Realness people! One world, one people, one Mother Earth and one love to you. I am a little bit discouraged at the moment. Wondering does anyone really read these newsletters? Letters that I often pour my heart, my soul and my realness into. Does anyone care what I have to say? I have been putting out newsletter after newsletter for years now and yet, still I only get one or two responses now and then. When it is said the Internet is visited by hundreds of million people - perhaps a billion people. Shall I continue to do something that doesn't seem to interest many people. Yes, for the moment my inspiration is waning, and my heart is a bit lonely and my body, my being would cherish a hug. None of that matters right now. This newsletter is dedicated to all the people around who looks out for family and friends. For their sisters, and brothers, Mothers and Fathers and daughters and sons imprisoned around the world. This newsletter is dedicated to those who stand beside their folks no matter where or what the prisons are. This newsletter is dedicated to my brother Abe, along with the poem at the end of this section. Someone told me how men think it is hokey to express love even for your brother. Growing up, no one ever spoke of love. My own Father died without ever telling me he loved me. No one ever spoke of love. I love you, son. I love you, sister or brother. I love you, Mother or Father. In this often backwards society the love of money and war are the main thing expressed. Like dark rich new clouds fat with water forgets how to rain sometimes. We don't know how to love. Even though still my inspiration is waning. I had to write this newsletter and poem for my brother Abe who is dealing with cancer, and I don't know what to say. I wonder does anyone care about what I have to say, and what difference does it make. I know I made no difference when I was out there in the free world. Now I have not touched down in the desert on sweet Mother Earth in a long time. Yet, I know instead of loving, we look for excuses not to love or say we love. And to let love be what it is which is the essence of us all. Love is the brightest star in the universe. The brightest star in our soul - in the land of our hearts. Love is the light that links us all as one family expressed in many rays and beams. Love is the glow of our bodies. Just call me an idealistic nut or fool because I am sometimes. Always discovering more of who I am. Who I am beyond illusions; beyond good and evil - beyond black and white. Who I am beyond darkness and light. If I cannot be who I am? Why be anything? I must walk in my own shoes even if no one ever sees me or believes in me. I am to love myself but not love or even like some of the things I have done. The out word expressions of the unloved aspects of myself. I must weed through my garden and keep it real, and till the soil and embrace the weed roots and all before letting go. Before lying down in that peaceful place in the garden under a warm sun near the shade tree. Enjoying and being the moment. Yet, knowing there is more weeding to come. Knowing that life and love are bigger and deeper than these bodies we are in, that are in such a hurry to return to dust. Bigger than any kind of prison anywhere! Beyond these bodies we are ageless, hateless, timeless and spaceless. PRISON DAY I got up this Sunday morning the day they call spring forward for daylight savings time. And 5:00 Am became 6:00 Am. I did my morning routine and went out for work. On weekends I sit out in front of art room and loan out arts-in-corrections guitars to people on the instrument checkout list. The prisoners sit on the smaller yard and practice playing. Only two fellows came this morning. It is spring but Mother Earth is keeping a real chill in the air. Dark clouds hanging out deep in the sky deciding on whether or not to rain. It rained most of March here in this part of California. This first week of April has been full of April heavy rains instead of showers. Many March rain records were broken. Looks like the same rain breaking records may happen in April. It is all fine with me, because again there is no such thing as bad on good weather. There is just Mother Earth doing her thing. Going through cycles. We as a part of her must be in tune and in positions to flow with her. Yes, I do look forward to the sun and some sun rain. But it's neither good nor bad - it is just rain. The two fellows have turned the guitars in. Inside the art room the Rock 'n roll group was practising. The group lost three of their members because apparently they were skinhead gang members and a few of them got into it with one of the black gangs. So there are only two members left in the Rock 'n roll band. Now it's time for the R&B band to practice. But before all the members of the R&B group made it, an alarm went off and the yard was put down. We were all escorted back to the cages and the entire yard put on lock down. Rumours are that whites got into it. Another rumour is two blacks. Still another rumour is a black and a northern Mexican clashed. Someone else said a black and white got into fight. When the dust settles it will be much to do about nothing. And of course, that there never should have been a lock down. The powers that say lock down or no knew from the gate that the incident was not racial although people of different colour of skin were involved. Just a few moments ago the gun tower announced that all blacks and whites are on lock down. Now I am turning on my lock down mode and I have plenty to read and write. I have my colour pencils to draw peace G. birds and butterflies. We were to come off lock down today. But powers that say lock down decided to extend it. The word is for six weeks or more. No visits, no store and no movement outside the cells until further notice. There has been no race riot or anything.
