In my work with our nation’s 2.3 million men, women and children locked away in prisons and jails, I have witnessed the transformation of lives to such a degree that I might have considered them miracles, had I not also participated in the individuals’ ability and then choice to apply simple positive decision-making tools to their lives which led to the miraculous change. When tools for positive decision-making are learned and then applied, miracles seem to emerge on their own and quite naturally, like a single wild flower in a barren desert landscape.

This type of miracle, the transformation of an entire life, is not so much divine intervention resulting from hours of solitary prayer in some jail cell but, rather, a natural result of making consistent choices. Somehow, when applying simple tools for positive decision making for a sustained period of time, increasing numbers of men, women and children experience freedom from the seemingly never-ending Loop of Harm which has plagued their lives and perpetuated additional injury to themselves and others.

I have witnessed these life-changing “miracles,” these little wild flowers blooming in the desert, in my role as founder and executive director of Getting Out By Going In (GOGI), a nonprofit organization dedicated to the teaching and sharing of tools for positive decision making we call the Twelve Tools of GOGI. My life is spent in the barren environments of our nation’s prisons and jails. My life’s calling is to share twelve simple tools for positive decision making which are designed to help anyone, anywhere, get out of their own mental prison by going inward for the answers.

My work with GOGI has consumed a decade of my attention and dedication. And, as a result of meeting with tens of thousands of incarcerated individuals, and after listening, strategizing, and then teaching and empowering, I can say with great certainty that positive change is neither as difficult as we perceive to obtain nor is it challenging for us to maintain. What keeps us tethered to pain in our lives is the Loop of Harm, reliving the thoughts, words or actions which have failed to get us better results. This Loop of Harm, which feels so real, which causes so much pain, is actually nothing more than an illusion, a cloud of disempowerment which obscures our view of the vast levels of freedom available to any living being, incarcerated or not. The Loop of Harm can be eliminated with one simple tool: FORGIVE.

The Incarcerated Understand the Loop of Harm

No other group of humans has caused more harm or had more harm thrust upon them than the incarcerated. In our nation we have 2.3 million men, women and children who sit in tiny cells in prisons and jails scattered in every corner of the country. I have listened to their histories, their childhoods, their crimes, their addictions, their excuses, their reasons, their regrets, their sorrows and their resolve to make things right. With a majority of our incarcerated emerging from neglect, poor parenting, poor education, lack of supervision, abuse, abandonment, mental health challenges, and self-medicating addiction, our nation’s incarcerated have taught me a thing or two about FORGIVE.

In working with those who have the most to FORGIVE, or the most to be forgiven for, I have had the opportunity to look more closely at the components of the process of FORGIVE, as those who seek forgiveness and those who forgive are oftentimes the first individuals to break the cycle of the Loop of Harm. I have observed the lives of individuals who live in the Loop of Harm perpetuated by the cloud of self-injury called guilt, remorse, blame, shame, insecurity and hopelessness. These individuals re-live the harm over and over again, at the expense of creating an environment for healing. This does not mean it is appropriate to avoid feelings of guilt or remorse; what it means is that at a certain point, the Loop of Harm must come to an end and the feelings and actions of the individual must move beyond the harm to a more positive and productive state. Even in experiencing or causing the most unforgivable act, FORGIVE will put an end to the perpetuation of additional injury to self and others.

Forgiveness is not FORGIVE

Here is what I now understand through conversations with convicted criminals (which make up the most prevalent conversations I have held over the past 10 years): There is a difference between “forgiveness” and the GOGI tool FORGIVE. Forgiveness is a concept which is oftentimes hard to grasp while the GOGI tool FORGIVE provides specific actions which lead to forgiveness. Until we have the tools to move beyond the harm, until we can move into action with forgiveness, we are caught in the Loop of Harm, perpetuating injury to self and others long after the initial injury. Putting an end to the Loop of Harm is what happens when FORGIVE becomes a set of actions.

Here actions related to the GOGI tool FORGIVE:

1) FORGIVE REQUIRES PROTECTION – Getting distance from the injury.
2) FORGIVE IS ABOUT TIMING – Obtaining an adequate level of experience and learning beyond the injury.
3) FORGIVE STOPS THE HARM – Achieving a disconnection from injury.
3) FORGIVE IS FREEDOM – Creating decreased likelihood of similar injury and increased levels of service to others.
Let’s look at each of these four actions steps individually:

FORGIVE REQUIRES PROTECTION

FORGIVE cannot occur while one remains close to the possibility or experience of harm. Here are a few examples: A mother wants to help her son who has a meth addition, but every time the son comes home, the contents of her purse somehow end up missing. The mother tries to follow her religious belief and be a woman of forgiveness, knowing forgiveness is something she believes is important. She tries over and over again, but she keeps getting hurt, financially and emotionally. He promises he will stop and he does for a week or two, but he then vanishes in the middle of the night for a few weeks with her money, a piece of jewelry and one more chunk of her heart. This illustrates the critical key to FORGIVE. FORGIVE cannot happen for as long as the harm is still occurring. In fact, the mother is actually perpetuating and participating in the creation of new harm by attempting to FORGIVE without first securing adequate protection. The mother must have adequate protection from additional harm before FORGIVE should be undertaken.

Here are a couple more examples: A young girl cannot FORGIVE an abusive neighbor for as long as the neighbor has the potential to continue the abuse. And a boy cannot FORGIVE a bully at school for as long as the bully is perpetuating the harm. FORGIVE requires protection—protection from immediate injury to self or others.

But FORGIVE is not just about being out of harm’s way.

FORGIVE IS ABOUT TIMING

Age is often the determining factor in the timing aspect of FORGIVE. This is because during the years of our youth we experience many things for which we have no protection or from which we cannot protect ourselves. The beauty of aging is that there comes a time when we are no longer automatically the victim because of our size or dependency on adults. Even if we have caused the harm, age permits us the time and the ability to choose to strengthen ourselves beyond our injurious behaviors. Timing allows us to use learned and naturally occurring competencies and coping skills to FORGIVE.

Here are some examples. Rilen is spending the rest of his life in prison for committing a murder. In working with him to help him make better decisions in his life, he revealed that his father locked him in a dog cage outside of the house for many years of his youth. The treatment and abuse which were wielded upon this young child are truly unspeakable. When working on the GOGI tool FORGIVE he stated that until he was able to LET GO and FORGIVE, he continued to live in that cage. Only when he could FORGIVE was he set free from the cage of his abuse. FORGIVE freed him from the cage in his mind which could have existed long after he was released.

