"Dawn"
Inspiring people. Transforming lives.
Awareness
in the Prison System
by Daniel Peralta
I have worked in the prison system for almost 12 years
now ...
Who knew that one day
I would be sitting in a room surrounded by murderers,
rapists, gangsters, thieves, thugs, pedophiles, drug addicts,
sex addicts and men who can’t seem to stop abusing
women.
There was nothing in
my life while growing up that remotely suggested that
one day I would be working with criminals. In fact, the
tendencies I displayed suggested the opposite. I appeared
to be a ‘good little boy’ who attended a private
school and enjoyed drama and speech. I loved pretty things
and beautiful people.
When I went off to
college, I had no idea what I really wanted to do. All
I knew for certain was that I had an insatiable appetite
for life and wanted to experience as much of it as possible.
And I did just that. I loved meeting interesting people
and to travel. By encountering all kinds of people in
various different cultures, I became fascinated with the
human animal. After eight years of being in and out of
college, I finally got a degree in the Psychology of Consciousness
from Antioch University and eventually became a teacher
and a counselor. In retrospect, I can see that the teacher
archetype was far more prominent in my life than I had
ever realized. I just never thought of pursuing it as
a profession.
My teaching experience
has ranged from pre-school to adult continuing education.
I have taught in the public and private school systems,
and for private organizations and churches. I have worked
with the mentally retarded, emotionally handicapped, and
the terminally ill. I have conducted workshops, seminars,
and professional training. I embody the teacher archetype
and thoroughly enjoy the variety of ways in which I express
it. But never did I ever imagine that my work would actually
take me into the prisons.
I had been teaching
self-empowerment courses for a few years when one summer
in the early 1990s I asked God to bring something new
and different into my life. Shortly thereafter, a student
in my course approached me and asked if I were interested
in teaching in the prison system. At first I was a bit
surprised. “The prisons?” I wondered. I knew
that I had asked for something new and different, but
I did not expect something that different. Naturally,
I had some reservations and thought about it for a week
before deciding to accept the challenge.
I believed then that
if I could teach inmates how to change their thinking
and to make better choices, they would develop self-esteem
and be capable of change. I was certain that if they just
followed the program I mapped out for them then they would
be rehabilitated. Needless to say, I was quickly humbled!
I had no idea what I was really getting into. It turned
out to be a world that was completely foreign to me. I
remember driving home from the prisons at night wondering
why I had been led to such a place. It seemed an unlikely
match since I was so dissimilar to those people and we
had inhabited such completely different worlds.
I was educated, articulate,
well traveled, and had been afforded many opportunities
throughout my life. The common threads that ran through
the lives of most inmates were poverty, lack of education,
and a history of abuse and neglect. Not only did this
not reflect my circumstances, but one other difference
seemed to separate us. I am openly gay whereas the typical
inmate was both macho and intensely protective of his
own masculinity. How could this possibly be a situation
that God had wanted? What in heaven’s name was God
up to?
I had entered this
prison work full of, enthusiasm, confidence, and determination
and had come out wilted, depleted, and confused. But true
to the warrior archetype, I refused to give up the fight.
I went in again rejuvenated, invigorated, and unwavering.
Yet out I came weary, wounded, and distressed.
What kind of job was
this? What was going on?
I had thought that
I had a plan, a formula, and a curriculum that was sure
to work. I was on fire with an “I can do it”
attitude, but in a very short time my plan had been squelched
and my spirit deflated. They just did not seem to get
it and this warrior appeared to be losing the battle.
At this point, my prayer became a very humble one: “Dear
God, if nothing else, just let me bring some love and
light into this place today.” From the time that
I uttered that prayer, my work began to change.
I can’t really
tell you how or why, but I knew that I was exactly where
I was supposed to be no matter how unlikely this might
appear. I also knew that far more was going on than what
I was immediately aware of. Something definitely compelled
me to get up every morning and walk back into the prison.
Initially, my goal
was to reduce recidivism by helping inmates pull themselves
together and heal their lives. This is no simple task,
and I am embarrassed at how naïve I was then to imagine
that it could be done with ease or done at all. The problems
surrounding inmates and their lives are so vast and complex
that there couldn’t possibly be a single formula,
plan, or curriculum that would work for everyone.
I have worked in the
prison system for almost 12 years now. I have been with
people who have committed every kind of crime -- from
petty misdemeanors to gruesome murders. Everyday I witness
the human propensity for darkness and every day I walk
into the presence of the shadow and realize that this
is my contract, my spiritual lesson. For what higher purpose
can the light be used if not to illuminate the dark? For
what higher purpose can love serve if not to soften the
hearts of the unloving?
