OPENING
Fall is over and it has been raining a lot more in California this year,
than last year, which seemed like we skipped winter. Winter is at full force now. No bad weather just different weather and it all serves a purpose. Things can be negative without being bad. It depends on how you channel the energy. A blended balance between positive and negative.
Snow, heavy in some places in California, but nothing compared to Sweden's snow.
I am still waiting on letters on what I might write about in this letter and my pen is becoming less shy. I am speaking on the climate but I am open to speak on many topics. It is important and growthful for me to meet new people. Each person is like a star generating his or her own light. Because of where I am at physically, meeting people is one of the main ways I can feel the world: through the ears, eyes, spirits, hearts and souls of other people.
People enable me to travel outside this wall, and
hopefully enable us all to break down mental and physical prisons around the world--leaving only humans--people that walk in their own shoes; sharing realness and peace and love that is a part of the PEACE GANG.
We wanted to bring you fresh images of me reading poetry from behind these walls at PVSP. PVSP would not allow us to film inside this prison. I just wanted to let you all know we intended to and tried for over a year to do film of me reading poetry from different areas of the prison. We just wanted to share some art, some realness. Letters were sent by many important law abiding organizations from Sweden to PVSP and to the head of California prisons.
After sending Michel and me around in circles for a while, the prison said if they allowed Michel to film, it would make a prisoner look like a hero! I don't know about that. But what it could do is make people behind bars look human. The two or three shortfilms showed on Swedish T.V. are just the beginnings of a longer documentary film Michel and Jenny and others are seeking to secure the grounds, or I should say, seeking to get the backing for the longer film.
I am not looking to be harmful to any human, creature or being. If I had my way, at the moment I would sit on a sand dune, out in the desert, reading and studying, or sit under a tree and feed and watch the birds all day. I would do speeches or poetry readings encouraging others especially
youngsters of all ages, to find their own niche in life, their own true
realness-- their own voice and paths to walk in life. Hopefully by
bypassing any prisons or crimes. Once you find your true bliss--what you do best in life--living takes on different colors, depths and growth. It is like everyday you grow an inch and you are in that moment appreciating the growth. What one needs to do is clear, once you find your true realness.
One way to gauge the pulse of any society is through its prisons.
I think no matter what kind of prison you are in, the way to free one self
is to gauge or know thyself--who spoke of the unexamined life? Perhaps, the unexamined life is a prisoner's life no matter where he or she is on the
planet.
WRITING CLASS
I started a writing class three weeks ago. Actually there were four people
that spoke on starting the class. So far I have only two people in class and
only one from the four that spoke on initiating a class.
We meet at Saturday night at seven p.m. in the dayroom. First we read poetry from a book of poems or some interesting article or essay. Then write for ten or more uninterrupted minutes.
We have discussions after writing exercise and comment on what was written and do some aloud reading of poems. Reading aloud is always cool. Then other projects anyone is working is brought to the table for comments. I have some other lesson plans in mind for our group. I am also trying to remember lessons from working with Judith my mentor and Diana and Kate other writers I worked with. I am open to writing lessons from free people anywhere.
Last time the writing group met we started some articles to perhaps send out to some progressive or realness magazines. Articlewriting is one of the
areas I never written in and have not studied much of. I think it is
important for writers or artists, no matter where they are, to have fellowship with other artists or writers.
I am open to working with people in the free world on prose and poems and
plays. We can all shock eachother with our work into something new.
It is important to let myself go when I am writing, a poem, a song or prose
piece. Staying out of the way of any stream of consciousness , or stream of
inspiration, or channel what the muses, or any realness being brings into my ken.
I am open to having a writing group or sharing this writing class with
people in the free world. We are all students and teachers and creators.
It's all about growing and glowing. This week's class we plan to work on
description, and describe a place external or internal landscape.
DAILY EVENT
I saw another version of " waiting for Godot" by Samuel Beckett on public
television. It was cool and different than our more hip soulfull but true
the Beckett realness version we performed back at San Quentin.
There was a lot of stuff and junk on the stage or set of this T.V. version
and I don't think they used time, the tree and spacing on the stage
properly. And the actors´ speech was too fast and there was no sense of
waiting. Waiting I think we emphasized best in our production.
Still, I followed along mouthing all the lines of "pozzo" and "Lucky" and
the ones I could recall of Estragon, the boy and Vladimir. I miss the stage
and the wonder of the worlds one creates on it.
I miss my director, brother Jan Jönsson. I miss all the people who helped
put on that magic.
