Gary
CLF member, incarcerated in SC
Over a pot she’d dice wild onions
add a “mess” of greens cut from her garden
toss in a chunk of salt pork
then feed us lip-smacking joy
Wells of goodness from humble fare
the magic of a Grandma
a quilt from precious scraps
a christening gown, an old shawl
cornhusks made into dolls
snowcream dusted with cinnamon
and just a speck of rum
Tuberose snuff, yeast-baked bread
pillowy, soft, just life her hugs
GARY
CLF member, incarcerated in NC
I am from persimmons,
from Karo syrup, and grits.
I am from the front porch,
wide, long, cool in the Southern heat.
I am from magnolias,
whose fragrance is the quintessential South.
I am from Sunday dinners and blue eyes,
from Joseph and Kathleen.
I am from the stiff upper lip,
from seen and not heard.
I am from back row Methodism.
I am from Glenwood and Randolph,
Guilford and Shropshire,
the Queen Anne II,
Icebox fruitcake, fried chicken,
homemade cream puffs.
I am from the Christmas ornaments
made of cardboard and glitter
that Pop bought during World War II
when metal and glass went to fight Hitler,
carefully preserved, precious, rare.
I am from Grandma’s tea set, fragile,
tea pouring from a dragon’s mouth,
Sitting out of reach upon the sideboard,
teaching me to value heritage, tradition,
family.
“Transition” has become a byword in the corrections field over recent years. It has come to encompass classes bearing such fanciful titles as “Thinking For A Change,” “Crossroads,” “Men In Transition” and “Ethical Choices.”
Yet, despite these, recidivism rates in the U.S. run from 41–79%. How is this possible?
As a prisoner now in his 32nd year of incarceration, I have taken part in the above named courses and many others and I have come to a conclusion.
Well-intentioned as they may be, transition services for the incarcerated contain wide gaps in content and scope of inmates addressed. Practical knowledge on such everyday mundane activities as navigating the internet, use of a cell phone, Facebook, Google, Twitter or any number of other such taken for granted resources which are totally foreign to most prison inmates.
America’s prison population is aging as well. I, myself, entered prison in 1991 at 31 years of age. Today I am 64. With this aging comes chronic health conditions and the need for transition services beyond job search skills, resume writing, and interview tips. Senior citizen prisoners will not likely be released to pound the pavement looking for a job. I dare say, employers would be reluctant to hire such for the insurance and health liability alone. Factor in the “scarlet letter” of being a convicted felon, and the elderly prisoner being released following a prison term of any length is left virtually with few or no resources.
Classes on applying for Medicare and Medicaid, senior citizen services, health care, opportunities for socialization and even such practical aid as transit services, Uber use, physician and dental appointments, obtaining copies of DOC medical files, housing options, and mental health — all are neglected.
In a recent transition class, a full 50% were above the age of 50, 20% were older than 60, five were over 65 and two were 70 or above. This is a typical demographic in American prisons. Inmates are locked away for lengthy terms to satisfy U.S. injustice and once their care becomes too costly, many are suddenly found “suitable for parole,” quite literally tossing seniors out on the street with a “gate check” and, if lucky, a 30 day supply of any current prescriptions and nothing more.
Who can forget the infamous scene in the film Shawshank Redemption when the elderly prisoner librarian Brooks was suddenly paroled. Having been in prison since before the automobile he was totally lost. He completed suicide.
Keeping prisoners for lengthy terms and providing no transition services to aid in a successful reintegration into society is a moral crime in which everyone is a victim.
Transition by its very definition means to evolve, adapt, and change. With our world’s largest percentage of the incarcerated (20%, while the U.S. is only 4% of the earth’s population), it is paramount, even critical, that the scope of transition be broadened to address the needs of an aging, growing prison population.
Last night, I awakened
from a dream
I dreamed of an America
in which those sworn to protect
and serve, abused and killed instead
An America whose hunger turned barbed
wire into shredded wheat and
stomachs became caskets
An America where masks were discarded
and grown men hid under sheets
as they stormed halls of democracy
An America who forgot her history
her polls claiming hate was history
an animal extinct like polar ice caps
An America in which no one escaped the
brutality of law and order ran amok
or escaped the massacre in a nightclub
or massage parlor
or a high school
or a supermarket
An America that claimed there were “good” Nazis
but… didn’t Uncle Sam go to war
to stop the goose-stepping in ‘44?
An America where a wall grew in a
land that once told a foreign leader
to “tear down this wall”
An America where hatemongers
quoted the words of Dr. King
and you are no longer safe in a church
An America whose Statue of Liberty
was silenced, her torch gone cold
the ashes our new mascara
An America whose populace quaked
slouching towards a coming apocalypse
Was it just a dream?