Another prisoner who I will call “Sally” was placed in a deep freezer by a stepfather who had burned her body with the ends of his cigarettes while forcing unthinkable sexual acts upon her. Her inability to FORGIVE kept her locked in to that abuse, causing sleepless nights, a lack of trust in all men and overuse of drugs to self-medicate. She could not feel “safe enough” to permit FORGIVE to free her. She remained trapped in the Loop of Harm and her entire life played out as if she remained in the deep freezer.

FORGIVE STOPS THE HARM

The most challenging aspect of harm is reconciling the fact that the person causing the harm seems to move beyond the harm with no problem. They leave you in the Loop of Harm and simply move on, creating other loops for other victims. The injured person may even sustain more injury as a result of the person’s callous ability to simply move on. The Loop of Harm is exacerbated when the person causing harm smiles, threatens, or pretends nothing happened.

Here is a real-life example: For his entire childhood, a man suffered at the hands of his father. Beatings, drunken rages and verbal abuse were commonplace. The son eventually succumbed to the drinking he so hated in his father and lived out a couple of tortuous decades becoming the very thing he hated. On the father’s deathbed the son said, “Dad…I FORGIVE you.” This was a big step for the son who had committed himself to a life of sobriety and moving beyond the horrors of his childhood. The father, who showed a moment of lucidity for the first time in several weeks, clearly stated, “Forgive me? Forgive me for what? What did I do? I didn’t do nothin’.” The father denied, until his dying moment, that he had inflicted harm of any kind. By acting on FORGIVE, however, the son was released from the persistent harm caused by the father, even though the father left this world believing he was guilty of nothing. If the son had gotten angry that his father would not accept responsibility, the son would have been thrust right back into the Loop of Harm and may have returned to the behavior he was struggling so diligently to overcome.

Later, the son reported that FORGIVE did not need to be a two-way street, nor did his father need to correct his behavior for FORGIVE to work. FORGIVE was the only way the son could get himself out of the Loop of Harm. FORGIVE was the only way to stop additional harm, irrespective of the participation of the other person.

FORGIVE works because it automatically stops the pain and instantly removes you from the position of victim. For as long as you do not FORGIVE you agree to play the part of the victim in the Loop of Harm. When you FORGIVE, you are no longer the victim in the Loop of Harm.
FORGIVE does not mean the harm did not happen. Rather, FORGIVE means you no longer agree to be the victim of the harm.

FORGIVE IS FREEDOM

Freedom from something provides us with freedom for something else. But, for as long as we participate as a victim, we cannot be free to be anything else. Some people might argue, “But, my entire life was ruined because of it. How can I not be a victim?” But what happened in the past is not the question. The question is, are you ready to out of the Loop of Harm which has been directing your life? The individual in the center of the Loop of Harm might reply, “But my entire life will be spent in prison because of my drug use. I can’t FORGIVE myself.” To that person, I would suggest that for as long as they wish to remain in the Loop of Harm, that is how long they will be a victim of their actions. If that is for the balance of their life, then they will exist in the Loop of Harm for the balance of their days.
Some of the most internally free individuals I have ever met will live the balance of their lives behind bars. They have made the conscious choice to not have their previous actions limit the service they can provide to others. They have decided that no matter what they have done, they want deeper and deeper levels of spirituality or religion; they long to be of service and put an end to the destruction of their community.
Even if we are the most persistent perpetrators, and even if we have wielded great harm on those we love, FORGIVE can provide a level of freedom which allows for great purpose in living: the purpose of being an example of the level of freedom which can be attained through service to others. Here is an example: At 17, a young man participated in the shooting murder of a rival gang member. He was sent to prison for the rest of his life. For as long as he behaves, thinks, and acts like a murderous gang member, he is not only perpetuating the harm he caused, but he is causing greater harm by perpetuating similar actions through his example. When he can FORGIVE himself, he can become an advocate for change, a teacher of the youngsters who falsely believe in and follow their gang mentality. Until he can FORGIVE, he continues to perpetrate harm on his community. When he removes himself from the Loop of Harm and no longer participates in the harm in any way, he then becomes part of the solution.

Putting FORGIVE into action items places the responsibility where it should be: with you. Forgiveness is a nice concept, but until it is broken down into do-able steps, it is a concept which often eludes us, causing us to sometimes feel inadequate or weak. FORGIVE, however, when used as a cognitive tool for healing, gives us four critical actions we can take to prepare ourselves for the freedom we can achieve from any atrocity we have inflicted or which has been inflicted upon us. In fact, most incarcerated individuals have a Loop of Harm filled with abuses they experienced before they became the abuser or the person causing harm. Regardless of how big or powerful your Loop of Harm may be, to act on FORGIVE and get out of the Loop of Harm is an option. Remaining in the Loop of Harm is a choice we can make, but it is not the only choice. And FORGIVE is the GOGI tool you can use to unlock the prison of your mind.

According to the GOGI Calendar, 2012 is the Year of FORGIVE, a year of focusing on the great power inherent in the freedom which comes from no longer participating in the Loop of Harm.

Is FORGIVE a tool you are prepared to use as you create the experience of this New Year? Here is the test. Just ask yourself the following four questions:

Am I in harm’s way, or is there a chance I may still cause harm if I attempt to FORGIVE?
Do I have enough information and am I strong enough to FORGIVE?
If I am no longer the victim, what am I? What might I become, if I am no longer a victim?
Am I prepared for the responsibility freedom provides or is it easier to remain in the Loop of Harm?
When you have the answers to these questions, you will know what must be done to free yourself. This new year is yours to create. FORGIVE can provide you with a ticket off the Loop of Harm, a freedom which will permit this year to be the best year yet. Are you ready?

