All in Your Head

It was bitterly cold here the other morning.  The temperature, in the upper thirties, along with wind gust hitting thirty-five miles per hour made it feel even colder.  But like so many other days with lousy, frigid weather, my friend DC and I went out to run and workout.  Neither of us wore sweats.  And it was cold.  Once I got moving, I forgot about the chill, but it still took awhile to get use to.

We both headed in on a door break and guys looked at us like we were crazy.  “How can you go out there like that?” one guy asked DC.  He smiled and said “It’s all in your head”.  His words got me thinking.

Perhaps there is no better known Hymn in America than “Amazing Grace”.  That song crosses generations, races and denominations.  Something about the words, “saved a retch like me” – most of us don’t even know what a retch is – just resonates with us.  We claim it corporately; it’s a deeply personal, moving song that somehow makes sense to everyone.

Yet, the history behind the song is more profound.  John Newton was a British slave ship captain.  He’d made a number of cross-Atlantic trips from Africa, to the Caribbean, to the Eastern seaboard of the American colonies, then finally back to London.  Each trip was the same:  human cargo piled in cramped, filthy ship holds to the islands and colonies, and then crops and products back to England.

It was a good life.  He was paid well and regarded with respect by this peers.  In the eyes of society he was a success.  His life, however, took an abrupt turn on one return trip from the colonies.  Off the coast of Carolina, near Hatteras, Newton’s ship was caught in a horrendous storm.  The ship was forced onto the rocks and began to break apart.

It was dark.  The wind howled.  The rain poured down.  And, Newton’s ship cracked and tore open as the sea’s waves slammed it over and over against the jagged rocks.  Newton knew he was going to die.  This life-long member of the Church of England, a good loyal subject of the King and country, knew he would drown.  In those hours of fear and desperation he prayed not just to live through the night but also he faced God with his life.  He realized what a sinful life he led.  And, he asked his God to forgive him.

The next morning, he awoke to find calm seas and his ship still there on the rocks.  The sky around him was blue.  The sun shone.  He realized God had spared his life.  He wasn’t sure why, but he knew, God’s hand was in his life.

Sometime later, Newton penned the song “Amazing Grace”, built around his survival that night in the storm.  He returned to England, resigned his ship captaincy, and began a career as a church worker.  He was one of the driving forces in Britain’s decision to outlaw slavery.  For the remainder of his life he tried to understand the mystery that was his God.  He was saved for a reason.

This past week, I finished reading major league pitcher RA Dickey’s autobiography, “Wherever I Wind Up”.  It is not a typical sports story.  Dickey’s career has had more than its share of ups and downs.  To describe him as a journeyman pitcher would be an understatement.  He went from Olympic team member and first round draft pick to the minor league circuit, barely hanging on, occasionally getting called up.

He carried great secrets, baggage.  Sexually abused as a child, he presented the image of a happy, faithful husband and father.  Infidelity almost cost him his marriage.  An inability to throw effectively almost cost him his dreams.  He was separated from his wife, on the minor-league circuit, barely making enough to support himself and his family when he bet some teammates he could swim across the Missouri River.  He tried…and almost drowned. 

It was the beginning of a new life for Dickey.  His pitching improved. His marriage began to rebuild as he dealt with the pain and torment caused by his abuse.  Last year, Dickey won 20 games and the National League Cy-Young award.   Dickey’s book opens with the Latin maxim.  “Dum, spiro, spero”, which means “While I breathe, I hope.”

The human mind is indeed a funny thing.  It is capable of great thoughts, powerful, merciful, healing thoughts.  It is also capable of great evil.  “It’s all in your head”.  My friend DC doesn’t understand how truly insightful his words are.

In “Forever Young”, the classic ballad written by Bob Dylan, a father tells his children all his wishes for their future.  As I’ve written before, just moments after both my sons were born, as I held them for the first time and looked on the God-given miracle that is life, I whispered Dylan’s words to them as though by reciting them they would be imprinted with those characteristics of righteousness, mercy and courage.  One line, “May you always know the truth and see the light surrounding you”, would cause me to choke up, perhaps because I wanted desperately to feel that light around me.

I have come to see life in a new way in here, surrounded by men with lives so broken, angry, and lost.  In reality, they’re no different than anyone else.  We all have baggage and it builds up, weighs us down, and eventually we find ourselves pushed against the rocks.

There are days in here when I just can’t make sense out of what these men do.  I see utter mayhem in Syria, I see the tiny white coffins in Newtown, and I wonder what is going on.  None of it – my own feelings included – makes sense.   It is as if the whole world is drowning.  Then, I remember the season, Christmas, a time of hope, and I think RA Dickey was right.  “Dum, spiro, spero.”

“It’s all in your head.”  After finishing my workout I always stretch.  I lay down on the concrete, close my eyes, and recite Bible verses as I loosen my legs.  I lay there, eyes closed, saying in a whisper the words from the final four verses of Isaiah 40.  I memorized those verses my first week in jail as I struggled with my very survival.  They are words of hope and encouragement for a people who thought their God wasn’t seeing their loss and pain.  Isaiah reminded his people that God heard their cries.  “The everlasting God, the Lord, does not grow weary or tired….”  And then he reminded everyone that those who wait on the Lord will be given new strength.  “They will soar on wings like eagles.”

“Look at that, Larry.”  It was DC.  Directly overhead was a huge eagle, wings spread wide.  He was floating on the air currents circling round and round our ball court and rec yard.  He never flapped his wings; just soared.

