Beyond The Wall

2-22-10

 

In your essay titled , "The Paradox of Winter" you ended it by writing, "We only need to trust and wait patiently. Spring is coming once again!"

 

Spring will indeed come! This is a miraculous time when things that are small and buried will surrender to a process that none of the buried parts can see. This surrender allows the seeds to break ground into a life of light we call spring. In this process, nature gives us countless models of how to give ourselves over to what appears to be dark and hopeless, but which ultimately proves to be an awakening that is beyond all imagining.

 

Nature's seasons remind us that the world is constantly changing and in various stages of birth, regeneration, maturity, decay, and death. Apple blossoms, aspen leaves, cumulous clouds, and melting glaciers all whisper that everything is fleeting. Things changing and falling apart is a kind of testing. We think that the point is to pass the test or overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don't really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together and fall apart again. It's just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.

 

No matter what happens in our lives, though, there are certain things that will continue. After the winter, spring will arrive. Flowers will bloom. Birds will sing. Life will continue to hand us the invisible thread that connects us all, love will hand us the needle.

 

May we take that needle and weave a tapestry that will glow with the loving presence that we truly are.

 

1-20=10

 

You and I have often written about the cycles of life. Each one has its unique purpose. These many cycles and the various roles we play remind us that it's all part of the great play of Consciousness that we're all involved in. And what a grand adventure this is!

 

When I looked in the mirror this morning, I remembered my present role. I asked the mirror, "Must I look like this?" And the mirror said, "Don't ask me." (no help there)

 

The young boy in me is amazed at what I can get away with now that my face is wrinkled and my hair is gray. Instead of passing as a young man, at which I was adept for so many years, I can pretend to be an old man. I'll even have myself fooled by the end of Act Three.

 

I now have a perspective, a wisdom, a more comprehensive body of knowledge...if only I could remember it!

 

We're starting a newsletter here and I've been writing articles for it. Also, on Saturday mornings I've been helping the fellows with their poetry. Some of it is angry and raw, but it can also be tender. Poetry can be a way of taking life by the throat, and it provides a way for them to express their deepest feelings. It helps them to work through those feelings. To inspire them I often show them a photograph that I have of Vedran Smalovic, who was known as the "cellist of Sarajevo". For the three years that Sarajevo was under siege in the Balkan War - with mortar fire and snipers, no one could get in or out and many died - every afternoon Vedran would put on the tux that he wore to the Sarajevo National Symphony, taking a folding chair and his cello, and go out into the square to play music for the residents of Sarajevo so they wouldn't give up hope. He played in spite of the fact that he could have been easily killed by a sniper or mortar fire. I see Vedran doing what a poet does, offering art in the face of both the beauty and the horrors of life.

 

I see poetry as plants growing out of the sidewalk, in unexpected places, because it's really the voice of people who need to say something wildly important to them. It's the linguistic voice of the inner life. Human beings yearn to connect and to tell our stories before we die. As we strive to remind others of our fundamental connectedness, we must be willing to leap - with all our passion and fear and longing - into the fire. And that fire is not just a metaphor. It's as real as our own mysterious existence; as real as a painful moment that has broken, and maybe opened our hearts. It's our true nature to have an open heart as much as it's the true nature of a flower to open in the sunlight.

 

1-3-09

 

It's hard to believe it's 2010, isn't it? These years seem to fly by at a faster and faster rate. I've tried to put a governor on them to slow them up. I've even tried denying them, but nothing works. The only thing left is for me to accept them.

 

Holidays are the same as every other day here, so the days all seem to run together. Since the days are the same, I try to make each one of them special.

 

I hope classes will start up soon. There haven't been any for a number of weeks, so I've been without a job. This makes it a pretty lean time, but it does give me extra time to write and to tutor the students. On Saturday mornings I've been helping some of the fellows with their poetry. Recently, one of the fellows recited one of my favorite poems - "Jenny Kissed Me", by E.E. Cummings.

 

"Jenny kissed me

when we met.

Jumping from the chair she sat in.

Fate, you thief who loves to get

Sweets into your list, put that in.

Say I'm weary

Say I'm sad

Say that health and wealth have missed me.

Say I'm growing old

But odd,

Jenny kissed me."

