There have been many times in my life where I have felt
something bigger that surrounds us.
Something that at times makes us do what we do and say what we say. Something that puts us in a situation to make
a difference, even in a very small way, to someone in our lives, sometimes we
don’t even know the players, we just react and often wonder about the timing
and results.
These instances are whispers from your soul. They are part of your spiritual journey and
do not need lightning bolts and thunder clasps to mark their reality. Timing is everything and being in the right
place at the right time is no mistake.
You are put there by your choice, or by the direction of the forces that
surround us, which are bigger and more mystical than we can imagine.
I have many real stories that defy realistic logic. Here is one that to this day amazes me and is
a true testament to the powers around and inside of us, if we only acknowledge
and utilize them.
First a little back drop, I was in my early 20’s, homeless
and searching for my way in life. I was
hitch-hiking around the country and found myself wandering around San Antonio,
Texas. I stopped at a convenience store
for a break and was outside sitting at the far end of the store whittling a
piece of wood with my knife. I guess
this unnerved someone because after about ten minutes the police showed up and
began to question me. I found this
interesting as I did not know I was doing anything wrong. Well, as it turns out 35 years ago in Texas
there was a law that you could not have a knife over a certain blade length in
public. I can’t remember the exact
length of my knife but apparently it was two inches or so longer than legally
allowed in public. Instead of just
confiscating it, the police decide to arrest me and off to county jail I
go. That’s where several stories
developed over the twenty days I spent in the San Antonio jail waiting for a
trial that resulted in time served and my release. I could write a book on these experiences, but
I’ll share the most dramatic one with you now.
City and county jails are holding areas for most of the
people there. Many are awaiting trials
that may take years to fully develop before they go to state or federal prisons.
Without bail money and proper legal advice many sit in anguish awaiting
their fate, whether guilty or not. The
only separation in most jails is male and female areas and isolation areas for
those who act mentally deranged or excessively violent while incarcerated. So you find yourself surrounded by murderers,
rapists, molesters, gangsters, extreme racists, and career felons even though
all you did was have a knife that was too long.
This was the exact position I found myself, not to mention I was one of
few Caucasians in a sea of American Negroes and Spanish Americans. I am not and have never been muscular and can count the
number of fights I’ve been in on one, well maybe two, hands. So the only defense I had in a world of
mostly hate and crime was my intellect and communication skills, which given
the scale of the surroundings was pretty high.
I realized from the first moments I was there I needed to make friends,
or should I say acquaintances, as you never really make friends with anyone in
jail. I realized I needed to be racially
neutral and reserved, to not make enemies, to search out the strong and console
the weak in any way I could. By these
measures I hoped to stay unharmed and alive to see another day. I also realized I needed to be friendly with
the guards who have one of the most difficult, dangerous, and often boring jobs
in our society. I say boring because many of their shifts are at night when
the cells are dimly lit and there is nothing to do but read and drink coffee to
stay awake. The cell I was in was one of
many open cell blocks housing 20 inmates with a common area and a couple of steel
toilets. The night guard would walk the
halls occasionally as he monitored several such community cell blocks. I had many a sleepless night and would often
sit close to the bars that lined the hallway and would strike up a conversation
with the guards. They knew what each
inmate was there for and knew I was different than most if not all the others
on the other side of the bars. One guard
in particular I made an acquaintance with after the first week and he would
often bring me a couple smokes and let me read his newspaper while we chatted
about who knows what. I do not know if
it was through these conversations or the way I handled myself with the other
inmates that led to this instance, but whatever it was it provided an
experience that both the guards or I will ever forget, and it certainly broke
the boredom for at least one night.
About three in the morning I was sleeping in my rack when
the guard I had been speaking with on most nights woke me up. I asked what was up and he said they had to
move me. I started to roll up my cot
which was the norm when you’re released or moved but he said not to worry about
all that, that he would have someone gather it up. I found that and the fact it was three in the
morning rather peculiar as we walked down the halls, but I was at their mercy
so I just followed along. We ended up at
the isolation area where inmates are housed in individual cells due to violent
outbreaks or mental instabilities and I started to get real nervous now as I
thought this was our destination. I also
thought it was strange that there were three guards now on site, one in front
and behind me and another further up unlocking the sally port doors to the
isolation area. They led me into an area
that had six individual cells and was very dimly lit with most of the light
coming only from the hallway. It was
very hard to see, but I could make out that all the cells appeared empty except
one. Two of the guards led me to this occupied
cell while the other stayed at the sally port door. My mind was confused but I just stood there
witnessing a horrific display of human existence.
The man in the cell was cuddled up in a sitting fetal
position with a blanket around himself.