Was it a sign?  I don’t know.  I know there are a lot of things wrong right now.  People are hurting – in here and out there.  So many are suffering.  Lives out of control with divorce and rejection, war, violence, loneliness.  But at this particular moment in time I choose to look elsewhere.  “It’s all in your head.”  There is good news.  Dum, spiro, spero.  While I breathe, I hope.  And hope will see us through.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

 

When Will They Ever Learn?

As I was working out a few weeks ago, Pete Seeger’s song “Where Have All the Flowers Gone” ran through my head.  After each stanza, from flowers to girls to young soldiers, to graveyards, Seeger ends with the same refrain, “When will they ever learn?”

To say I was unprepared for arrest and jail would be an understatement.  I was taken to the jail – in shackle and handcuffs of course – wearing my navy blue blazer, oxford collared shirt, khakis and Kenneth Cole dress shoes.  As opposed to most guys who know they’re about to get picked up and have on four pair of t-shirts, boxers and socks, I had one v-neck tee and a pair of green Italian silk boxers.

They took everything from me except my underclothes.  I was given two sets of puke green, elastic waist scrubs and a set of “Jackie Chans”, jail lingo for the 99 cent shower shoes they give out.  I was told by the property C.O. I could order my own sneakers, boxers and t-shirts from commissary.  And, feeling sorry for me – I was a pathetic mess – the officer helped me fill out my first “store” order.  I’d shown up in jail with $400.00 in my wallet that was immediately taken and put on my “account”.  I ordered three sets of white tees, boxers and socks and a $20.00 pair of Velcro sneakers.  “You’ll be able to get your stuff next Monday”, the officer told me shortly before I found myself in my first jail pod with no daylight, no quiet, and no hope.

That first week was horrendous and I fought desperately against self-destruction even as my whole “real” life was crashing around me. I barely survived that first weekend, had my moment of begging God to not abandon me, and somehow made it to Monday morning.  And, shortly after 9:00 that morning, the intercom called me to commissary.  That entire first week I lived in the same t-shirt and underwear.  Each night in my cell, I’d wash those clothes out with my state issued bar of soap and hang them to dry.  And I’d sleep “commando” in that uncomfortable jail-issued scrub set.

The sneakers.  I put them on at the commissary window and headed back to the pod.  It was the first moment of normalcy I’d enjoyed since my arrest.  Back in my cell block I walked around feeling – well – better than I had in a week.  Then I saw him. 

He was a young, muscular black kid, no more than eighteen.   He was sitting on a table, saw me and climbed down and began heading toward me.  I noticed his smile, devious is a good way to describe it, and also noticed the ten or so other guys in the dayroom suddenly moved toward the walls.

“Nice shoes”, he said.  Before I could respond he added, “Give em to me or else”.  My mind raced a thousand miles an hour.  I was forty-nine and wanted to die – or so I thought.  But, his words did something to me.  I put myself in a fighting stance, on the balls of my feet, hands fisted.  Then and there I decided I might get my ass kicked, but I’d always keep my dignity.

Divine intervention?  At that precise moment the young, female psychologist walked by our pod windows in a silk blouse and jeans that accentuated her petite frame.  My would-be assailant saw her and turned his attention to her.  In one of those tragic-comic moments you only see in prison, he began uttering lewd, grunted words to her while exposing himself.  In a matter of seconds the dayroom door sprang open and three beefy officers lifted “Casanova” off the floor and out of the pod.  I never saw him again.

There have been other situations where I’ve been threatened, sometimes by guys for whom violence has been a way of life.  It’s funny, but I don’t worry about it.  As I told a friend one time, it’s better to get beat up and keep your dignity intact than live with yourself out of fear.  But, those experiences have convinced me of the needless waste that is violence.

The other night a fight broke out in here.  Like most fights this one arose out of a stupid thing, a wager gone awry, and one skinny loudmouth telling a much larger guy “you ain’t gonna dispect me, bro.”  Within seconds the big man had lunged at skinny, landed at least six heavy “Whumps” to the head and chest, then began to choke him out.

And as with most fights in here, we all stopped and tried not to look, but also didn’t intervene.  In a minute or two it was over.  Skinny slinked off to his bunk gasping for air, only the blackness of his skin hiding his bruised and bloodied face.

I’ll never get use to the violence in here.  It jolts me and offends my sense of dignity and compassion.  And the more I see of it, the more I realize it’s just a stupid, stupid waste.

Were it only in here, I’d write it off as some depraved state of the incarcerated; you know “what do you expect from criminals?”  But then you watch the news; Syria, Egypt, Afghanistan, Chicago, Richmond, on and on the news details fighting and killing.  Gandhi once said “with an eye for an eye the world will soon be blind.”  Gandhi was a very smart man.

Violence is never the answer.  Violence begets violence.  I have watched too many men beat each other senseless in here.  Then again, I saw too many young men die and kill in the rice paddies of Vietnam and the sands of Iraq.  “When will they ever learn?”

I shared with a friend in a recent letter how much prison has changed my outlook on life, on people, on things in general.  Years ago, after that initial confrontation over my sneakers, I began getting up at 4:00 and reading the Bible.  I guess I wanted to understand why, why God, why things were the way they were.  I found more questions than answers.  But, I began to come away with a deep sense of awe over the infinite mystery that is God.

And I began to understand that we are all flawed.  Perhaps that’s why I keep thinking it all boils down to kindness, mercy, and forgiveness.

When will they ever learn?  After the fight, the big guy came up to me to talk.  Everyone else was joking on him, he said.  “Not you.”  And he told me he felt like crap about doing that, pummeling the loudmouth, skinny guy.  “I hate that.  Hate getting so angry.  Hate how I feel afterwards.” 

When will they every learn?  Maybe never, or maybe….