a ray of light and hope to me. What a paradox someone so small and vulnerable has the power to cleanse and heal even the deep, deep pain incarceration brings.
It is particularly windy today. I watched the branches of the trees sway with each gust. This seems obvious but I realized that the trunk of the tree does not bend with the wind, only the branches are disturbed by the blowing. I thought of how God or a HIgher Power is like that trunk of the tree and how we are the branches. The closer the branches are to the trunk, the less disturbed and shaken they are by the stong gusts. Only the outer branches are whipped about. I thought to myself, I am really one of those outer branches as I still get whipped about by the emotional and spiritual gusts that seem to come my way. Hopefully the closer I get to the trunk, the less disturbed I will become. Perhaps one of the many lessons I am learning from prison is that all we really have here is the promise of God's loving faithfulness. All the rest is smoke and mirrors. I think it is only this absolute that moves people here emotionally and spiritually closer to that trunk, to some SOLID center point which provides the stability to allow people to remain sane and weather the tornadic-like conditions of prison. I am reminded of Pema Chodron's book "When Things Fall Apart." Her words of wisdom "to lean into the pain," I believe are the only way to this solid spiritual center. There is not way around, only through. Maybe it is the "going through" that makes me feel so tossed and battered...but then there are days of peace and I think, perhaps I can do this, I hang on to those days of strength and peace, remembering them b/c I know the days of pain turmoil will come again.
I have about 40 days to go. It seems like a long time. Heck, it seems like I have been here a long time already. But in reality I know once I hit that half-way mark time will fly. I so want to document my experience here. I t is not only an interesting story, it is a slice of life folks on the outside would not even believe.
Just now amid the clammer of the noisy Inmate Raves and the chatter of Spanish and English conversations, I hear the lovely deep voice of a black woman singing, like a prayer, a plaintive, soulful spiritual. It is as if she is pleading with and praising God at the same time. It is simply lovely. What a wonderful Sunday gift. I guess if I sat here long enough, I could record many, many of these small gifts most of which I miss b/c I am occupied with some sort of distraction.
It is such a blessing, an inspiration church service all it's own just to sit here in silence and solitude and write. Maybe finally, I am learning to find the contemplative spirit I so hunger for amid the constant conversations, noise, and activyt of a severly overcrowded prison. Somehow, I am astounded that I don;t mind the noise and chatter as much as I did just an hour ago. Another small miracle.
A mourning dove just cooed her mournful gentle call. It stands out b/c it is such a contrast to the shreeking ravens. It sounded as if it was right next to me and when Ilooked under the blue open waffle bench I am sitting on, there was the beautiful soft brown mottled feathers and these gentle eyes right underneath me. Her soothing call makes me forget for a second that I am behind these prison fences...see another Sunday miracle...they are all around.
I had to move from the solitude of my bench to the echo chamber of the high rise b/c the compound closed for 10:00 count. My unit is called the "Dirty South" and the slum of the high rise b/c of our dirty bathrooms and constant noise. Count is an interesting process. On the weekends we have two Standing counts with means in total silence we stand by our bed to be counted. I think 4:00 pm will be forever seared into my mind of the indignity that happens in Federal Prisons all across America. I will, when I can, stand in solidarity with my sisters and brothers in prison at 4:00 pm.
Soon it will be time for Mass. I have been volunteered by S. Ille for the choir. I really don't mind, but the hour-long homily is tough to sit through. Last Sunday I swear he ran right through at least 20 stop signs. it is an out right slaughter of words. He should geta two month sentence I swear (remember swearing and prison go hand in hand!). The blessed silence of a Quaker Friends meeting would be absolute HEAVEN to me right now. People look at me a bit oddly b/c when asked what religion I am I say Quaker Catholic. But it is true. Catholicism is in the marrow of my bones from little on and saturates the pores of my soul. It only seems natural to me. One woman asked if I would get a Quaker meeting together here at Carswell. I told her we just needed a room and we could just sit in communal silence and speak as the Spirit prompted. But I can bet you it will not happen given the MASSIVE amounts of red tape in the BOP bureacracy.
WEll, I will sign off for now. As always I am so enormously grateful to Beth who transcribes these mini-novels. Please join me in thanking here. SHe is a very busy student. I am sure she did not know what in the hell she was getting into when she offered her services. (Funny to type what someone else has written about you!!!)