FURTHER STUDY:
For individuals interested in FORGIVE, here are some questions for you to consider and actions for you to take:
1) FORGIVE REQUIRES PROTECTION – Getting distance from the injury. IS FORGIVE RIGHT FOR YOU? When considering if you can FORGIVE or not, ask these questions: “Am I in harm’s way, or is there a chance I may still cause harm if I attempt to FORGIVE? Is there protection from future harm?” These are the most critical questions to ask when embarking on FORGIVE. If you can honestly say that you are not in immediate danger, then FORGIVE will work for you. If you do not have protection, it is your opportunity to seek and secure protection so you can begin to FORGIVE.
2) FORGIVE IS ABOUT TIMING – Obtaining an adequate level of experience and learning beyond the injury. IS FORGIVE RIGHT FOR YOU? If you are considering FORGIVE, the question you can ask is: “Do I have enough information and am I strong enough to FORGIVE?” If the answer is “yes” then FORGIVE will work for you. If you do not believe you have the strength or new learning which you can depend on, then FORGIVE will not work. You must first learn more and be strong enough to believe you can avoid similar harm. If you are not strong enough, do what it takes to gain strength. If you do not have enough new learning, you can do whatever it takes to increase the knowledge you have.
3) FORGIVE STOPS THE HARM – Achieving a disconnection from injury. IS FORGIVE RIGHT FOR YOU? If you are considering FORGIVE, here is a question for you to ask yourself. “If I am no longer the victim, what am I?” Sometimes remaining a victim is a subtle permission for you to be less than your potential. Does remaining the victim provide you with something to think or talk about? Does it provide you with a legitimate reason not to be successful? Or happy? More often than not I find that the Loop of Harm, or consistently ruminating over a previous abuse, is a grand excuse to remain disabled. Is that what you do to yourself? “If I am no longer the victim, what am I? What might I become, if I am no longer a victim?” These are your questions in the process of FORGIVE.
4) FORGIVE IS FREEDOM – Creating decreased likelihood of similar injury and increased levels of service to others. IS FORGIVE RIGHT FOR YOU? If you are considering FORGIVE, you can ask yourself this question. “Am I prepared for the responsibility freedom provides or is it easier to remain in the Loop of Harm?” If you can accept the responsibility inherent in freedom, then, by all means, FORGIVE yourself and others. If you are not prepared for uncomfortable levels of responsibility which are inherent with freedom, then do whatever you can to prepare yourself through study, prayer, service and practicing tools for positive decision making.

These incidents can serve as a reminder for each of us to reflect on the example we are setting in our own lives.  Are we living our lives with increasing, or decreasing, reliance on the latest products and services which entice us further into the web of dependency?  With every thought, word and action are we moving closer to or further from increasing self-sufficiency and internal freedom?

Products have never proven to provide lasting pleasure.  Just look at anti-depressant medication sales, prescription medication addiction, illegal drug use and alcoholism, as well as addiction to shopping and food over the past several decades.  The richer we become as a nation and the more products we buy with our money, the more frequently we as a people turn toward anti-depressants, illegal drugs and alcohol, overeating unhealthy foods. Subtly, and without much notice, we’ve become a nation of addicts floundering in a futile effort to assuage feelings of loneliness, hopelessness and sadness.

While the U.S. comprises only four percent of the world’s population, we have 25 percent of the world’s prisoners.  We, as a nation, have more criminals behind bars than any other nation in the world.  Is this because people in the U.S. are criminals?  Or is it because we have followed some really weak examples and drifted too far from the core human values which determine the destiny of any nation?  Is it possible we have a nation of addicts who are lost and prone to commit crimes in an effort to feed an addiction they believe will help them deal with their internal misery?

Have we, as a nation, forgotten that no product on earth can replace the joy which comes from living a simple life committed to a set of core human values which allows us to sleep well at night and not look over our shoulder during the day? Do we even teach our children that living a life committed to core human values permits us the undying pleasure of a steady hand and a clean soul?   Do our school children know that there are core values which exist in cultures across the globe and, absent these core values, humans are prone to suffer?

I remember when I was sitting with a tiny young boy, maybe 12 or so, who had been sent to boy’s camp for breaking the law.  He was seated in an office where I was looking at my files and planning my day as a volunteer working with the 100-plus boys in the detention setting.

“What are you in here for?” I asked.

“Bur-gur-ee?” he said with a question in his voice.

“You mean burglary, with an L.  Bur-gla-ry,” I repeated so he could hear the word correctly. “Say that.  Bur-gla-ry.”

He said the word correctly.

“That means you went into someone’s home when they were not there and took some of their things. Right?” I asked.

He nodded.

By the size of him, I knew the drill.  He couldn’t have been more than 70 pounds, at most.

“You probably were the one they had go through the window and open the door, right?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Yeah. Well, it’s not good for you to take things that you have not earned.  I bet it feels bad, right here,” I said, placing my hand on his heart.

He dropped his head and started to cry.

“It’s ok,” I said, putting my hand on his back.  “I want you to sit up straight.”

He did.

“Keep your head up and listen to me.”

He followed my instructions.

“One day, you will learn that it does not make you feel good to hurt others or take their things.  That is what we call integrity.”

He looked up at me with eyes that spoke of a desire to know more.

“Have you ever heard the word called integrity?” I asked.

“Nah,” he replied, as if sensing he was missing out on something.

“Integrity is a powerful word.  Integrity means you are a soldier for good.  You agree to protect others, not harm them, and that you will never take anything that does not belong to you.  That is being a soldier for good. That is integrity.  Integrity will make your heart feel really good,” I said before he was taken into the two-minute meeting with his probation officer to receive punishment for an outburst which got him into trouble.

As he walked away, I hoped something would stick deep within his heart which might surface later and motivate him to seek more information about core values such as integrity.  His prognosis for the near future, however, was less than bleak.  It was almost pointless to tell him about integrity because he was not being returned to an environment where  integrity could exist.  His mother was likely not around much, since it was highly probable she was both mother and father, unless she was incarcerated.  If it was grandma raising him, she was likely overwhelmed.  In the neighborhood where he was living, the other situationally orphaned boys of the neighborhood had probably adopted him into their gang and were the father figures he longed for and needed.  Bur-gur-ee was just something his “adopted family” of lost boys did, without question and without conscience.

Why is integrity not taught in school, I wonder?  It is not associated with any specific religion, so it can’t come under fire for the “separation between Church and State,” concept contained in the First Amendment to the Constitution.  How did core values somehow get tossed out when we decided religion should be something done outside of government-funded buildings, anyway? Why didn’t we keep the core value teaching component of religions inside our nation’s buildings when we shut out the churches?

It is not a religious belief but, rather, an inevitable fact that lasting pleasure, the kind that cures the suffering currently afflicting our nation, only comes from making choices which are old fashioned, outdated, and unvalued in today’s society. They were the values taught by religion but certainly not exclusive to any religion.  Those things are: honesty, integrity, humility, honor, loyalty, working diligently, being a person of your word, maintaining cleanliness of body and mind, sharing and being generous of heart, displaying acts of kindness and compassion, just to name a few.