 

A poem like this touches our memories and our feelings. I believe a poem should say a lot in a few words and it should leave something unsaid. It should collect experiences and shape them into forms that cause us to think. A poem can be like a candle flickering in the darkness. I don't know if the enclosed "A Morning Walk" accomplishes this, but it felt good to express it after my morning walk.

 

With the passing of these many years, I'm becoming more and more aware of how little I know. Sometimes I remind myself of Charlie Brown, to whom Lucy once said,

"Charlie Brown, in the Great Cruise Ship of Life, some people place their deck chairs to the fore and look at what's coming and others place theirs to the aft and look at what's past. In the Great Cruise Ship of Life, which way is your deck chair facing?"

And Charlie Brown replied, "In the Great Cruise Ship of Life, I'm one of those who can't get my deck chair unfolded."

 

As this year unfolds...may we get our deck chairs unfolded!

 

 

12-26-09

It's 6 AM on the day after Christmas and I'm sitting here at a table in the "quiet room"...a wonderful time to meditate and share some thoughts with you.

I really didn't think I'd have to spend another holiday in here, but here I am, and all I can do is make the bet of it and help as many others as I can. The light way down at the end of the long tunnel has sometimes flickered and almost gone out, but now it's beginning to glow a little brighter. My release date is in September of 2011, and then there won't be any more denials.

For a long time, that date was so far in the future. I didn't think much about it and focused primarily on making the best of each day. I'll still do that, but now I'll begin adding some thoughts about how I can make the adjustments I'll have to make. They seem a little overwhelming and it will be quite a challenge, but way down deep inside, I know that it will all work out perfectly.

It's marvelous to consider this: everything that happens in this life, even this prison experience, has its unique and proper place in the pattern, the web, of the human race as a whole.  This is a lofty and difficult conclusion to come to and yet it brings a huge sigh of relief. After all, if this is so, it means that everything - everything - is all right.

It's so very easy to lose our sense of wonder, our sense of awe at the miracle of just beingt alive today. To the degree that we do this, we think that there is some ideal condition better or higher than our present condition and that we must struggle to attain this ideal. This ideal - and for me it would be to be free from prison - can easily capture me and hold me prisoner. The ultimate realization, I believe, is that now is enough as it is. I can relax. Everything is already all right. This realization helps me to see the beauty and perfection of this moment, which is the only life I actually have. Life offers us just what it offers and our task is to bow to it, to meet it with understanding and compassion.

May we dance, skip, and play in this realization ...in this light today.

 

12-7-09

 

In your latest newsletter, Seasons of the Soul, you wrote an excellent article titled "Nurturing Nature." It inspired me to develop some thoughts on this subject, too. In the enclosed "A Different World", there's a sentence that states, "It's hard to give up our cherished pleasures and comforts, but nature is beginning to foreclose on its loan." What is happening right now is a powerful wake-up call, but maybe, just maybe, it's exactly what is needed to help us to remember that we are connected to each other, to every other thing, to animals, to the plants, and trees and flowers, to the mountains and the seas and deserts, even to the distant stars. Every human being is connected to every other thing and if we know and respect this, we do this to ourselves. And it is all beautiful and sacred.

 

In a previous mailing to you, I sent "The Eternal Hoper." You and I fit that description. We've had so many broken dreams and false hopes it would be easy to become cynical, but as "eternal hopers", even if we're knee deep in manure, we're "looking for the pony".

 

Sometimes I remind myself of being like the fellow who jumped off the top of a high-rise building. As he passed each floor on his way down, he could be heart to say, "So far, So good!" (how's that for optimism and hope?)

 

Seriously, this season asks us to move past our fears and anxieties and to focus on the wonder and the mystery of it all. It emboldens us to feel joy and be hopeful.

 

I have an eight-year old neighbor named Bob who puts it this way - "Any day my eyes pop open is a great day." Every morning our first thought should be, "Thank You." In this latter part of my life, I have attained a deeper understanding of how sacred life is. I have come to fully appreciate how fragile we human beings are, and I feel a profound sense of gratitude.

 

And so...may we feel the joy of "opening our eyes" to the wonder of another day, may we never lose the hope of a better tomorrow, and may love and blessings surround us all.