I am grateful, more than you could ever know for all the prayers, cards, letters, books and love you all send. it is MORE important to me than food. It keeps my SOUL together.
Finally pleace take every thing, every reflection I write with a grain of salt. It could be a flash of brilliance but more than likely it is the result of being cooped up too long with monotony pounding down on my mind like a jackhammer on concrete. Weird things can seem completely normal under these circumstances!
I wanted to mention one more woman who would like some mail. Bernadette Appa #31800051.
With a gentle embrace and a whole shit load of gratitude for the powerful presence of your love and prayers,
Tina
We have had two tornadoes spotted in our area. The last one was a "headed this way" one. Guess what our precaution was...get in the rooms and we are on the second floor. The first tornado warning was the same. I didn't ask the second time if it would be a better plan to go to the first floor b/c I knew the answer from the first time..."shut up." So we remained LOCKED in the second story of the High Rise which is a large two story building. Sitting duck, I think you'd call it.
Each morning we are greeted with a loud speaker rendition of the Star Spangled Banner played base-wide. I find this a bit ironic b/c many of the women here are extremely angry w/ the gov't and America in general, as it was Them vs. The United States of America that got them here in the first place. People would think that of course every inmate feels they are innocent and of course, we all know they are ALL guilty. I have found out that just the opposite is true. Many who are here on fraud, drug, even murder charges will readily admit they did something. The ones here on CONSPIRACY, they feel railroaded. Most of the elderly and many women, in general I think, get this charge b/c they just happened to own the car their child or grandchild was using when they got busted or someone said they were involved. Heresay gets many people 10-12 years. I do not lie!
If you are poor or stubborn and will not plead guilty, you will do time. If you can't afford a lawyer you will do more time. I promise you I am NOT exagerrating. Prison reform is a real flesh and blood issue to me now.
I am sitting outside this morning. It is windy and warm. There is some sort of tree near the center of the compound where the ravens love to nest. It is a thick, compact tree with a tight tangle of branches which must give their nests and young ones the protection they need fro the almost constant wind which blows through here. It is hard to count how many nests are built in there b/c of the gnarly branches and the oval waxy green leaves that are so tightly woven and give lots of privacy. I have tried but I can't get a good count b/c I can't stand on the grass (another one of the myriad of Carswell's silly rules). Plus i really don't want to get pooped on. These raves are very messy birds! But I think this must be their community tree. They call and chatter with each other from dusk to dawn, fighting, flying, chattering with each other like old washer women gossiping over their clothes line on wash day, except for them everyday is wash day. I am grateful for their playful entertainment but their noisy shrieks and stacatto chatter only adds to the constant din of noise. Even though it is Sunday morning and it is a restful day, the human bantering and arguing that goes on wears on one's ears. Just now one woman yells across the compound, "You come up to my floor and mess with my people again I am going to knowck those gray hairs out of your fucking head." I am biting my lip to keep from laughing out loud. It truly can be comedy central bere sometimes. I know it's really not funny b/c many mentally ill people suffer deeply from the torments of depression, personality disorders, and other severe psychiatric problems. It seems to me that they only receive drugs to try to keep them sedated and manageable. There seems to be no meaningful therapy to go with the extensive drug regiment. Probably the talking they do with other inmates is the closest thing to therapy they will ever receive while here at Carswell. It is a sad warehousing of human beings, many of whom only decompensate further falling into the depths of despair from which they may never recover.
I sometimes wish fro a quiet room away from teh angry exchanges and just the normal chatter of 1600 women plus the shrieking, shrill callings of the ravens...But at least outside on the coupound the endless space of sky and air lets the noise disapate and be blown away. Up on our unit it just echoes around and around till you honestly believe there is no more airspace for sound waves. It is a contant noise chamber. I thought being a mom and used to the fighting, singing and yelling of three active kids, I would be immune to the noise factor of prison. I was wrong. Having lived now for almost 3 weeks w/in the cinderblock walls of the High Rise, I know the chatter of my children will sound like a beautiful opera. I never in my life thought I would say that.
From my vantage point i can see the first wave of visitors filing in . I was shocked last week when I saw children. It was then I realized how much my body ached to hug an innocent little soul, to hold their small, vulnerable being close. I want to breathe in their joy and freshness. It is so unnatural not to have kids around. THey are such a contrast here where constant anger, bitterness, and despair seems to saturate the air we breathe. Just seeing children from a distance seems to bring a ray of light and hope to me. What a paradox someone so small and vulnerable has the power to cleanse and heal even the deep, deep pain incarceration brings.