Religion taught us those things, but religion need not have the exclusive claim on core values.  Consequently, what has emerged is a short-term, pleasure-seeking society addicted to the quick fix of illusionary pleasure. Rest assured that if it is not the subject of a reality television show, then it is likely to be a core value leading toward internal happiness.   If it appears on a reality show, it is possibly an example of what is weakening the core of our nation.

This fact remains: as a nation, we are only as strong as our weakest citizens.  If there is any segment of our population that believes an item can secure happiness, then we are witness to the kind of thinking which erodes the very fabric of any country.  While there are those who, unfortunately, have drifted from living a good life and traveled far from the shortest path to internal freedom, their plight is a valuable opportunity for us to check our own potential to fall off course.  They provide an example of what happen when we travel too far from the core values which ultimately make us happy.

What is the solution to the problems resulting from a nation with a large segment of the population focused on possession of today’s latest trinkets?  The answer is not to hand out trinkets for all, as that only perpetuates hunger for the meaningless.  The answer is that each one of us has the opportunity to dig deeper into the timeless happiness which comes from living a life rich in core human values. Then, to solidify our own internal happiness, we may become an example for others through our choices.  Those individuals who are able to survive the misery caused by misconception will be those who turn their focus to that which guarantees internal happiness: timeless core human values which have been promoted as holding importance in nearly every religion and every culture known to man.

As this year turns into the next, 2012 holds within it the possibility of becoming the Year of the Example.  Rather than an example of excess and frantic struggle for internal peace, maybe you can join the increasing number of individuals who are choosing to set an old-fashion and yet timeless example of living a life focused on core human values.

Maybe 2012 is your year to decline to participate in anything which erodes your own fabric of lasting internal happiness.  It is always possible to complain about the greed and gluttony of others and feel  slightly better about your own life.  It is also possible to witness the misdirection leading to the suffering of others and use it as a reminder of your own human frailties, turning, rather, to strengthen your world from the inside out.  Will you choose to complain or seek a deeper solution within your own life?

The solution to our nation’s problems is not found outside of ourselves.  It is not about fixing the other person or instituting a global change of the system.  The only lasting solution is found within each individual, when the individual’s core values are so profoundly strong, that others are changed as a result of the example being set.   It’s only when people change their own internal systems,  that the systems of governments and organizations can accommodate the change.  Until the individuals within the system change, the system cannot sustain change.  Systems do not change people for the better because only people can change people for the better.  This change comes only through examples, witnessing others who are living, walking, and breathing examples of all that is possible when one’s choices in life are consistent with core human values.   There is enough power within one single individual to change an entire world.  Lasting change only occurs when one single individual makes the commitment to be the example for others to follow.  Then, when enough  individuals change, the system will automatically self-correct to accommodate the emerging needs.  The system is the servant of the individuals it is intended to serve.  It will change when the individual changes.

If you choose this coming year to be an example of good in your very own household and neighborhood, you are choosing to have the most lasting positive impact on our world. No act  is as powerful as a living example of core human values in action.  And, by your choices in 2012, you will show to the world what is important to you.  Know this: as the clock strikes the magical hour when one year is considered the past and a new opportunity emerges, 2012 will become yours to create.

With this new year there comes an  inevitability: every human being will be  an example of something.  Will you be an example of how to perpetuate the cycle of suffering with your choices, just another person on the pile of our nation’s miserables? Or will you join the increasing number of individuals who have grown weary of the struggle for a momentary pleasure and who are now setting an example of getting out of their self-imposed prison by going inward for the answers?

This year of 2012 calls for you to think before you follow the human lemmings headed over the cliff in one big product-driven consumer orgy.  2021 is the Year of the Example, of those blindly falling over the cliff and of those who are standing firmly committed to the core values proven to provide inner peace.

Be mindful of the example you set by your thoughts, your words and your actions. Tend to every moment of every day as if it defines the very core of who you are.  In a very real way, it does.

I am curious.  Why must we wait until we hit bottom, we land in jail, we end up bankrupt, or we find ourselves divorced before we aggressively seek the tools for positive change?  I have no answers here, other than human nature tends to focus on pleasure.  Oftentimes change, real change, is perceived as hard work.  As Coach Miss B and Coach Amy and I worked with the 100 + incarcerated women of CCWF yesterday, however, the change process was fun, and playful.  The women were tasked with the goal of teaching the Twelve Tools of GOGI through dance, song, poetry or any other means which would entertain and be fun.  At the end of our time together they had coordinated a talent show that rivaled anyone on AMERICA’S GOT TALENT.  In a series of skits and songs and participatory games, The Twelve Tools of GOGI were learned and reinforced among the women.  My favorite was possibly the song.  It was a beautiful testament to the value of the human soul.   The song, with the lyrics “We are GOGI, women of integrity.  Inner freedom is our goal, GOGI 4 Life!” was sung in a round with 100 beautiful voices ringing out like the voice of angels.

Coach Miss B is minding the speed limit of 60 MPH as we pass the prison-populated small towns of this Central California valley area.  Coach Amy is napping.  I am, as usual, taking every possible opportunity to share my world of GOGI with the world.

I have witnessed the fact that change happens, even in those who society feels are unchangeable.  Maybe, someday, we humans won’t wait till the bottom falls out of our life before we embrace the opportunity to make lasting change a fun-filled experience.   That would be my hope; that The Twelve Tools of GOGI are a playful addition to the academic requirements of all school children in the US, empowering individuals with critical tools for positive decision making long before the first bad decision sucks them into the rabbit hole from which they must struggle so desperately to escape.

As I glance up from the screen of my new Mac Book, which is not quite as intuitive as the ads proclaim, it appears as if people are talking, but no one is really listening. They all appear to be on a sort of anticipatory pause waiting for a break in the words so they might cram their words into the open space. It’s more like an intricately timed overlapping of words between sips of overpriced hot water dripped over coffee beans.  From the chair I claim as temporarily mine, it seems as if words are what link us together, connect us, keep us tethered together in some superficial illusion of mutual understanding.

I suppose it is true, words are inescapable in this world where if it is not verbalized, texted, or tweeted it probably does not exist.  I take that back.  I popped into a drop-in massage studio last week and the Thai-looking petite woman who earned $45 an hour for working the knots out of my shoulders did not initiate the lobbying of comments or questions. Maybe she understood any conversation would have been forgotten as soon as the next client walked through the door. Or, maybe she didn’t speak English.  Whatever the reason, it was a sweet reprieve, not to hear words for a full 50 minutes.  Attempting to maximize the experience, I did my best to banish words from my thoughts during that blissful, wordless moment in time. It was truly a glorious escape from the almighty word.

