Fall is here and the crisp mornings feel good. I could see orange, brown, tan red, pink and purple leaves softening the soil and sweetening the breeze. Long stemmed leaves not one shaped exacting the same. In autumn Mother Earth puts on her best dress. A fellow from Norway recently asked what my dreams are other than the obvious one of leaving these walls behind. I dream of living in Sweden and France. I long to meet some of my nieces and nephews I have never met. Others I have not seen in decades. I long to make one trip back to the desert and see where my mum and dad and other relatives are buried. I long to make on trip back south to Arkansas and Texas to see family there and find out what kind of Indian my great grand father was. I dream of traveling to Cuba, Africa and South America. I have never been anywhere except the desert where I was born before prison. I used to dream of going to the Zoo. Being in a cage, pacing back and forth myself, I stopped longing to see any animals in cages. Birds belong in trees and skies. Big cats and wolves belong in jungles and mountains. Leaving each being to their nature. Some people here have lizards and from time to time, wing clipped baby birds they keep in their cells. I do not think that is cool. I dream of going to rallies and concerts for freedom, realness and justice. I long sit in sidewalk cafés in Sweden, Italy and France and watch people and write. I dream of seeing a play I wrote, performed. I long to go on tour doing poetry reading. I long to tour with my Swedish brother Jan Jönson as he does his show "Moments of Reality". I long to sample foods from around the world. I have not had a grape in decades or a plum some okra or meat loaf. I dream of sitting in the forest, in the mountains and on the beach. I dream of spreading realness around the world. I share the same dream John Lennon spoke of in his "Imagine". The same dream Martin Luther King spoke of where there is one race. The same dream Mother Teresa spoke of in courage and silence when she handed me an emblem at San Quentin. The same dream children speak of before being bombarded by society's complex and sickness. The same dreams the birds sing of, the flowers and trees dance and share of - the sky screams and echoes of the same dream. The rainforest reaches for the same dream as any aborigine’s soul and spirit still sees. The same dream Sara, my plant friend, longs for. The same dream you can see in any child's eyes born in any poor or war torn area of the planet. The same dream you can see in the moonlight, the sunshine and ocean waves. The same dream you can feel from Mother Earth. It happened again this time in New Orleans. Thug white cops go on rampage and beat an old 65 year old drunk handcuffed black man, against the brick wall down to the ground into a pool of blood. Two cameras caught the mauling. One camera on the ground and the other camera from a second story window. One by stander who protested the beating taken place was pushed up against a car and threatened. One cop yelling he had been surving supposedly on nothing for six weeks. So that makes it fine to brutalize an old black man or any man? This incident happened in the deep south. The one time heart of slavery. I remember it took 40 or more years for the local and federal government in one southern state to capture and convict a southern white racist for multiple murders of black and Jewish civil rights people. After 40 years now all of a sudden evidence appeared that they supposedly did not have over 40 years ago. The old white racist nearly 90 years old is sentence to life in prison. Come on America, will you be forever hypocritical and racist. He has lived his life and sowed his seed and probably killed more people of color.
PRISON DAY
I got up this morning and I didn't have any coffee so I had to drink the state brown lukewarm water they call coffee. So I did my sit ups and some stretching. I went to work and there was a chill in the air. A steady gust of wind. I brought Sara out to sit with me in the front of the art room. I heard a light wind can make her stems and leaves stronger and perhaps more flexible. I put some coffee grounds in her soil the other day. I have also put egg shells, banana peals and sardine oil in her soil. I have forgotten what each of those elements adds to her health and posture. Sara’s leaves are bigger, richer dark and lime green. There are even some smaller leaves coming out of her that look like painted toes. She is like a beautiful thick model with long glistening hair and smooth healthy glowing skin - an athletic model. Sara does not live in the cell with me. I keep her in the art room where I work. It is much bigger than a cell. The stale air of a cell and cell block does not do any living being any good. Sometimes when I am sitting with Sara it seems like her leaves and stems are leaning my way. I know that sounds crazy, perhaps it is. I believe and know Sara is alive and like any other creature or being she has a spirit. When all these body structures are gone or have seeped back into Mother Earth perhaps we see all the spirits then plant or animal. Anyway I speak to Sara when there are no one around. Which is rare under the circumstances and only lasts a moment. So sometimes I talk to her where there are people around. I say Hi or Good Morning or something. Whatever thought people are going to have about Sara and me, they are going to have anyway. People find something negative or positive to harp on. Some people may never see the shining light in others, in other beings or themselves. The realness, the rich greenness they share with a leaf or the softness they share with baby ducks. If one never sees the light, the realness, the greatness in others how can they see it in themselves. Yes, one foot in darkness and one foot in light. I long to know what is on the other side beyond both darkness and light.
WRITING STUFF
We had writing class today. Couple of poet/writers came in from the streets. KVMR radio recorded poetry readings for a second time. A welcome break from me and my sometimes hard approach of teaching to basics of writing. When a fellow in the class say they like a prose or poem piece read. I have them tell why and what made the text work, using writing terms to describe how the text moved. I have started my group on doing annotations. However, I stand back and let the outside guests run the group. Bringing a different free world flavor to the class. The last couple of classes I put my shades on and just listened. Next week, if there is no lockdown, we will have young hip-hop type spoken word performers coming in. The recording session for KVMR 89.5 FM went well. I even read a couple of poems to encourage one of my hardest working students get back up and read his poetry for the radio station. Otherwise I was not going to read. I hope to get the group to expand from just poetry to include prose.
BIRD STUFF
The cowbirds, black birds and red-winged black birds had taken a couple of weeks of break from coming around. I had mainly the pigeons and a couple of seagulls to look at. The couple of sparrows I had fed this spring stopped coming after the two week lockdown. I have not seen the sparrows in months. There are mainly pigeons to look at. For some reason the pigeons do not seem as interesting as the smaller birds or the bigger birds like crows or hawks. I at times can make a sound like a black bird and it will speak back. We exchange sounds and stares. The pigeons act like the only thing that exists is the bits of food on the ground and they will eat non stop into a stupor. No other bird, no human exist until its right upon them. Perhaps I am too hard on the pigeons. They were interesting to look at when my family raised them on the streets. My brother Ray still raises the big king pigeons. I use to watch the pigeons under the bridge that ran over the railroad tracks across the sticker bush field from our old green house. I watched them for hours. Perhaps I need to let go of any sight seeing expectations and look through clean lenses. Every bird like every being has it's own personality. I will let go and be open.
STAY REAL SECTION
We had another off the hook session with Buddy Tabor inside the art room here at New Folsom. The realness, truth, love and power of his lyrics and music enlightened us. We look forward each year to our poet/songwriter visit from Alaska. Our brother coming from some 5000 miles away. Thanks to KVMR 89.5 FM for making this realness session happen. I only hope to read more poetry next time. I want to say hi to Mia and all the Peace G. members everywhere! Also I want to let you know Vigdis Bjaroy, that I don't have access to computers in prison to answer any emails. I can answer you regular snail mail.
CLOSING THOUGHTS
May you all know, feel and release your power, love and realness energy in ways that enhance others, yourself and Mother Earth! Keep glowing and growing!
STAY REAL
Spoon Jackson
