Dear People: I hope you all are enjoying the close of summer, and are ready for fall. And for those of you enjoying winter, I hope you are ready for spring. Whatever the change, be it change of season or some other change or transformation in life. Some changes may look painful, but the change turns out to be real and enlightening, even when it appears you have no choice in the matter. I think there are voices or feelings inside us, or teachers, or guides, that when we are open to our true realness, will lead us on our paths to growth and light. I'll speak more about voices later.
First I'll tell how I am doing here at New Folsom, which is a higher level prison and a rock-kicking distance away from Old Folsom. Here there are more guns directly above your lead, less yard. There is no walking to the chow hall. The food is brought to the cell. The over all environment is more dangerous. But I have a better job, one of the best jobs I've ever had in prison. I am working as an arts assistant/clerk with other artists and we run arts classes. I have two poetry classes to participate in, plus music theory classes and drawing. All is cool, and all the art going on reminds me of San Quentin days in Arts in Corrections.
My supervisor is the fellow from San Quentin who made it possible for "Waiting for Godot" to be performed before an international audience. So it is cool to be back in the art world and among other artists. Over all this prison is better than where I came from, Pleasant Valley State prison, even though this prison in Represa is a higher level. The main drawback is the lack of visits, as visits give me a splendid way to share space with someone from the free world, and a rest from the flow of a physical prison. Now I'll speak more on voices. Voices are endless and influence me from many angles and dimensions in time and space. Hopefully what is created through my poems, prose and acting will inspire someone. I hear voices of people under the gun, under violence, or persecuted, all around the world.
I hear the voices of animals that have no human voice in this dimension but speak to me in dreams or visions. I hear the plants, the wind, and sky. My mom died in 1987 while I was at San Quentin. The prison would not allow me to attend the funeral. On the day she was to be buried, a voice told me to go to the chapel area. Mother Teresa had come to San Quentin to minister to the fellows on Death Row. Out of a crowd of people, media, prisoners, and prison officials, Mother Teresa took my hand, looked into my eyes, and gave me an emblem, a cross. I still hear my mom's voice, and she comes to me in dreams sometimes. In one dream, my mom cooked dinner for me, for herself, and for a deer that came to visit.
I still hear desert voices of purple and red clay mountains. I hear the voices of the prairie dogs, Jack- and cottontail rabbits. I hear the wild dogs and coyotes. I hear the dry river that runs through the back side of Crooks Street. I hear the young voices of me and my black and brown brothers playing kick-the-can. Voices that still ring in my heart, spirit and soul. I hear angry voices. I hear still voices. I hear peacefull voices. I hear the principal's voice from grade school telling me, ÒBoy, you'll never graduate from high school.Ó I hear my father telling the boys on Crooks Street, ÒDon't let darkness catch you not at home.Ó There are voices and spirits everywhere and in everything. Mother Earth has many endless voices that need expression in many ways. In books I hear the voices of poets and writers from all ages and corners of the world, especially from those who have passed on. Especially when my soul, spirit and heart are open.
I hear my inner voices, the poet and actor, the writer, the kid, the rebel, the dreamer, the Peace G. member who longs to take his body free. I hear voices perhaps of past lives or of things that dawn on me and I have no idea of where they come from. I hear sweet voices, sad voices, angry voices, mad voices - voices singing of love, peace and realness beyond politics, beyond the grave, beyond hate and love, beyond good and evil. I hear sweet sexy voices, real, deep and strong. Voices!
STAY REAL SECTION
Today I am just reminding you to be yourself, to swim in your own pool, knowing that your essence is love and how you express yourself is a result of being open to that realness. Growing and glowing down the paths of your life. Sharing our realness opens up others to share who they are. People who listen to each other with both ears, hearing stometimes the still voices of the heart and soul. I hope that makes some sense, and I close this section with a poem.
MILD DISCOMFORT
If a mink reared up on its hind legs and told you about the pain would you listen? If laboratory mice, monkeys, chimps and baboons signed a petition and wrote a letter depicting how dissection feels how being force-fed veneral diseases, AIDS, syphlis, cancer and fat cells like one-a-day vitamins, would you care? If swans in lakes and trout in streams screamed in chorus of no future would you heed their plea? If elephants honked the Star Spangeled Banner would you see the tears in their eyes? What do you call the killing of foxes lynxes and tigers, Friendly Fire or mild discomfort? What if the wind blew the blues and the rain beat a rhapsody What difference would it make if a gyser spouted red blood?
BIRD STUFF
There are more birds to watch here, but less time to watch them. There are pigeons and doves, wild turkeys and turkey vultures, black birds and crows, but not many sparrow here. I may have seen one or two, and there are hardly any seagulls either. It appears to be pigeon, dove, turkey and crow country here. There are racoons in a barred drainage ditch or hole. I walk past them each morning going to work. I had never seen racoons in person, so it is a special treat. People feed the racoons each morning, and I suppose that is how they ended up crawling the distance to get under the prison into the narrow drain. Today I tried to give one an apple, and he or she looked stunned or surprised and wanted no part of it. But when I offered her lunch meat, she grabbed it gently and dropped down to the bottom of the hole and growled her approval.
CLOSING THOUGHTS
Here the incoming mail is processed very slowly, so mail passed out to us can take 14 to 21 days on the average. Outgoing mail is still, for the moment, sent out quickly. This is my first newsletter written from New Folsom - California State Prison, Sacramento in Represa, California. Which is a more fitting name for a prison than Pleasant Valley where I was sent here from. There is less time here on the yard, so I'll have to live more inside my soul, spirit and heart; live more inside Mother Earth and the universe; more inside my memories, past present and future, which equals the moment; live more inside my dreams. Peace Gang will always rise like the phoenix, and even beyond death. My head is up and my thoughts and dreams are full of realness, pleace, love, and sweet wildness - always reaching and stretching mind, body, and soul. May the sun be in your hearts and souls, like a shimmering silver lake at dawn. May the moon full at night embrace, enhance and enrich your dreams, your love like a rich ripe pomegranate bursting with seeds! Peace G. loves you and with you.
Glowing and growing! Spoon