I have been giving serious consideration to living a year of my life in silence. You read that right.  Not speaking for an entire year.  Saying nothing for a full 365 days.  As I seek deeper levels of a spiritual existence while doing my time on our lovely little planet Earth, it seems as if words frequently obstruct the spiritual journey, or, at the very least, slow down its progress.  Absence of words, then, may provide me with a rare opportunity to truly listen to the world around me. It might help me figure out a few lingering issues about life’s purpose and how best to serve others during my tenure here.

Can you imagine how you might perceive your world if you could truly observe all of its nuances while relieved of the obligation of adding your own commentary?  I wonder if those things that consume your thoughts would remain important if you did not empower them with a few paragraphs of opinion.

Listening is most certainly underrated.  Most individuals applaud the skilled wordsmith and orator.  We elect officials by their choice of words, not by a record of their deeds.  We marry and divorce due to words, not on the development of relationships that withstand harsh words.  We buy in to words telling us what we need to own, plunging our families and our entire nation into debt from which we must struggle to recover.

We are missing the fact that the true value of the life experience is found in carefully listening, and paying attention to the words chosen by others.  Listening permits us to learn, to assess and to experience the words of others.  When we speak, we tell the world a great deal about us, like turning over our hand in a critical poker game.  With our word choice, we reveal our limitations, our weaknesses, our preferences, our educational level as well as our interests and desires.  When we listen, however, we can observe and learn those things in others.  The person who speaks is exposed, in a way.  And their intentions will eventually surface if we let them chatter long enough.  Interestingly enough, the person who remains silent is in the optimal place of learning, able to take in all the information and eventually make the most powerful decision.

I remember the first time I instructed an entire module of female inmates held in the Los Angeles County Jail that I wanted them to be completely silent, not to say a word, not utter a peep for 24 hours.  I did this because there was a heightened amount of gossip ripping and the fabric of the therapeutic work I was doing with the women.  Rather than attempt to hold back the tidal wave of cross talk, I silenced them.  That night, as I closed the day with the closing of my eyes, I wondered how my students were doing, wordless for 24 hours, some wordless for the first time in their lives.

The following morning when I entered the silent module I received the requisite reports of minor infractions of “Coach Taylor’s Law,” but I was more surprised by what was shared after all the violations were reported. A majority of the women were grateful, grateful they were relieved of the obligation of communication. They told me they loved the silence, welcomed the disconnection for a period.  It gave them time to reflect on their life choices, to think, to meditate, and to pray.

As for my own life, I have maintained silence for a full 72 hour period when completing my ordination as an Interfaith Minister.  I chose 72 hours of silence simply because I did not want to engage in superfluous conversations. I did not want the distraction of words that may have gotten in the way of my ability to focus on my ordination and my commitment to helping people find internal freedom, regardless of where they awake each morning.

Silence is the subtle, and rarely used key to internal freedom. Silence empowers us to turn within for the answers to life’s questions, which are where powerful and life-changing answers reside.

What will I find if I choose a full year of wordless observation of life and the living?  What might happen within my heart and soul if I am not required to verbalize my experience?  Will my life experience be diminished or enhanced if I am unable to label them with a combination of A-Z letters?  What will happen to my feelings and my human emotions?  Emotions often inspire, or require, a litany of words to maintain their strength. Will human emotion diminish in the absence of the word?  Will I be able to hold on to anger if I am not permitted to verbalize my frustration to others? Or will I just LET GO of those experiences that are exacerbated through giving them value through words?

A blind man learns to listen with heightened acuity in the absence of his sight.  A deaf woman learns to watch with keen attention in the absence of hearing.  I wonder.  How will food taste if meals are held in silence rather than hastily inhaled during a chat-fest social occasion?  At the close of the 365^th day in the absence of words, will there be a heightened reverence for the words I will first utter?

I will likely choose to live a full year in silence.  Most likely, it will not be this coming year as I am releasing another GOGI book called “How To GOGI” and this book needs my strong voice so it will find it’s way into the hearts and minds of men, women, and children who wish to learn the simple tools to aid them in their efforts to make positive decisions in their lives.

I wonder if anyone in Starbucks has observed my silence. Or am I the invisible the lady in the corner occasionally looking up at the duos and trios huddled over tiny tables?  It seems to me the consumers filling the seats in the coffee shop struggle for connection, struggle to be heard, to be understood, loved and appreciated.  Could they comprehend the concept that their words are actually the very reason their goal remains out of reach?  What might happen if they all chose to be silent, a giant flash mob of silence across our country for a few minutes.  Would the window of opportunity remain open enough for them to actually feel connected in a more powerful, wordless way?

I am coming to appreciate the underutilized power found in empty space; the void.  The void is found in the absence of the spoken word.  It seems as if within the emptiness, the void, in the absence of words, there is ample space for creation to occur.  It is within the void of word that we can engage in the creation of a meaningful connection, of lasting change, of the underutilized potential of the human mind.

Oftentimes we rush to fill the void with words. That is why I wonder what may happen if filling the void with words is not an option for a full year.  I am likely to choose a year of silence in the near future.  Until then, I will begin to practice.  Maybe it is a good time to speak a little less, maybe choose my words more carefully. Maybe it is a good time for our entire nation to speak a little less and listen a little more.

WHAT IF we slowed down the pace of our commentary?  WHAT IF we didn’t rush to fill the silence with hastily chosen words?  WHAT IF we listened for a deeper communication?  Maybe, just maybe, it is within the void, in the absence of words, we find the kind of life that defies all verbal explanation.  Could it be that silence says it all?

Getting Out by Going In (GOGI) is the name for a nonprofit, volunteer-driven group of citizens who believe that humans can, and do, make positive decisions when their desire for change is combined with positive decision making tools. But Getting Out by Going In is not just an organization. Getting Out by Going In is also something you can do; turning inward for your answers and getting out of your old prisons.

The Unlimited Power of the Human Mind

At its very core, when Getting Out by Going In (GOGI) is in action, it acknowledges and supports the unlimited power of the human mind to change, to grow, and to create opportunities as well as create obstacles. GOGI, as an organization, is dedicated and committed to teaching simple tools that help a majority of individuals to make better decisions. That is what GOGI does; helping anyone, anywhere make better decisions through use of the Twelve Tools of GOGI.