Gary
CLF member, incarcerated in SC
In the beginning
it was all darkness and fear
I saw no way out
no end to my anguish
a place that conveys death
yet, can offer life?
to become new
I entered into this cocoon,
a target of transformation,
the time out in darkness
becomes a metamorphosis
death and life working together
to bring about a transformation
from the ruins of the old
like a butterfly, to emerge
forever changed
a person I have never been,
but the world, this life
isn’t all rainbows and butterflies,
for you can’t change the mind
if you have not touched the heart
Dedicated to the CLF
GARY
CLF Member, incarcerated in SC
To Whom It May Concern
Last picked for softball
first to be blamed
taunted and jeered at
hiding in shame
To Whom It May Concern
Last born child of eight
awkward and confused
never feeling love
knowing only feeling abused
To Whom It May Concern
Told there’s no place for me
I would never fit in
God’s love is not for you!
no way to win
To Whom It May Concern
Rejected and ashamed
life as dark as night
love finally parted the clouds
at last I saw the light
To Whom It May Concern
I found a place at Christ’s table
there really is room for me
I have emerged from the abyss of despair
and at long last I am free
GARY
CLF member, incarcerated in NC
Farlow, Gary 2020-10-16 Artwork – October Walk.
PHOTO BY MELISSA ASKEW ON UNSPLASH
After the close of Summer,
before the land lies ‘neath snow,
there comes the Magic of Autumn,
when all nature is aglow.
Days grow ever shorter,
harvest time is nigh,
‘tis Mabon now my love,
as the earth breathes a sigh
The Moon doth shine her glory,
reflecting Maiden, Mother, Crone,
the Wiccan Year comes full circle,
like our love which we have shown
So arise my love and come away,
let us sing, feast, and make love,
for Wiccan Mabon is a celebration,
of the Goddess’ bounty from above.
For thirty years I was blacksmith of my soul.
I put it in the furnace of austerity and burned
it in the fire of egotism.
I laid it upon the anvil of reproach and beat it
with the hammer of blame until I made my soul a mirror.
For thirty years I was the mirror of myself, and was forever polishing that mirror with diverse acts of stoic harshness and detachment.
I now reflect on what trappings I had embraced as my own:
On my waist, I wore a belt of insecurity; a breastplate of dishonesty; a shield of mistrust.
My campaigns have taken a turn.
I am now a prisoner stripped of my armor,
I can no longer run, no longer hide.
I have cried out for understanding, to a memory, a part of my life no longer denied.
I have reached out and found my strength.
My redemption.
Now, I look into that mirror and what do I see?
Girded around my waist is truth; integrity is my breastplate; and faith, hope, and love are
my new shield.
I have seen that the garments I once fashioned for myself were but temporary and hollow.
They would perish like chafe in the wind.
Now, I have been bestowed with the garb
that is eternal, as my prayers were
answered—for now I tread the path
lighted by knowledge: art, poetry, and music.
My Guides are Monet, Frost, and Bach
Working at Greensboro Health Care Center, a nursing home, was a rewarding experience for me in many ways. Not the least of these was meeting David. David came to work at the home after I had been there only a short time. Possessed of a quiet countenance and mild demeanor, David worked as a custodian. He treated every person, without regard for race or age or resident or staff, with dignity and respect.
David was a nature lover, and often took his lunch outside, where I would find him reading Thoreau. I would frequently lunch there myself, simply to have an excuse to join him and listen to his wisdom on the beauty of God’s gifts to be found in nature. Our friendship grew, but still remained a casual work-related one, so I was quite surprised when one day in late January of 1983 David asked me to join him for breakfast on the first of February at the downtown Woolworth’s lunch counter. Although I’m a history buff, I must sadly confess that the date and occasion of our breakfast didn’t register in my mind as significant. That would change forever.
You can imagine my shock when I walked into the Woolworth’s on February 1st to find the lunch counter packed, and reporters and camera operators from all the national television networks focusing in on David and three other African-American gentlemen. What in the world…? I asked myself. David caught my eye, smiled, and motioned me through the throng of on-lookers and media to take a stool beside him.
“David,” I whispered, “What is all this about?”
“Gary, I wanted you to join me for an anniversary breakfast.”
“Anniversary? Whose anniversary?” I asked.
“Today is the 23rd anniversary of the Woolworth sit-ins,” David replied.
“You mean…you?” I asked in awe.