It is particularly windy today. I watched the branches of the trees sway with each gust. This seems obvious but I realized that the trunk of the tree does not bend with the wind, only the branches are disturbed by the blowing. I thought of how God or a HIgher Power is like that trunk of the tree and how we are the branches. The closer the branches are to the trunk, the less disturbed and shaken they are by the stong gusts. Only the outer branches are whipped about. I thought to myself, I am really one of those outer branches as I still get whipped about by the emotional and spiritual gusts that seem to come my way. Hopefully the closer I get to the trunk, the less disturbed I will become. Perhaps one of the many lessons I am learning from prison is that all we really have here is the promise of God's loving faithfulness. All the rest is smoke and mirrors. I think it is only this absolute that moves people here emotionally and spiritually closer to that trunk, to some SOLID center point which provides the stability to allow people to remain sane and weather the tornadic-like conditions of prison. I am reminded of Pema Chodron's book "When Things Fall Apart." Her words of wisdom "to lean into the pain," I believe are the only way to this solid spiritual center. There is not way around, only through. Maybe it is the "going through" that makes me feel so tossed and battered...but then there are days of peace and I think, perhaps I can do this, I hang on to those days of strength and peace, remembering them b/c I know the days of pain turmoil will come again.
I have about 40 days to go. It seems like a long time. Heck, it seems like I have been here a long time already. But in reality I know once I hit that half-way mark time will fly. I so want to document my experience here. I t is not only an interesting story, it is a slice of life folks on the outside would not even believe.
Just now amid the clammer of the noisy Inmate Raves and the chatter of Spanish and English conversations, I hear the lovely deep voice of a black woman singing, like a prayer, a plaintive, soulful spiritual. It is as if she is pleading with and praising God at the same time. It is simply lovely. What a wonderful Sunday gift. I guess if I sat here long enough, I could record many, many of these small gifts most of which I miss b/c I am occupied with some sort of distraction.
It is such a blessing, an inspiration church service all it's own just to sit here in silence and solitude and write. Maybe finally, I am learning to find the contemplative spirit I so hunger for amid the constant conversations, noise, and activyt of a severly overcrowded prison. Somehow, I am astounded that I don;t mind the noise and chatter as much as I did just an hour ago. Another small miracle.
A mourning dove just cooed her mournful gentle call. It stands out b/c it is such a contrast to the shreeking ravens. It sounded as if it was right next to me and when Ilooked under the blue open waffle bench I am sitting on, there was the beautiful soft brown mottled feathers and these gentle eyes right underneath me. Her soothing call makes me forget for a second that I am behind these prison fences...see another Sunday miracle...they are all around.
I had to move from the solitude of my bench to the echo chamber of the high rise b/c the compound closed for 10:00 count. My unit is called the "Dirty South" and the slum of the high rise b/c of our dirty bathrooms and constant noise. Count is an interesting process. On the weekends we have two Standing counts with means in total silence we stand by our bed to be counted. I think 4:00 pm will be forever seared into my mind of the indignity that happens in Federal Prisons all across America. I will, when I can, stand in solidarity with my sisters and brothers in prison at 4:00 pm.
Soon it will be time for Mass. I have been volunteered by S. Ille for the choir. I really don't mind, but the hour-long homily is tough to sit through. Last Sunday I swear he ran right through at least 20 stop signs. it is an out right slaughter of words. He should geta two month sentence I swear (remember swearing and prison go hand in hand!). The blessed silence of a Quaker Friends meeting would be absolute HEAVEN to me right now. People look at me a bit oddly b/c when asked what religion I am I say Quaker Catholic. But it is true. Catholicism is in the marrow of my bones from little on and saturates the pores of my soul. It only seems natural to me. One woman asked if I would get a Quaker meeting together here at Carswell. I told her we just needed a room and we could just sit in communal silence and speak as the Spirit prompted. But I can bet you it will not happen given the MASSIVE amounts of red tape in the BOP bureacracy.
WEll, I will sign off for now. As always I am so enormously grateful to Beth who transcribes these mini-novels. Please join me in thanking here. SHe is a very busy student. I am sure she did not know what in the hell she was getting into when she offered her services. (Funny to type what someone else has written about you!!!)