As much as GOGI is a set of twelve simple tools for positive decision making, GOGI is also a perspective and very much a way to look at your life. The GOGI Way is one which has the ability to empower you to Getting Out of old behavior by Going In for the solutions. GOGI believes that if you take your focus off the problems around you and focus you efforts to fixing the problems within you, you will magically realize there are fewer external problems. By turning your focus inward, you will also identify simple solutions to those seemingly out-of-control problems which once kept you up at night or caused worry during the day.

The GOGI Way empowers you; it creates an opportunity for you to experience freedom, regardless of where you awake each morning. The GOGI perspective is about seeing the world with the knowledge that you can always make a positive decision, even in the most negative of circumstances.

What IS The GOGI Way?

This idea of “The GOGI Way” has people confused. They question if GOGI is a “program” or a “religion” or a twelve step or a club of some sort. GOGI is none of those things. Rather, GOGI is a way of seeing the world in which you live. Just like there can be negative people who go to your church, there can be positive people who go to your church. GOGI helps negative people be more positive, irrespective of their church affiliation. Just like there can be people who succeed in programs and others who fail programs again and again, people who learn the GOGI tools seem to do a better job in their programs. Just like there can be anxious people and relaxed people, GOGI is helpful in getting people to relax.

GOGI is a way of looking at life which helps anyone be better at anything they choose to do. GOGI is similar to, and is consistent with, core human values which are at the foundation of all religions and efforts aiding in the improvement of the human condition. The simple tools taught by GOGI are intended to permit you to do your religion more fully, excel more completely in your programs, and positively unite members of your clubs or organization with a simple language to promote increased levels of positive decision making. GOGI is for anyone, anytime, anyplace, at any age.

WHAT IF The GOGI Way was taught to kids?

If taught to our school children, we are certain there would be more relaxed, positive, and productive citizens as these simple tools are the foundation of positively functioning in society. If each and every child was taught LET GO, FORGIVE, CLAIM RESPONSIBILITY, there would be less dropouts and childhood drug use. If each child was taught BOSS OF MY BRAIN, BELLY BREATHING and FIVE SECOND LIGHTSWITCH, we would have an increased number of children smiling as they sat in overcrowded classrooms. If each child was taught POSITIVE THOUGHTS, POSITIVE WORDS and POSITIVE ACTIONS we would have less bullying of our school children. If we empowered our youngsters with WHAT IF, REALITY CHECK and ULTIMATE FREEDOM, it is likely we would be turning our prisons into colleges and universities because we would be reducing our inmate population so drastically.

It is our belief at GOGI that simple tools for positive decision making are not to be withheld from anyone for any reason. All humans could have the ability to learn simple tools for positive decision making. That is what the organization Getting Out by Going In has set out to do; provide every living human being with the Twelve Tools of GOGI to increase their ability to make positive decisions. We began our work with the incarcerated men, women and children in the United States of America and we are expanding to include every man, woman and child before they create the prison which limits their life experience.

It is said that people who follow The GOGI Way seem to look happier, seem to have a glow about them and that they exude a happiness which comes from within. That is true. Happiness on the inside eventually finds its way outward. GOGI helps people be better people and the internal happiness this creates is inescapable. GOGI is not about polishing the outside, but, rather, empowering the individual to do a reconstruction project from the inside out. This internal happiness is true and right, and is not limited to a select group of individuals. You, too, can include GOGI into your daily life and being to reap the benefits of living your life The GOGI Way.

Can Something So Simple Really Work?

It’s curious to me that something as simple as a set of positive decision making tools can make such a profound difference in the lives of millions of individuals, but that is the fact. The GOGI Way is value added to your life, a way which values life and living and understands that much of your life experience is created within your mind. Through your use of the Twelve Tools of GOGI, you may find the ability to change your world, from the inside out. The best part of all of it is that The GOGI Way is just the way you need it to be to fortify you to become more than you could possibly imagine.

Life is Unfair and Uncertain

Life rarely reveals itself as consistent with our goals, dreams, or expectations. For most of us, there is a fork in the road which we feel powerless to avoid. For me, it was the telephone call I received after placing the final Christmas ornament on the tree. My husband would not be coming home for Christmas. This was not because he could not come home; it was because he was choosing no to come home so he might follow his heart and start a new life with a new woman.

With that call I realized my toddler daughter, in her fluffy pink footie PJ’s, and I would be spending the first of many Christmas holidays alone.

The Not-So-Perfect Picture

The shock of that news still reverberates through my life.  What had I done wrong? What signs of discontent did I miss? His meals were always cooked. His laundry? Done. His daughter was always greeting him at the door with open arms, and his bed was always warm.

What, I asked, was so wrong with our life? Depression can creep up on you like sunburn after a long day at the beach, or it can hit you like a bolt of lightning which has no mercy on any living cell in your body. Mine was the latter.

For nearly a decade after my husband’s overnight departure from my life, I struggled with the poverty which came from having focused on being a good wife and a mother; both jobs which didn’t offer a paycheck. Torn between knowing I wanted to be with my daughter to feed her mind and soul with good fuel and needing to pay the $60.00 electric bill, my depression ran deep.

What’s more, I didn’t have a marketable or a powerful resume of employment successes. Yes, I had graduated from college, but I would need to start at the bottom, at a minimum wage job paying $8.00 as a store cashier, or something. The biggest downside to entry-level work, I quickly realized, was the negative cash flow it would create. The local babysitter in the building was charging $7.00 an hour. Coupled with travel time and taxes, I would be in the red about $3.00 per hour if I went to work.

The Struggle to Make Ends Meet

Fast forward through sleepless nights and renting out bedrooms to pay the rent for the better part of a decade which was marked by debilitating depression and a clenched jaw, in my late 30’s I was becoming somewhat of a positive example to others who struggled with single parenthood. More often than not, I could give some sound advice on how to navigate through the ex’s most current wife, or the inconveniences of renting out bedroom #2 in a 2 bedroom apartment, or the resourcefulness of buying whole milk and mixing it with water to make my own version of skim milk at ½ the price.

I found a pamphlet posted on a community board while I was searching for any form of possible employment. The United Way offered a form of brief therapy for those struggling with loss or confusion. I was, undoubtedly both lost and confused. Their sliding scale rates determined that my 50 minute weekly sessions would cost me $5.00, and even that was a bit of a stretch for my nonexistent budget.