David just shyly smiled and nodded. I quickly learned that David, the same man who would take the time out of his busy day to read to an elderly nursing home resident, was David Richmond, one of the four students from North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University in Greensboro who, on February 1st, 1960, demanded equal service at Woolworths. The icy winds that swept down North Elm St. in downtown Greensboro were second only to the icy reception that David Richmond and his fellow students received at the Woolworth’s lunch counter. Taking stools at the counter, they endured fierce stares from bankers, clerks and lawyers having lunch.
David said, “Sure we were afraid. We were four scared college kids challenging the status quo. Separate but equal was being defied. Jim Crow, nearly one hundred years after our emancipation, was on his deathbed. We were four very frightened young men, but our quest for recognition as equals allowed me and my fellow students to overcome that fear. We were not alone. The spirit of our fathers—their bondage, their blood, their tears and sweat from which this republic was built; their sacrifice made both at home and on the battlefields overseas—their courage was in us.”
There were only four, but soon there would be ten, then 50. The numbers were growing daily that would merge into one voice, one message, one song: equality.
David Richmond passed away in 1991. His friendship, guidance and belief in equality of all people will forever remain a part of my heart, mind and soul. His quiet wisdom, thoughtful perspective, rare insight and deep understanding of the human condition is one I shall always miss.
Although I was just a baby during the turmoil of the 1960s Civil Rights movement, I can well recall the hope in the words, songs and speeches of the era’s heroes. David Richmond was such a hero, who held a vision of the possibility of justice for all.
Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110184205/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/20_11/01.mp3
When I arrived at North Carolina’s Central Prison I wore my fear and trepidation like an aura as I, a pallid 128-pound weakling, stepped into my worst nightmare. All conversation and card games came to an immediate halt when I walked into the dorm. My first thought was, I’m going to die tonight. I was about to learn just how misleading first impressions can be.
I never knew his real name. “Preacher” was probably in his late fifties and, despite imprisonment, carried the demeanor of one who hadn’t a worry in the world. As fate would have it, I was assigned to the bunk immediately over him. After a couple of days of observing me in my self-imposed isolation, Preacher approached me carrying a soda and a Bible.
Now, I always considered myself to be a Christian. I mean, I was brought up in the church, baptized, and “saved,” so I must be a Christian, right? Yet, I tended to view God as some sort of celestial Santa Claus who I called on only when I wanted something.
“You look like you could use a friend,” were Preacher’s first words, as he handed me the Bible and soda. My suspicions must have been obvious. Preacher tilted his head back and laughed. “Don’t worry yourself. I ain’t gonna hurt you, and I want nothing from you. My friendship and the Bible are free. You can repay the soda when you’re able to.”
My relief, as well as all of the anxiety and apprehension I’d kept bottled up inside, suddenly burst forth. Tears flowed.
“You can live in prison one of two ways,” Preacher explained. “You can serve time or it can serve you.”
Puzzled, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s obvious. God intends for you to learn something. You have a choice now, just like you did when you committed your crime. It’s called free will. You can spend your years consumed in anger, bitterness and blaming everyone and everything else, or you can accept responsibility for your actions and make this time work for you and count for something.”
“You mean, sort of like when life gives you lemons and you make lemonade?”
“Kinda,” Preacher responded. “You have the opportunity, albeit forced upon you, to better yourself—get a handle on your problems, pursue an education, develop a talent. It’s all up to you.”
I stared dumbfounded. “It sounds as if you think I should be thankful to be here, Preacher.”
Shaking his head, Preacher replied, “No, Gary, not at all. What I’m trying to tell you is that you should make the conscious choice to not waste this time. Have something to show for it when the time comes.”
Preacher left Central Prison just a few days later. Inmates are a transient population. That was nearly 29 years ago. Since then I’ve earned four college degrees, and banked over 300 credit hours. I’ve published six books, four plays—all of which have been produced on stage—and innumerable stories and poems. Equally, I’ve developed an appreciation for art that once upon a time I would never have taken the time for—all of this while making time serve me.
Most importantly, I’ve gained a greater sense of who I am and a deeper, more meaningful relationship with God. I no longer see God as a celestial Santa Claus who I run to with a wish list of prayers. I now see God as my Creator, with whom I spend time every day.
While I am still not grateful for prison, I have come to accept it and to find renewal in making time serve me.
Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110131139/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/20_04/03.mp3
When I wake up
I find myself in an environment
that’s so different from the one
I once knew.
I find I’ve not merely traveled out of society, but to a place no one warned me about.
I collect my thoughts for a moment while gazing from the
window of my cell.
The rain-slicked razor wire
in front of the housing unit is being cleaned again by nature.
I never fail to be surprised by the same landscape time and time again. Just as I perceive this,
suddenly the texture of reality has changed once more.