I am grateful, more than you could ever know for all the prayers, cards, letters, books and love you all send. it is MORE important to me than food. It keeps my SOUL together.
Finally pleace take every thing, every reflection I write with a grain of salt. It could be a flash of brilliance but more than likely it is the result of being cooped up too long with monotony pounding down on my mind like a jackhammer on concrete. Weird things can seem completely normal under these circumstances!
I wanted to mention one more woman who would like some mail. Bernadette Appa #31800051.
With a gentle embrace and a whole shit load of gratitude for the powerful presence of your love and prayers,
Tina
a reflection
From A Book of Hours by Thomas Merton
"The forms and individual characters of living and growing things,
of inanimate beings, of animals and flowers and all nature,
constitute thie holiness in the sight of God.
Their inscape is their sanctity.
It is the imprint of His wisdom and His reality in them. The special clumsy beauty of the particular colt on this day in the field, under these clouds in a holiness consecrated to God by His own creative wisdom
and it declares the glory of God.
The pale flowers of the dogwood outside this window are saints.
The little yellow flowers that nobody notices on the edge of that road are saints
looking up into the face of God.
This leaf has its own texture and its own pattern of veins and its own holy shape, and the bass and trout hiding in the deep pools of the river are canonized by their beauty and their strength.
The lakes hidden among the hills are saints,
and the sea too is a saint who praises God
without interruptions
in her majestic dance.
The great, gashed, half-naked mountain is another of God's saints.
There is no ther like him/(her).
He/She is alone his/her own character;
nothing else in the world ever did or ever will imitate God in quite the same way.
That is his/her sanctity.
But what about you? What about me?"
This is from a book Joe Z, from Loose Leaf Hollow...It is called the Book of Hours featuring the writings of Thomas Merton.
When I was a novice and on retreat I found this book called The Seeds of Contemplation. It became like my bible. One of my favorite elderly nuns, S. Noreen Slattery, found me a copy of my own. The part I just copied for you all is from that book. I remember it shook the depths of my soul and nurtured my contemplative spirit. As I rediscovered it in prison, it seems to have aged inside me like a fine wine. Ans the question what about me? pierces my heart. And so I ask the question of God. What about me?
"The forms and individual characters of living and growing things,
of inanimate beings, of animals and flowers and all nature,
constitute thie holiness in the sight of God.
Their inscape is their sanctity.
It is the imprint of His wisdom and His reality in them. The special clumsy beauty of the particular colt on this day in the field, under these clouds in a holiness consecrated to God by His own creative wisdom
and it declares the glory of God.
The pale flowers of the dogwood outside this window are saints.
The little yellow flowers that nobody notices on the edge of that road are saints
looking up into the face of God.
This leaf has its own texture and its own pattern of veins and its own holy shape, and the bass and trout hiding in the deep pools of the river are canonized by their beauty and their strength.
The lakes hidden among the hills are saints,
and the sea too is a saint who praises God
without interruptions
in her majestic dance.
The great, gashed, half-naked mountain is another of God's saints.
There is no ther like him/(her).
He/She is alone his/her own character;
nothing else in the world ever did or ever will imitate God in quite the same way.
That is his/her sanctity.
But what about you? What about me?"
This is from a book Joe Z, from Loose Leaf Hollow...It is called the Book of Hours featuring the writings of Thomas Merton.
When I was a novice and on retreat I found this book called The Seeds of Contemplation. It became like my bible. One of my favorite elderly nuns, S. Noreen Slattery, found me a copy of my own. The part I just copied for you all is from that book. I remember it shook the depths of my soul and nurtured my contemplative spirit. As I rediscovered it in prison, it seems to have aged inside me like a fine wine. Ans the question what about me? pierces my heart. And so I ask the question of God. What about me?
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
May 5, 2007
First, Tina is asking for everyone to send her origami paper. They are going to have a "peace day" at Carswell!
Dear Friends,
I apologize for writing so much. I do so for several reasons. First and foremost it keeps me SANE. It is the only way I process "stuff" and there is so much "stuff" here. Second, I feel the need to share what happens. Somehow I think ignorance of situations, while it is blissful to 'not know,' it is by knowing that change can happen and third, it is an opportunity to share ideas. Should you have ideas you want to share please use the blog or my email address cbuschnema@yahoo.com. (You know I almost forgot my own email address that I use probably more than my home address and phone number combined!) I find it astounding that I DO NOT miss the computer nor TV. I have yet to sit down and watch anything! Needless to say the downside is I really don't know ANY news at all from the outside world.