Letters from Tom

 

10-24-09

 

How are things down on the farm? I hope you're enjoying your adbventures with "Farmtown". Farming is symbolic of the reaping and sowing we do on a spiritual level and the law of karma makes sure we get our "karmuppance"; it's the ultimate crop.

 

And that ultimate crop leaves us with many whys. We just can't always know why. What's most important is what we do with the issues life hands us.

 

When she was undergoing chemotherapy for her terminal cancer, Gilda Radner wrote these words in her book -

"I wanted to wrap this book up in a neat little package, but now I've learned the hard way that some poems don't rhyme, some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end. I've learned that life is about not knowing and having to change, and I've learned that life is filled with ambiguity...sweet ambiguity."

 

And thjat ambiguity is part of the mystery of it all. We're a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape we do not know. Nevertheless, with what we have, we can shine our light into the dark places of this world, into the dreary places in the hearts of others, and change some things in some people. Perhaps, then others may see and do likewise. This is what I think we are about and is the meaning of our life.

 

My days here are filled with teaching, writing, and counseling. Here are a couple of current e3xamples -

 

D.O.E. requires an eight grade education so a new young student named Ricky has arrived in the classroom. He did not want to be in the classroom and told me repeatedly that he has been told all of his life that he has a learning disability and can't learn. I told him that it may take a while (and we have the time), and he can learn, so I'm taking him step by step through fractions right now. Yesterday he was grinning from ear to ear as he proudly announced, "I'm beginning to understand fractions." He's beginning to see that he can do it and he's feeling more worthwhile and confident. The change in his personality is remarkable. I don't think anyone has believed in him before and taken the time to help him. He's now actually looking forward to learning. This is what makes teaching so special; it's seeing a life change right before our very eyes.

 

Another current example of fellows I'm working with is Jimmy. I'm helping him write a letter to his mom. His dad died and Jimmy has a lot of pent-up feelings that he doesn't know what to do with or how to express them. I gave him a few suggestions and told him to just pour out his heart and let his spirit guide him. He just now came into the room where I'm writing this to show me what he had written. It's so pure, so heartfelt that we both had tears in our eyes.

 

Incidents like these remind me that the things that matter the most in our lives are not fantastic or grand. They are moments when we touch one another, when we are with each other in the most attentive and caring way. This simple and profound intimacy is the love we all long for.

Letters from Prison

 

9-4-09

 

My world consists of getting used to a different yard. This involves meeting new friends and adjusting to a different environment and regulations. All in all, though, I'm thankful for this move and will be teaching GED students again next Wednesday when classes start.

 

I've always thought of myself as a bit of a philosopher and a bit of a humorist and now I'm thinking of how similar these are. Philosophy asks us to look at the world as if we were from another planet and to question everything - the nature of reality, the external world, other people. That's like comedy. At their best, both comedians and philosophers shake out our prejudices. Jokes can liberate and elevate us and even change the situation we find ourselves in. As Ralphie (Tom's cartoon dog) often says, "Anything worth taking seriously is worth making fun of."

 

And thinking of making fun of something, I read that a study in the Washington Post says that women have better verbal skills than men. I just want to say to the authors of that study: "DUH!"

 

(there's nothing like an intelligent, well-thought-out response to a study like that.)

Letters from Prison

 

8-24-09

 

As you can see from the envelope, I've been moved yet again. I really resisted this move, and the officials at the Bachman yard did everything they could to keep me, but the order came from the Central Office for a mass movement (150), and there were no exceptions.

 

Once I could see that it was inevitable, I moved to an acceptance of it, and now I'm fully embracing it. This is a much better yard - more freedom, older fellows so it's more mellow, and better living conditions.

 

We all resist change, don't we, even if the change is for the better. It upsets our comfortable routines and forces us to face the unknown. It's as though life delights in taking us by surprise, tapping us on the shoulder and reminding us now and again of how very little we really know of all that is possible. If it weren't for the changes in our lives, though, there would be no growth.

 

I believe that to be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake, it often calls for us to be thrown out of the nest. This has happened to me many times, and though I cry out against it when it happens, being thrown out of the nest has left me more tender, more humble and even more grateful.