WRITING STUFF
We held one writing class before the lock down. And it went well. I did another one in house writing lesson. I first read from a poetry book my mentor Judith edited out of a San Francisco youth program. These young people poems were brilliant and so real. Some of the poems were written by youth as young as seven. Kids still in touch with the poet inside them. I read a few of the poems before I told the class the ages of the authors of the poems. People were blown away with realness. Some people could not believe that young folk could write such poems. I read about ten poems to set the atmosphere. Then I gave the class the words " I remember..." as a prompt to the free writing session. The session lasted for about 20 minutes and it could have go on longer. People read some of what they free wrote. A cool guest poet from the streets, a spoken word poet brought in a poetry book called "Book of Qualities" where the author gave life to say freedom or love. We read some of the “Quality poems” from the book and then did a lesson on "Personification". Bringing to life such qualities as compassion, charm and wisdom - any quality they wanted. The "Book of Quality" is the same book Judith introduced me to back in San Quentin poetry days. The author of the book was named Ruth... Cannot remember the last name. We did a lesson back then, similar to the one we did in class here and it inspired my poem "Realness". I remember the young spoken word poet who brought the book in, I remember I recited the Realness poem to her and she immediately brought "Book of Quality" up. The guys came up with some good lines. Book club also met before the lock down. We discussed the book "The Kite Runner". The conversation was mainly about the central character in the book and whether or not he found or deserves redemption. I enjoyed reading the book and the kite duelling description in the beginning of the book I had not heard of before. The next book we are reading is "The Da Vinci Code". I have started it and so far for me it is just so-so. But it is starting to get better. With this silly lock down, there will be plenty of time to read it.
BIRD STUFF
I saw a very small bird about the size of a sparrow but thinner. I have seen this same bird a few times recently. I don’t know what kind of bird it is. It has a pencil lead thin beak and mangled colored body. It flies around in a darting type of way. It flies quickly, sorta spurts like it’s hopping or jumping in the air – fluttering its wings. It is cool to see this new bird in addition to the regular ones. The black birds, pigeons, crows, seagulls, red-tailed hawks and turkey vultures. I must look through my bird book and try to figure what kind of bird the little fellow is. Maybe I’ll just give it a name like dipper or air dancer. Once sitting out in front of the art room with ‘Sara’, the bird was at the feeding place about 30 feet away. I got a good 3 or 4 minutes look before someone came along and it fluttered away dipping in the sky like a modern dancer.
I miss seeing trees. The smell and feel of trees after a spring rain. I miss watching birds’ nest in them. I miss seeing them twig by twig build their abodes and raise their babies.
I can see trees in the distance from certain spots on the yard. I sometimes long to be near them like I long to be near a woman and to smell her scent. The aroma of a leaf – the touch of the bark. The blooming purple, white and red flowers. The clinging moss hangs like blue dreadlocks from the trees. I long to put my arms around the trunk as far as they will go.
Oh, ‘Sara’ is still not back to herself and has only one leaf. I don’t know what’s wrong. I have changed the soil. Still giving her tender care. Yet with this lockdown. I hope she will survive and thrive.
STAY REAL SECTION TRIBUTE
(for my brother Abe Jackson) I don't know what to say - imprisoned long enough for you to retire from your job with full benefits Death has taken so many of us now - our Ma, our Father brothers, I never knew Rosevelt, Leroy and Arthor But through all that death - Ma's and Dad's long sickness and my decades of incarceration You are the power, the blood that runs through the veins of us all - one family's heart beat You kept death at boy away - from Ma as she slipped away bedridden for years You kept Dad smiling as limb after limb were chopped off by diabetic lust until there was nothing left to chop but a heart that could not be quartered like a leg of lamb You are there for your wayward brother, still in prison after decades Out of 15 brothers you are the only one I have come to know The one who keeps my name alive at family reunions and holidays The only one who can rally us all together like a family of elephants Now in your time of need may the family we are Rally round you like a heard of elephants protecting the centre / Spoon CLOSING THOUGHTS May realness prevail in all that is going on in your lives. May you find peace and growth on both sides of your paths. Peace G. be with you!
In Realness Spoon