I wanted to put minds at ease. I am on the mend from my bout of food poisoning. I finally got an "idle" from work today. I will get 2 days off followed by my two "regular" days off. I will not bore you with the saga of poor/nonexistent medical care...I could write pages. Needless to say, I had to get, what for me, is NASTY. It is the only language the staff undstands if you want to get anywhere. I wish it was different.
I slept most of the day despite the constant noise of an overcrowded unit made of cinderblock and concrete.
My sisters here are so special. Many have asked me how I am and have offered to cook soups for me, seared up tattered green tea bags and offered the home remedies from their countries. I can now keep plain rice and bread down. Tomorrow, oatmeal and maybe cereal...I want to go slow to make sure it stays where it belongs and doesn't run right through, if you know what i mean.
It was perhaps a blessing in disguise that I got sick b/c now i know first hand what happens to women everyday...and this is a medical facility! In fact, when my boss asked me why I didn't go to sick call yesterday and I told him they ran out of time and did not see me, he said, "And this is supposed to be a hospital?" I about fell over.
I want to share a humorous story just so you know we do laugh sometimes. There is a treat here made by inmates called Jailhouse Suckers. They are made by taking "Now and Later" candy and melting them around a tootsie pop. Well, a bunch of us were sitting outside talking and taking turns holding the umbrella to shade Ms J who is in a wheelchair having had two strokes. Ms Gail went to scare up some suckers for us and gave on tto me and Ms J. Folks were talking and just jawing when Ms J who had been sucking on her jailhouse sucker with all her might pulls the sucker out with her teeth, announcing her teeth were STUCK to the sucker. I thought we would all pee our pants laughing! She would stick her teeth which were wrapped around the sucker back in her mouth and suck some more and some more all the while she is trying to pry her teeth off. Finally she says through the sucker..."Darling wheel me in. I got to get this off here." Honestly I thought I would not be able to move I was laughing so hard. We went inside looking for a bathroom her wheelchair would fit into. The only one we found had NO water...none at all. So I found one (she could not get her chair in) with water and she handed me her teeth and after lots of HOT water, her teeth finally were free. She told me, "Throw that damn thing away!" (Meaning the sucker, not her teeth!) SHe laughed at herself, saying "And I thought I was doing such a good job of sucking on it. I NEVER want another one of those things." So much for jailhouse suckers and Ms J!!
One thing I am struggling with is how do I forgive the torturers, the guards and officials who constantly treat us like garbage? The question came up in prayer and I struggle so much with knowing how to do this. It seems as if I just keep running into this subject over and over in my reading and in letters and books that are being sent. I will share two of these. One came from a nun I really don't know personally, it was a copy of something she sent along with a picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus knocking on the door.
The reading is called Sand and Stone
Two friends were walking through the desert. During some point of the journey they had an argument and one friend slapped the other one in the face. The one who got slapped was hurt but w/o saying anything wrote in the sand. "Today my best fried slapped me in the face."
They kept on walking until they found an oasis. There they decided to take a bath. The one who had been slapped got stuck in the mire and started drowning but the friend saved her.
After she recovered from the near drowing, she wrote on a stone: "Today my best friend saved my life."
The friend who had slapped and saved her best friend asked her, "After I hurt you, you wrote in the sand and now you write on a stone, why?"
The friend replied, "When someone hurts us, we should write it down in sand, where winds of forgiveness can erase it away. But when someone does something good for us, we must engrave it in stone where no wind can ever erase it."
I think I have been doing the opposite, writing in the stone of condemnation, the litany of hurts I see and experience. I guess I am afraid that if I forgive I will condone. I still struggle mightily with this! What Jesus said about loving enemies is so damn hard. To forgive, really forgive!! SOmetimes I just pray that I want to forgive but I don't know how. I am reminded of the AA philosophy of praying for what I want for myself for my enemy, even if I don't mean it and have to fake the prayer. The second thing is from a book I just received called "YOu Will be My Witness" by John Dear, SJ.