I miss the Godot days.
There was an acting class here for a little while and we did scenes from
another cool writer, Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol. I played Marley the ghost-- one of the best friends of Scrooge. We did two performances at the chapel. We thought we had founded an acting troupe, our acting leader was from the streets. There has been many stories about what happened to him. I just know the acting group was cancelled along with the arts in corrections I think all the arts programs are gone now, at least from this pleasant valley prison.
I wish Jan would write and let me know what's going on with Godot or any
other Beckett projects. We all long for a little growthful drama in our
lives. I long to here from Beckett people.
The fog is really thick today. All day we have been in the cells, only
getting out to shower and then back to lock up.
I have been here at Pleasant Valley State Prison for about three years now. Last year there did not seem to be any winter, no rain or fog. There were no fog lines but already this winter there have been many and we have had more rains this year than last year. I remember at San Quentin even during heavy fog or rain we still went to
work or school.
Today I have written a few letters and worked on this monthly letter. I
thought I would get the chance to workout today outside. Then feed the
little fellows (the birds). Hopefully the fog won't be heavy tomorrow, so I
can get about and feed the birds.
It would have been cool, really cool if my mom was alive when I did "
Waiting for Godot" and that she could have seen the play and seen her
most wayward son doing something real. Although I am sure she sees me and smiles wherever she is. My mom's belief in me never changed even for a moment.The stage is a place of freedom--a freedom I long to participate in again.
I could have shown my mom I have done something real.
I went through some old folders and big envelopes and found some letters
from some old friends from Sweden that I lost contact with in the nineties.
I hope to here from them.
But what hit me hardest like a bull kicking me in the heart was a old letter I found from my mom, a christmas card. The last piece of mail before she had two strokes and could not write or talk. That was actually twenty winters ago. It hit me hard seeing that card--I just want to say--mothers are the true heros of the world.
I know death is a celebration, a transformation--I try to look at death in
the eastern or aboriginal way--A reconfiguration of atoms, the body just a
reststop and yet...
STRICKEN
I remember that sunday morning tune
You snapping, snap beans for dinner
While rockdoves cooed in the oaktrees
I thought you where the strongest person ever
I thought you where an ancient redwood
protected by a loving light from some heaven
My mother, I knew you would live forever
like those goddesses and Mothers of Ethiopian,
Greek, Roman, Asian and Indian tales.
I thought you where immortal like love
indestructible by time and pain.
Then I came to prison even after
you told me not to carry that knife that held my fate.
My brother Abe told me tales of how some disease
With sugar ruthlessly consumed your body.
He told me something called a stroke
had stricken you twice and laid
you helpless and bedridden for years.
How you could not speak anymore--
how the goddess mother you are, had left.
How life before everlasting and eternity
is a cruel snake wrapping about the throat.
Heaven must have been that morning
on the porch beside my mother
as she snapped, snap beans.
Spoon
Copyright © 1999 Spoon Jackson
WINTER
We have words for
everything how the sky
holds the earth in place
How the winds push
the galaxies along
How the sun shines
on many planets
How a kiss should taste
How a heart should break
We have words that cover
hate like peanut butter on bread.
We have words for winter,
summer, spring and fall
for the red tailed hawk's call
for the exchange of night with day
We have words for
anything we want to say.
Today I came across the last
card my mom wrote me
twenty winters ago, five candles,
red holly bible, green leaves
inside:
"With all my Love"
Copyright©2003 Spoon Jackson
BIRD STUFF
The fog lifted and they unlocked our cages. I put on my sweat shorts and
other work out clothes. Gathered up my storage of bread and walked out to the work out area and noticed hundred of birds-- sparrows and blackbirds at the little pond. They saw me and were waiting. They bounce around chattering peaceably with their fellow birds. They knew I had bread for them.
Today I took my lunch out to the work out pit. No fog today, but still the yard opened up late. So the little fellows were really hungry. The dark clods and rain had chased the fog away leaving shallow puddles in the work out area. A couple of sparrows saw me working out and soon there were twenty, then a hundred or so of blackbirds and sparrows asking for food and making sure I saw them. So, I paused in my working out, other prisoners looking at me as I opened my state lunch and shared my cookies and bread with the little fellows.
CLOSING THOUGHTS
May the light of a billion butterflies float in your hearts.
May joy blossom like an untouched forest in your souls.
Keep glowing and growing!
Keep sharing realness, peace and love!
Keep walking in your own shoes!
STAY REAL