The transition from society has been nonstop to this Satan’s cave.
Here is where I dwell.
In a momentary lapse of reason.
Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110084920/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/19_12/05.mp3
I have maintained for years that people of faith (Christian, Jewish and Unitarian Universalist) have probably been as powerful a force in the #LGBT+ rights movement as it was in the Civil Rights Movement. This article lends support to my comment. #UU https://www.advocate.com/commentary/2019/6/27/religious-roots-pride …
And yesterday, UCE was at Queer Prom.pic.twitter.com/9pceVh2bJR
I am not UU, but I wanted to share what the @UnitarianUCE is doing. Collecting food for the food bank and is having an after church garage sale.pic.twitter.com/4meFPx8igc
National Black Solidarity Sunday | Neighborhood Unitarian Universalist Church http://jaconetfli.com/r7JrF2W9
I love that my church quotes Nietzsche! UU is a unique environment where a religious humanist need not apologize for being religious or for being humanist. #religioushumanist #humanist #UU #unitarian #unitarianuniversalist https://twitter.com/CLFUU/status/1098537906442887168 …
Sounds like this would be an excellent webinar.
This remains one of my favorite videos!
On Canadian Thanksgiving Weekend, I am stopping to appreciate everything #UU people are doing to make the world a better place.pic.twitter.com/PkDXcsZnJF
Thank you to all #UU people who cared so much.
Need a respite from the busy-ness — even craziness — of your day? This One Minute Zen will take you to the side of a babbling brook, where you can be present, calm, and hopefully regain perspective about what’s truly important.
Blessings.
Send to KindleA couple of items caught my attention this week, separate yet connected, and worth noting.
Source: NASA/JPL-Caltech/Space Science Institute
NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory released this photo of our Earth last week, taken by the Cassini spacecraft from its orbit around Saturn.
That’s us, scurrying around on that small white dot right of center, between the rings and the light band below. Could that band be the sun’s glow?
All the human drama, the births and deaths, the love and the hatred, is contained in that small dot that we inhabit — that we share with the mountains, the oceans, and the abundance of plant and animal life.
A tiny, tiny dot in the infinite vastness of space and time.
As I contemplate this image, I’m reminded of the mystery of creation and the fundamental spiritual questions: what is the meaning of life and how do we live lives of meaning?
Related to this, the second item that caught my attention this week came in the form of a blog post by UU minister Tom Schade. He asks how we define ourselves and how we UUs might define ourselves given a 50-year perspective.
It’s all about perspective. You or I can define ourselves by family, city, nation, where born, high school or college, profession, religious affiliation, one or more issues. Just think of how you choose to define yourself.
Tom posits:
“There will be a day when we all see ourselves as one Earth People.”
That conclusion seems pretty obvious from the perspective of Saturn, albeit more hopeful than obvious from Earth.
Tom sees signs, though, rooted in the global challenges humanity is facing: climate change, immigration, and the disparities of the global financial system. As he says,
“Our consciousness of who we are will catch up with the reality.”
How can we UUs provide leadership in this process, rather than passively observing the grinding millstone of history? Tom reminds us of our Universalist heritage and of its continuing theme in our world view. He says
“Our theological construction imagines a single humanity equally beloved by God … We carry from our theological forerunners the seeds of an emerging consciousness — that we exist as the people of the Earth and we are in this together. One of our missions for the next 50 years is preparing the way.”
Preparing the way. That’s something we UUs can do as a wholesome endeavor and to fulfill our desire to live meaningful lives.
Send to KindleHow often have you watched — completely watched — the moon rise above the horizon? Photographer Mark Gee provides this transfixing view of a moonrise in Wellington, New Zealand, with a perspective that may well give you a sense of transcendence.
Enjoy this meditation.
Full Moon Silhouettes from Mark Gee on Vimeo.
Send to KindleWatch this touching video produced by the Cleveland Clinic, poignantly reminding us of our human connection.
Hat tip to Krista Tippett’s On Being, where I originally saw this, and to the Cleveland Clinic, for telling the story so well.
Send to KindleBenedictus by 2CELLOS is a beautiful track for meditating. Focus on the cellos; see if they lead you to a few minutes of transcendence.
Send to KindleI’m home after attending a memorial service celebrating the life of a longtime member of our church, a remarkable woman who lived Thoreau’s admonition to “live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.”
The church was full and the service ran over 90 minutes. Family and friends recounted their memories spanning her 85 years, stories that painted a vivid picture of a life and the essence of a woman any of us would want to know. We cried, but largely we laughed and smiled as we acknowledged her death, yet focused on the way she blessed the world.