The value of the therapy sessions was felt immediately and the long-term benefits remain. The intern/therapist tasked with making my world livable suggested I explore continuing my education, that school loans might make it possible for me to gain an education which could offer some career options.

“Go back to school? At MY age?” I asked.

The Oldest Student

When I first walked into the classroom filled with eager faces, the students all grew silent and turned toward me. It was only later that I realized they assumed I was the professor, not a fellow student. Yes, I was, by far, the oldest student. And Psychology is not exactly the most career-direct degree. In fact, when I chose psychology it was with little understanding of any career options which might emerge once the Master’s Degree certificate was in hand.

All I knew was that I was getting pretty good at guerrilla warfare against the challenges of single parenthood and deadbeat daddies and my experience oftentimes helped others not feel so badly about their situation. This, in a weird way, helped lift my depression, if only slightly.

Psychology became the route I choose. Pepperdine University School of Education and Psychology became the institution of choice because it was close to my home, which meant less babysitting expenses. FAFSA loans secured, I turned over my mind and my money hoping that an institution of higher learning might help alleviate the heavy cloud hovering over my every move.

Extra Credit Prison Tour

It was an optional classroom activity offered by Professor Laurie Schollkopf, the university’s resident Drug and Alcohol Treatment professor that changed my life. The classroom of 30+ students was invited to tour the Federal Corrections Institution at Terminal Island in San Pedro, California.

The timing of the tour was perfect, as all my activities were navigated around my daughter’s pick up and drop off schedule. My daughter would still be in school and I had sufficient time to complete the tour and pick her up without worrying about who would get her or how to pay for the babysitter.

I signed up.

No Hostage is Rescued

The first time visiting a prison is jarring, even for the most logically minded individual who knows they will be “released” at the end of the tour. Maybe the most jarring part is that one bold-face line on the release form which states that in the event that you are taken hostage there will be no effort to trade your life for the release of an inmate. Basically, if you are taken hostage, you are on your own.

I signed on the dotted line and was patted down, wanded with a metal detector, and walked shoeless through the even-bigger metal detector. After the heavy doors slammed and the reverberation silenced throughout my body, what happened next could only be described as my very own little miracle.

Our tour group of students was led out onto the “yard,” which is the open space between housing structures containing thousands of men who had broken the laws sufficiently to land them as residents of the taxpayer-funded block buildings. When my eyes lifted from the concrete slab flooring onto the yard, it was as if the cloud was lifted and I felt an odd sense of comfort.

The prison walls and the men walking from one side of the yard to the next resembled how I felt inside. I, too, was trapped, in prison, and struggling in a quicksand of complications from which I could not find freedom.

Finding Freedom Inside Prison

That day was the first day I remember a genuine smile coming from deep within my heart and soul. I didn’t know what my career would be, but I knew I would be working with prisoners. They were, after all, a walking and talking emanation of my most inner feelings. We were both in prison. My prison was in my mind; their prison was one of the physical body. I wanted to help them find an internal freedom for which I had struggled for more than a decade. I had a hunch, that in being of service to them, that I, too, might find some peace in my life.

This year marks the culmination of a decade of volunteer service to the 2.3 million men, women and children in our nation who have abdicated the right to their physical freedom through their unlawful acts or their debilitating addiction or depression.

In total, since that first tour of a Federal Prison, I have unwaveringly volunteered more than 40 hours each week to the incarcerated individuals in prisons and jails, accepting a standard of living which most people may find embarrassing.

A Most Powerful Anti-Depressant

The most proven anti-depressant is that of being of service.  Service, in all its wide variety of forms, is the only guaranteed anti-depressant on the market today. In fact, living a life service has been the one remedy which not only lifted the cloud from my life, but has proven to provide a light at the end of the tunnel in the lives of the incarcerated. Through my service to those in prison I have, oddly, discovered my own internal freedom.

The Sweetest Pill

Volunteerism is undoubtedly the single most powerful anti-depressant available to any living human being, even those who feel they are confined to a prison from which they cannot escape. Signing up to volunteer and then putting your heart and soul into the service of others is the sweetest of life’s pills.

For those who volunteer at Getting Out by Going In, the organization I founded to empower inmates with the courage and tools to self-correct, the joy in the face of a mother who can be released from prison on a drug related offence and return to her children as a sober and sane presence in their lives makes all the sacrifices of volunteerism worth its weight in gold.

When I look at photographs, even those from twenty years ago, I spend less time looking at the individual’s face and more time musing on how goofy and awkward they appear. Their hair always looks awful and their clothing looks uncomfortable. Is that the reaction my image might conjure up in the mind of a viewer twenty years from now? Is that what will happen with your own photograph; the picture of yourself you hope will reveal the best image of you?

Each of us hopes to be remembered when it is our time to leave this earth, as if being remembered provides a link for us to linger on earth just a moment or two longer. In the big scheme of things, however, most of us get forgotten within a generation. Your grandchildren, if you have them, are likely to know very little about you and their children may know even less. Ask yourself, what do you know about your great grandfather? Which ancestor was the first to travel to America? Before that, who were your people and from where did they come? Do you know anything significant about their lives? Do you even recall the details of their struggles? Does anyone remember anything more than the general historical brush strokes defining the five or six decades they walked the earth?

The image on the computer screen before me is one of a woman in the year 2011. I see an image of a woman who has faced struggles beyond her ability and yet, somehow, she has overcome them. Will the viewer see that in my eyes? Will they know of my frustrations, my struggles, and the injustices I faced? Will they even wonder what my life was like, what I chose to do on a Saturday morning, or how great my heartbreaks have been along the way? Will they understand the poverty from which I suffered? The education I struggled so hard to obtain? The school loans which will weigh me down for another 25 years? Will anyone see that in the image?

It is inevitable that we all die. It is also inevitable that future generations believe they are so much more advanced than those previous. It is inevitable that our photographs become nothing more than something to laugh at and clothing to criticize. As we become erased from the world’s awareness within 50 years of our passing, what, then, is the importance of our life? Will it matter what car we drive? What home we call ours? The clothes we wear? Will it even matter where we awoke each morning? Will our affiliations and homeboys and neighborhood truly miss us? Who will mourn our absence? Will anyone visit our gravesite year after year?