I am reading a saint a day as the book is about saints, prophets, and martyrs. Today I read about Josephine Bakhita who was born in Darfur in 1869. She was sold into slavery at the age of six. During her youth, she was tattooed over her entire body except her face with a razor blade, having salt poured into her open wounds. Josephine chose to forgive her torturers during the course of her life. John Dear writes..."Josephine finds true healing only when she decides to forgive her kidnappers and torturers. Many might dismiss this act as simplistic or pious by it is neither. It is brave, daring, and bold--the key to healing, inner peace, and personal transformation. Indeed her act of forgiveness opens n ew doors in her life by freeing her to reach out in loving service to others, as a follower of Jesus who forgave. Most of the world's problems, including most of the Church's (catholic and all other religions, I think he means) problems, stem from our refusal to forgive. If we dare let go of our hurts, anger, bitterness, and resentment, if we forgive everyone who ever hurt us, we, too, will discover the contemplative depth of healing and radiate a peace not of this world."
I don;t have much more to say. Somehow I thikn this time and the harsh psychological cruelty I witness calls me to this, though I would by lying if I said I was there. I struggle. The most I can say is...I WANT TO. Maybe this is a first step. I'm not sure.
I am also reading Thoreau's essay on Civil Disobedience. I just started it. I have read it long ago. I am grateful to Tom who sent it.
Most of all I am so VERY grateful for all the cards, letters, and books..I can not tell you how much they mean to me, to us! One of the women on the unit said jokingly during mail call, "Busch should get her own mail bin." ANd everyone laughed. I share the books and pass around some of the cards. So many women HUNGER for news from the outside.
You know scraps of tape, empty jars, bits and pieces of things are used and reused here. Some of the beautiful cards I give the front to some women. Holy cards and other pictures, like the one of Jesus knocking on the door, go up in people's lockers...so even though I get the mail, they love what write and the beautiful cards and spiritual material you send. Prison is perhaps the MOST spiritual place I have ever been. Honest, faithful, trusting, soul-searching and heartfelt...a cathedral of testimony to God's loving faithfulness. I am, with so much love and gratitude, your sister,
Tina
P.S. If someone could send the Big Book of AA it would be gratefully appreciated...thanks.
Dear Friends,
I apologize for writing so much. I do so for several reasons. First and foremost it keeps me SANE. It is the only way I process "stuff" and there is so much "stuff" here. Second, I feel the need to share what happens. Somehow I think ignorance of situations, while it is blissful to 'not know,' it is by knowing that change can happen and third, it is an opportunity to share ideas. Should you have ideas you want to share please use the blog or my email address cbuschnema@yahoo.com. (You know I almost forgot my own email address that I use probably more than my home address and phone number combined!) I find it astounding that I DO NOT miss the computer nor TV. I have yet to sit down and watch anything! Needless to say the downside is I really don't know ANY news at all from the outside world.
I wanted to put minds at ease. I am on the mend from my bout of food poisoning. I finally got an "idle" from work today. I will get 2 days off followed by my two "regular" days off. I will not bore you with the saga of poor/nonexistent medical care...I could write pages. Needless to say, I had to get, what for me, is NASTY. It is the only language the staff undstands if you want to get anywhere. I wish it was different.
I slept most of the day despite the constant noise of an overcrowded unit made of cinderblock and concrete.
My sisters here are so special. Many have asked me how I am and have offered to cook soups for me, seared up tattered green tea bags and offered the home remedies from their countries. I can now keep plain rice and bread down. Tomorrow, oatmeal and maybe cereal...I want to go slow to make sure it stays where it belongs and doesn't run right through, if you know what i mean.
It was perhaps a blessing in disguise that I got sick b/c now i know first hand what happens to women everyday...and this is a medical facility! In fact, when my boss asked me why I didn't go to sick call yesterday and I told him they ran out of time and did not see me, he said, "And this is supposed to be a hospital?" I about fell over.
I want to share a humorous story just so you know we do laugh sometimes. There is a treat here made by inmates called Jailhouse Suckers. They are made by taking "Now and Later" candy and melting them around a tootsie pop. Well, a bunch of us were sitting outside talking and taking turns holding the umbrella to shade Ms J who is in a wheelchair having had two strokes. Ms Gail went to scare up some suckers for us and gave on tto me and Ms J. Folks were talking and just jawing when Ms J who had been sucking on her jailhouse sucker with all her might pulls the sucker out with her teeth, announcing her teeth were STUCK to the sucker. I thought we would all pee our pants laughing! She would stick her teeth which were wrapped around the sucker back in her mouth and suck some more and some more all the while she is trying to pry her teeth off. Finally she says through the sucker..."Darling wheel me in. I got to get this off here." Honestly I thought I would not be able to move I was laughing so hard. We went inside looking for a bathroom her wheelchair would fit into. The only one we found had NO water...none at all. So I found one (she could not get her chair in) with water and she handed me her teeth and after lots of HOT water, her teeth finally were free. She told me, "Throw that damn thing away!" (Meaning the sucker, not her teeth!) SHe laughed at herself, saying "And I thought I was doing such a good job of sucking on it. I NEVER want another one of those things." So much for jailhouse suckers and Ms J!!