 

One of the best things about this move is that one of my closes friends, Dave Grammer, is here, and what a miracle it is to see him again! We were teaching together years ago on the Barchey yard when he was transferred and we lost track of each other. We're both former air force pilots, about the same age, and on the same spiritual path, so we give hope and inspiration to each other with our sharing. Hopefully, we'll soon be teaching together again on this yard.

 

Almost in spite of ourselves, we are most richly blessed, aren't we?

Letter from Tom

 8-12-2009

 

The Sun Magazine has a section called "Readers Write" in which readers write on the topic of the month. The current topic is FENCES, and I was impressed with a thoughtful essay that I'm enclosing for you. It tells of a close-knit neighborhood that became divided over an issue (Propsition8). The last sentence says it all - "I Wish our fences were only six feet tall again."

 

I thought of the times that I too have put up barriers because of differences and decided to write something about tearing down those fences. May it inspire us to see the sacredness in each other, to find a way to sing the one voiceless song, the common beat between all hearts.

 

As strange as it may appear, some fences are being torn down here on this prison yard. The razor-wire fence that encloses this yard is very much here, but it only imprisons our physical form. The current economic situation has resulted in job cuts, pay cuts, and increased costs of commissary items, but all of this has, in many ways, brought us closer together. We have little or nothing, buyt yet I see the fellows sharing what little they have and helping each other more than I've ever seen before.

 

Here are a few examples:

 

The dormitory is very hot right now. We have evaporative cooling which isn't effective when it's humid, and I'm back in a corner where the air doesn't circulate very well. Several of the fellows work in the kitchen and have access to ice so they bring ice to me each evening so I can have cold drinks.

 

Another of the fellows noticed that my mattress was flat and uncomfortable so while I was in the classroom teaching, he went to another part of the yard and somehow managed to get a much better, thicker mattress and brought it here, put it on my bed, and then made up my bed so it would be a complete surprise to me when I returned. And he carried that heavy mattress over here in the heat of the day (112 degrees).

 

In these difficult times, we may yet come to see our challenges as our greatest blessings. Our lessons cannot be learned if the sun is shining every day. And on rainy days, we can share our umbrella with another.

 

The Beauty of Simplicity

July 26, 2009

Enclosed are some thoughts on “The Beauty of Simplicity”. Many in this economy are learning to live more slowly and simply, and, although this may not be what we wanted or expected, it may turn out to be not so bad after all. When there’s less, there’s more appreciation, more openness to wonders and joy, more capacity to soften critical judgment and simply celebrate what happens to be there, even if it’s not the best, even if it’s not so good.

Living more simply could mean more people growing gardens, cooking food, working on farms, taking care of each other. It could mean having more time to keep up with friends and family, calling to say ‘hello, how did your day go, happy birthday, happy anniversary, happy holiday, and, oh yes, I love you and am glad you are in my life.’

Hard times can remind us of what’s important – what’s basic, beautiful, and worthwhile about being alive. The worst of times brings out the best in us. They help us to be more grateful for another day, for the sun in the morning and the moon at night.

The Beauty of Simplicity

By Charles “Tom” Brown

The same daily routine on this prison yard challenges me to find the specialness in sameness.

Some 2500 years ago Lao-Tzu declared,

When Life is simple

Pretenses Fall away;

Our essential natures Shine through

We can allow our essential natures to shine by not enforcing judgments on ourselves that were imposed by others. It shines when we remind ourselves that we don’t have to win, be number one, or any other number.

Our essential nature shines when we lighten the burden we’re carrying to be productive, wealthy, and successful in the eyes of others, and replace it with an assertion that allows us to access our inner wisdom. Let’s retreat into silence, knowing that lal is well. Let’s give ourselves permission to just BE.

We can get to this space by noticing what is revealed in this very moment. We can get so caught up in the details of our lives that we end up missing a lot. Children grow up and are gone. A loved one dies. A friend moves across the country. Things and people pass so quickly. It’s easy to miss life’s joys.

Out of the simplicity of the moment, we find that joy may be found anywhere. It may be found while sipping a cup of coffe in the morning or in the reflective pause at work. It’s the preciousness of the moment realized. It shows a presence that needs no reward, no accomplishment, no finish, shining forth just as it is.

May we remember the beauty and grace of this moment. It shows its truth, what needs to be done and what can be left undone. It’s the great play of existence, of life and death, of all that was and is and shall be. It awaits our recognition.