I have discovered that
one of the greatest spiritual lessons of this work has
been learning to accept the “unacceptable”
and learning to love the “unlovable.” It is
very easy to love others when the people around you are
agreeable and you have a lot in common. It is quite a
different story, however, when you find yourself surrounded
by people that are, in your opinion, less than desirable
and maybe even repulsive. Herein lies the true test of
whether or not you are capable of being an authentically
loving human being. The depth, capacity, and quality of
our love is determined when we are confronted with the
very thing that we find most abhorrent.
How do you take someone
who seems to have done one cruel and inhumane thing after
another, and love him or her? How do you open your heart
to someone who has just killed their child or beat them
unconscious until they have inflicted permanent brain
damage? How do you extend compassion to a pedophile that
repeatedly rapes and molests one child after another?
How do you love these seemingly unlovable people? And,
why should we?
Guess what. The truth
is that I don’t know how to love these people. Yet
in my heart of hearts, I know that is what I am meant
to do. Just when I think I stretch my heart and open it
wide enough to love someone who repulsed me yesterday,
God brings in someone new who completely nauseates me.
Almost every day I am faced with somebody who revolts
me. And then I think reflexively and ask, “How many
people feel this way about me?”
I believe that learning
to love those whom we find most difficult to love is the
true test of our humanity. It has been said that the moral
fiber of a society can only be measured by the way in
which it treats its criminals. For this reason it is imperative
for us as a society to extend loving compassion to even
the cruelest criminals. Otherwise, how can we expect any
kind of fundamental change? We cannot heal violence with
violence and we cannot kill people, who kill people in
order to teach them that killing is wrong. Throughout
my work, I have been inspired by a phrase from G.T. Smith:
“If we treat people as they are, they will stay
as they are. But if we treat people for what they might
be, and might become, they will become their better selves.”
Yes, there are people
in the world who commit some of the most horrific, appalling,
and heinous crimes. These people should be removed from
society so as not to be allowed to further perpetuate
their criminality. It is not so much a question of letting
them go as it is learning how to put these people away
with compassion.
Criminals are not expendable
people. Are we not to give any consideration as to how
they became the way they are? Do we execute the wounded
child? Do we annihilate the addict? Do we blatantly ignore
the mental health issues that plague these people?
It is quite possible
that these people are mirror images of parts of ourselves
that are too painful for us to look at. Instead of demonizing
them, we might learn to see that they are a reflection
of our society and therefore everyone’s responsibility.
I once heard it said that every society gets the criminals
that it deserves. In a very real way, our criminals are
a reflection of our own capacity for darkness. We have
run from our shadow by minimizing it, denying it, and
projecting it onto others. Yet we cannot escape it by
any of these means. It is an undeniable truth of our reality.
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, one of the greatest teachers I
have ever met, said that we all have a Mother Teresa and
a Hitler within us and are capable of great love or great
evil.. It is just too easy to disassociate ourselves from
those whose behavior expresses extreme darkness when we
also possess the same capacity.
Since we live unavoidably
in a world of duality, then isn’t the shadow necessary?
If the shadow is necessary, t is inevitable that some
will live in the shadow and express its darkest core.
It seems then that there are souls with a contract as
it were to incarnate and embrace the shadow side of life.
These may be souls not so much meant to suffer and be
punished as to somehow levy the balance between light
and dark.
For years I have struggled
with these questions. The complexity of the problems encountered
has haunted me while the dense energy of working in many
different prisons has taken a toll on my body. If anyone
really wants to experience the vampire archetype just
visit a prison. You can find many other interesting archetypes
there as well. Here are but a few: rebel, warrior, addict,
bully, destroyer, sadist, thief, tyrant, predator, avenger,
slave, martyr, judge, trickster, con-artist, beggar, hustler,
wounded child, fool, gambler, and pirate. They are all
ingredients of the different energies that compose the
soup of incarceration.
For a long time I had
no idea of the effects the prison environment was having
on my energetic system and psyche. It was not until I
took some time off that I realized how toxic the energy
really was. Some days all I could do was to try and recover
my own soul because the fog had grown so thick. The water
seemed so deep and the sky so dark that I often got lost
in the thick of it. I had no idea how quickly I could
lose my power. I had to learn how an inmate, a guard,
or any issue, for that matter, could command my spirit
and render me powerless in an instant.
Enter Caroline Myss.
The perfect queen of no-nonsense, get your spirit back;
and retrieve your energy! Her cut to the chase, in your
face, and sometimes abrasive style was exactly what I
needed. I was captivated by her work. It provided me with
the depth of perception I needed to navigate my way more
effectively through the quagmire of the criminal mind.