There was no mattress or sheets, just him, a metal bunk and a
blanket. It was very dark but I could
tell he was shaking uncontrollably and could hear him mumbling under his
breath. If I had two words to describe him
it would be raw nerves. That was what my
mind thought of when I peered into the cell, a bundle of raw nerves shaking and
mumbling uncontrollably. The guard that
I had shared conversations with over the last week or so looked at me and said…
do you think you can calm this guy down?
He opened the cell and I said, do you have a couple smokes and a
lighter? He gave them to me and in I
went. He did not lock the cell door but
stood there with it barely cracked. The
second guard was next to him and the third was at the sally port door. I could tell they had my safety in mind, but
none the less I was nervous as I approached the metal bunk with the bundle of
nerves.
I sat down at the end of the bunk, looked at the man and
could see now that he was sweating profusely.
His hair was a tangled mat and he stunk of sweat and urine. I looked into his eyes and was greeted by
dark holes trying to pierce my soul. I
reached out and put a hand on his knee and said, how you doing buddy, you OK? I stared back into eyes as cold as hell
frozen over, with sweat dripping from his eyebrows and a body trembling in fear
and distrust. After a brief moment he
said in a barely audible voice, they want to torture me and kill me and feed me
to the wolves.
I considered this for a moment and said, dude I am a fellow
inmate and I can assure you no one here wants to kill you, we just want you to
calm down and get some sleep. He said,
sleep? Who can sleep when they’re chasing you night and day? His hand came out from the blanket and I
could see the bones through the skin, the long dark and dirty fingernails trembling. His face was drawn and unshaven for weeks,
his skin was pale and now if I had two words to describe him it would be…
living death.
I inched a bit closer to him and said, how long since you
last slept? He said he couldn’t remember. I considered this for a moment and remembered
the smokes and lighter. I looked into
those cold eyes as his trembling began to ease and said… you want a smoke? He
said he was dying for a smoke but noone would give him one. I reached into my jail issued shirt pocket,
pulled out two smokes, offered him one, took the other and lit his first then
mine. We sat there like that for a few
moments while enjoying one of the few luxuries in jail, a cigarette. I noticed the shaking had waned to trembles
earlier and now they were almost gone too.
He wiped his brow with the blanket and slowly began to relax. He stretched out his legs and scooched down a
bit to get more comfortable as our smokes were almost finished. I said you doing better? He said… the noise
has stopped. At this point his eyes began
to get heavy, his eyelids shut and he dropped the unfinished cigarette unconsciously
on the cell floor. I stomped it out, sat
there for a moment to finish mine and made sure he was OK. By the time I finished my smoke the trembling
stopped and he was asleep. I got up and
walked to the cell door and pushed it open as the guard stood there shaking his
head in disbelief. He closed the cell
door and we left the isolation area and walked the long hallways back to my
community cell. On the way I asked, what
was that all about? He said the guy was brought in earlier that night and no
matter what they tried they couldn’t get him to calm down. At one point he was climbing the cell bars
and howling like a wolf. I never asked
what he was brought in for and I never asked why they brought me to him. We walked in silence until I said….didn’t you
guys offer him a smoke? He said he
wouldn’t take one….he would spit at us and say we were trying to poison
him. I didn’t need to ask for I already
knew the shaking, sweating, mumbling man was on meth or some other drug that
had kept him up for days on end which resulted in his delusions, appearance and
behavior. As I lay down in my bunk, I
was now the one trembling and sweating as I realized I had just done something
few others could ever do. I thanked God
for giving me the strength and guidance to help that man, as my own fears
subsided and I fell fast asleep.
This is every bit a true story, and another example of how
your spirit can be led by forces around you to deliver when called upon.
On another day at another time that trembling
meth head may have tried to rip me apart, but on that night my spirit prevailed
and gained from the experience.
There
have been times in my life where I felt I could tame a savage beast and other
times when I was the one in need of being consoled and offered a smoke and a
kind word.
The forces we have in our
mind and will can and should never be underestimated.
They come in fleeting moments and you have to
recognize them and capitalize on them when they do, or else valuable life
lessons and spiritual experiences will be
lost.
The next morning I woke up and felt something in my pocket. It was the lighter, which in jail is like
gold. But that is the subject of a whole
other story. Be safe my friends and be
awake for the moments in your life when your words and actions can make a
difference in yours or someone else's life and spiritual journey. They are whispers from your soul before the
thunder of your spirit. Psalm 19 ✝️🙏🇺🇸🦅😎🐝
Post Edit/Pics 6/20/2023. 10:40AM EST 🐝🇺🇸