Leaving the warm church and hurrying through the cold afternoon to my car, I mused over two life lessons I drew from the memorial, reminders of truths that I so easily forget in the day-to-day living of life.
First, the stories, the memories we shared that brought laughs and tears were about times spent together, the connections between us — not about money amassed during a lifetime nor prestige or prominence attained. We heard of her acts of kindness and generosity, her willingness to explore and try the new, the dimensions of life that reflect our common humanity and bind us together.
Maya Angelou said “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” Nowhere is that clearer than a memorial service. Yet how many of us lives our lives mindful of that?
The second lesson I brought home to consider:
Within the past couple of months, I’ve attended two memorial services for an elder, meaning someone 70 or older whom I’ve only known during this period of life. Sadly, it has been their memorial services where I’ve learned what rich and wondrous lives they lived.
How much better would it be to hear the stories from their own lips and see the joy and sadness in their eyes and faces — and for them to hear and see my appreciation and respect and amazement at their life journeys.
In a culture that prizes the new and the young, our elders are discounted and slowly fade from view, often spending their last years in seclusion in a nursing facility or, if they are fortunate, at home. They only reemerge with death, when we all gather in a church.
Life seems forever, until it ends. We never know when that fateful day will come. May I use these days I am given to hear the stories of my fellow travelers, to cherish and deepen the connections, and to make the memories that will bring smiles and laughter some distant day.
Send to KindleHow would you define a moment?
They’re all sacred. Be present.
Send to KindleThe Dow Jones Industrial Average, iconic thermometer of the U.S. stock market, ended the week up.
The 2012 campaign heated up as Mitt Romney, the presumed Republican nominee, pounced on President Obama’s statement that “the private sector is doing fine.”
Last week, America’s Got Talent was the highest rated program with adult viewers 18 to 49.
Innocent men, women, and children continue to be killed in Syria, yet another example of a despotic government.
Our dog was diagnosed with anaplasmosis. Two days into her 28-day antibiotic prescription, she is back to normal.
This week’s weather seemed unseasonably cool and rainy.
Oh, and Tuesday, Venus transited the sun — for the last time this century. The geometry of the Earth’s and Venus’ orbits about the Sun define that transits occur in pairs eight years apart, then not again for 121.5 and 105.5 years. (What a great example for a geometry class!)
The advances of medicine notwithstanding, it’s unlikely that anyone alive today will witness the next transits in 2117 and 2125, just as we weren’t around for the 1874 and 1882 transits. Ulysses S. Grant was U.S. President in 1874, James Garfield in 1884.
The first recorded observation of the transit was in 1639, 373 years ago. The transit was used to determine the distance between the earth and the sun — unknown until then.
The Earth is 93-million miles from the sun. Venus is 67-million miles. Venus, known as both the evening and morning star in our night sky, is but a tiny circular disk as it passes the sun.
Thanks to Venus and NASA for providing a bit of perspective, lest we be too absorbed by ourselves.
Read more about the geometry and the human history of the transit of Venus on Wikipedia.
Send to KindleThe film Raw Faith will premier this Sunday, May 20, at 8:00 pm Eastern and Pacific on the Documentary Channel.
Raw Faith is a moving love story of Unitarian Universalist minister Marilyn Sewell’s decision to retire from her church, while struggling to reconcile her self-image from her childhood. Unexpectedly, love enters her life — a counterpoint to her lifelong doubts.
Imagine being followed around by a film crew for two years. That’s the extent to which Marilyn opened her life to share her journey and struggles, as you’ll hear in our phone conversation. Raw Faith is wonderfully done, and I think you’ll be moved, as I was.
The Documentary Channel is primarily available on satellite television services DISH Network (Channel 197) and DIRECTV (Channel 267). Check their web site for additional show times if you can’t catch Sunday’s premier.
The film is also available on DVD from Alive Mind Cinema.
If you haven’t already heard it, Marilyn shared her religious journey on Episode 20 of the Be Spiritual podcast.
Send to KindleNPR’s religion correspondent Barbara Bradley Haggerty tells this touching story of a Methodist pastor whose spiritual searching led her to conclude that she’s an atheist.
Of course, that’s anathema in a traditional Christian church.
So Teresa MacBain played her ministerial role hypocritically. After the internal conflict became too much to bear and she declared her true belief — or lack of — she had to resign and face ostracism from her church community.
Had she been a Unitarian Universalist, her questioning would have been encouraged, her atheism accepted, her spirit nurtured.
Send to KindleGARY
CLF member, incarcerated in NC
Farlow, Gary 2020-10-16 Artwork – October Walk.
WWUUD stream 