One thing I am struggling with is how do I forgive the torturers, the guards and officials who constantly treat us like garbage? The question came up in prayer and I struggle so much with knowing how to do this. It seems as if I just keep running into this subject over and over in my reading and in letters and books that are being sent. I will share two of these. One came from a nun I really don't know personally, it was a copy of something she sent along with a picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus knocking on the door.
The reading is called Sand and Stone
Two friends were walking through the desert. During some point of the journey they had an argument and one friend slapped the other one in the face. The one who got slapped was hurt but w/o saying anything wrote in the sand. "Today my best fried slapped me in the face."
They kept on walking until they found an oasis. There they decided to take a bath. The one who had been slapped got stuck in the mire and started drowning but the friend saved her.
After she recovered from the near drowing, she wrote on a stone: "Today my best friend saved my life."
The friend who had slapped and saved her best friend asked her, "After I hurt you, you wrote in the sand and now you write on a stone, why?"
The friend replied, "When someone hurts us, we should write it down in sand, where winds of forgiveness can erase it away. But when someone does something good for us, we must engrave it in stone where no wind can ever erase it."
I think I have been doing the opposite, writing in the stone of condemnation, the litany of hurts I see and experience. I guess I am afraid that if I forgive I will condone. I still struggle mightily with this! What Jesus said about loving enemies is so damn hard. To forgive, really forgive!! SOmetimes I just pray that I want to forgive but I don't know how. I am reminded of the AA philosophy of praying for what I want for myself for my enemy, even if I don't mean it and have to fake the prayer. The second thing is from a book I just received called "YOu Will be My Witness" by John Dear, SJ.
I am reading a saint a day as the book is about saints, prophets, and martyrs. Today I read about Josephine Bakhita who was born in Darfur in 1869. She was sold into slavery at the age of six. During her youth, she was tattooed over her entire body except her face with a razor blade, having salt poured into her open wounds. Josephine chose to forgive her torturers during the course of her life. John Dear writes..."Josephine finds true healing only when she decides to forgive her kidnappers and torturers. Many might dismiss this act as simplistic or pious by it is neither. It is brave, daring, and bold--the key to healing, inner peace, and personal transformation. Indeed her act of forgiveness opens n ew doors in her life by freeing her to reach out in loving service to others, as a follower of Jesus who forgave. Most of the world's problems, including most of the Church's (catholic and all other religions, I think he means) problems, stem from our refusal to forgive. If we dare let go of our hurts, anger, bitterness, and resentment, if we forgive everyone who ever hurt us, we, too, will discover the contemplative depth of healing and radiate a peace not of this world."
I don;t have much more to say. Somehow I thikn this time and the harsh psychological cruelty I witness calls me to this, though I would by lying if I said I was there. I struggle. The most I can say is...I WANT TO. Maybe this is a first step. I'm not sure.
I am also reading Thoreau's essay on Civil Disobedience. I just started it. I have read it long ago. I am grateful to Tom who sent it.
Most of all I am so VERY grateful for all the cards, letters, and books..I can not tell you how much they mean to me, to us! One of the women on the unit said jokingly during mail call, "Busch should get her own mail bin." ANd everyone laughed. I share the books and pass around some of the cards. So many women HUNGER for news from the outside.
You know scraps of tape, empty jars, bits and pieces of things are used and reused here. Some of the beautiful cards I give the front to some women. Holy cards and other pictures, like the one of Jesus knocking on the door, go up in people's lockers...so even though I get the mail, they love what write and the beautiful cards and spiritual material you send. Prison is perhaps the MOST spiritual place I have ever been. Honest, faithful, trusting, soul-searching and heartfelt...a cathedral of testimony to God's loving faithfulness. I am, with so much love and gratitude, your sister,
Tina
P.S. If someone could send the Big Book of AA it would be gratefully appreciated...thanks.
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