Literal interpretations could no longer suffice. I had
to interpret every event, even criminal ones, through
a symbolic lens. What had been churning deep within my
soul for some time now felt validated. I was no longer
afraid to express what I had sensed all along -- that
criminals also have their Sacred Contracts that they are
living out.
Little did I know that
one day I would be sitting in the classroom with inmates
and a strange calm would befall me. I remember that day
as if it were yesterday. For however brief that moment
was, I could suddenly see beyond the illusions of our
physical lives. I had a sense that every prisoner was
exactly where they were supposed to be and the whole dynamic
of prison was unfolding according to a higher plan. Instead
of everything feeling so wrong, everything suddenly felt
right. I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, that there
was a divine reason for each and every incarceration and
that reason was different for each individual. I am thoroughly
convinced that the experience of incarceration is a pre-birth
agreement and every inmate in prison is living out the
terms of a Sacred Contract.
I do not pretend to
know what another person’s spiritual lessons are,
but I do know that each one has them. Everyday, in every
way, I am more deeply convinced that prison is a karmic
experience. I do not view karma as punishment or payback.
As I grow older and learn more, I realize that karma is
a very complex and multi-dimensional issue. A perspective
of karma that resonates with me is that it is a dynamic
through which we learn life’s lessons. Karma equals
lessons. Inmates have signed up to have the experience
of prison in their lifetime because on some spiritual
level it is serving the evolution of their soul. Yes,
prison is a spiritual experience. There is a higher, evolutionary
purpose to this seemingly dark and dismal existence.
I no longer accept
things for what they appear to be. In fact, appearances
are the least accurate interpretation of what’s
really going on. Learning to view life from a symbolic
perspective has probably been one of the most valuable
things I have learned from Caroline Myss. I have heard
her say repeatedly that we must release the need for human
justice and trust that there is divine justice. We must
surrender our human reasoning and embrace divine reasoning.
Learning to understand the prison experience has been
a long journey of surrender and acceptance for me. Every
day I am confronted with the lesson of learning how to
release my judgments and embrace the inmate in front of
me. I tell myself over and over again that every face
is the face of God, even the ones that least resemble
it. Constantly I remind myself that behind the gruff exterior
is a soul that wants to be loved regardless of its actions.
Even if that soul does not live up to its highest human
potential does not mean that it is unworthy of being loved.
Prison is and will
remain home to millions of individuals. It is very difficult
for an inmate to consider that prison may be the place
where they will die and yet, thousands of inmates will
die there. It is their path. It is where they must be.
Hundreds of thousands of inmates have become institutionalized
and I am not entirely sure that they can be deprogrammed.
I would be in denial if I claimed that every inmate could
become pro-social. It is apparent that some people are
unquestionably anti-social and just cannot function in
the society in which we now live. There is absolutely
no reason why these incarcerated individuals must be further
dehumanized and subjected to ever increasing punitive
measures that we already know do not work. We cannot dehumanize
people and expect them to embrace their own humanity.
As my colleague Robin
Casarjian writes, why can we not turn prisons into ‘Houses
of Healing’? Whether consciously or unconsciously,
criminals are ruled by their shadow self, and only by
confronting that shadow can healing ultimately occur.
Yet we do not know whether being ruled by the shadow is
not exactly what their soul needs in this particular lifetime.
What I do know is that we must provide the opportunities
for healing within the criminal justice system, if we
ever expect to see these criminals embrace their light.
Sometimes I see myself
as someone in a pitch black room who lights a match. For
a few brief seconds there is a dim light, but a light,
nonetheless. Then I have to blow the match out otherwise
it will burn me. Then the room becomes pitch black again.
. But there are some in the room lost in the darkness
who now know there is hope -- the possibility for light.
Sometimes I am a flashlight, shining a little brighter,
illuminating the room a little more, until my battery
runs out and its pitch black again. Later, I realize the
people in the room are comfortable in the dark. Some of
them actually prefer the dark. When that happens, I pray
not to judge them. Maybe they need to be in the dark and
I need to be in the dark with them trying to light my
match, lighter, or flashlight. Then I think, “Where
the hell is the light switch?”
I first walked into
the prisons hoping to transform inmates. Twelve years
later, it is I who am transformed. Some of the most significant
and pivotal moments of my spiritual journey have been
within the walls of a prison. Inmates have been, and continue
to be, some of my most important teachers. The logic of
the gods is paradoxical, as Caroline says, and some of
the most enlightening lessons for me have been in the
shadows.
Daniel Peralta
To respond to this story email lovedaniel@aol.com