WHAT IF the finest life we can live is when we focus all our attention on being of service to our immediate environment? WHAT IF our every day efforts were turned toward making wherever we are just a little more peaceful? A little more tidy? A little more friendly? WHAT IF our every day was spent in a little more prayer? Just one more minute of meditation? WHAT IF we sat up straight and walked tall with the knowledge that our life is occurring this very second, not tomorrow and not when we gain our “freedom.”
When I watched my father’s body shrink to the cancer consuming his healthy cells, I was a 24/7 witness to the slipping away of the  unimportant. The ability to drive his car, for example. When that became impossible, he reluctantly LET GO. When moving about hi s home with freedom and autonomy became impossible, he reluctantly LET GO. When sitting up in the bed became a multi-person task, he struggled but then LET GO. And toward the end, when mint chocolate chip ice-cream spoon-fed to him no longer tasted good, he LET GO of that, too. At the very end, it was only those seated by his side that mattered and, of that he had no choice but to LET GO. One by one he LET GO of all the things he had held so tightly. In those final moments I believe he came to understand that all he would be taking with him was what he created inside his head and his heart. Everything to which he had a tight grip for so many years was being left behind.

A realization we eventually face is that life goes on and memories of loved ones fade until they disappear with future generations.

Yesterday a family member asked, “When was this picture of Dad taken?”

“2008,” I replied, in full knowledge that in fifty short years no one will even know that the image to which he referred was that of my father.

Will I be missed when it is my turn to LET GO? We are all so busy with “things” we cannot take with us that it appears as if the only thing which is missing is the choice to be present in living each moment to the fullest. We are so busy trying to make our mark, gain our freedom, change the system, impress our families, reunite with loved ones, do good in the neighborhood, seek revenge, get an education, get a good job, and be the boss. We are so busy that we miss the point.

WHAT IF all these things are a distraction from the truth; that none of it matters more than how we respect and embrace this very moment of our life? WHAT IF we will not be remembered in fifty years and that is the just way it is supposed to be? WHAT IF it is not about our legacy as much as it is our willingness to be present with our current environment?

WHAT IF we stop the chatter in our brain just long enough to see the peace we can create in this exact moment? WHAT IF our mind was still enough to hear the sounds which make up our surroundings? Would we hear the laughter coming from someone in joy? Could we hear the cry of another in need? WHAT IF all the trappings of leaving a grand legacy or grabbing the most out of life or fighting for our “freedom” for twenty years is exactly what robs us of our opportunity for inner peace?

Sometimes we are so busy planning for the future that we miss the point of the entire exercise of being human. To experience life with the absence of struggle, we must slow down and find the inner peace which only comes through contributing positively to the life of the individual right next to us. When we place our attention to being an example of integrity, peace, calm demeanor, helpfulness, as well as understanding and support, then we are helping to guide the way of those with whom we come into contact.

Will you be missed when you are gone? The better question is who misses the best of us when we are not present? And, what might happen if we really paid attention to the life unfolding right under our noses? Whose life can we make just a little bit easier today through our POSITIVE THOUGHTS? Whose life can we impact with a POSITIVE WORD? What POSITIVE ACTION can we choose which might serve as an example for others to follow?

I suspect it is not so important to concern ourselves with thinking about family going out of their way to visit, or society making it easy for someone to get back on their feet. Those are thought- consuming distractions to the single most important aspect of life; when you are not being of service then the best part of you is being missed. When you are blinded by the illusion of importance of certificates or groups or politics or legal paperwork it is then that you miss the point. Ask yourself, of the people right next to you, how many lives have you made better by a simple gesture, an act of kindness? With whom did you share something without requesting something in return? Was the best part of you missed today?

In one hundred years I will be forgotten. You, too, will be forgotten. And all your friends will be forgotten. I promise you one thing; you will be missed about as much as you miss your great grandmother. But, you do not need to be missed in your life right now. When you choose to be present, the very best part of your life will not be missed by anyone.

No matter how impossible it may appear at the moment, each one of us can choose to be present in the lives of every living thing with which we come into contact. If we are not making that choice, then we are missing our finest opportunity.

As I close the computer file with the images of a woman I recognize as myself, I am reminded that with every moment I am not focusing on the present, I am missed. The fact is; images fade and lives end. The world continues to turn with an entirely new crop of humans who, with each and every generation, struggle to make their mark, all the while missing the point.

Being missed is what happens when we do not pay attention to the subtle details of our everyday life. What matters most in all our lives is not the great works we do, or the great wealth or power we accumulate, or the physical freedom for which we strive. What matters most is how keen our eye is focused on identifying and assisting those in need; those who suffer right next to us.

We are missed when we are not making our immediate surroundings more peaceful, pleasant, supportive and positive for those who find themselves in our presence. When we practice being present to those things within five feet of our reach, it is only then that our legacy is experienced in real time. Rather than ask, “will I be missed?” we can ask ourselves, “what part of life am I missing?”

From the top of the stairs I could see the white belly of a bird on its back. It’s never pleasant for me to find a run-over cat or even an insect which has died. I have buried countless lifeless critters since third grade when my family lived adjacent to a desert and I attempted to rescue a rabbit who had much of its left side chewed away by some hungry predator. I have accepted this duty in my life, an obligation to assist those in need, human or not. The question always pops into my mind, “WHAT IF that were me? What would I want done?” So, as I approached the belly-up sparrow, I couldn’t help but ask myself, “WHAT IF it were me, what would I want done?”

The bird had the softest looking new feather on its belly which looked like a fluffy cloud or a cotton ball. It was still alive, barely it seemed, as its heart was pounding furiously and its eyes were wide open in panic. Up and down its belly went at it instinctively struggled to get air into its tiny body. There was little doubt in my mind these were the final breaths of this little bird’s life. I began to wonder what the bird was feeling, thinking, and experiencing with this big strange being hovering over it with a curious expression on the human’s unfeathered and beakless face. I took a seat on the ground and was simply willing to witness the passing of an innocent bird because of one fatal flying mistake.

I prayed for the little guy, hoping its transition would be swift. Part of me wondered if it was more cruel to just sit and watch it die, or if I was better off putting it in a box out of the way of the encroaching ants. I spoke in a soft voice, knowing it was likely the bird with its little bird brain was not going to understand anything, but I felt compelled to offer something soothing, anyway. Maybe just for my own sense of doing all I could. “Ok, little guy,” I said. “I am going to pick you up and find a little box and I am going to be there until you leave this earth.” The little bird’s breathing and rapid heart rate spoke of the innate fear all living things have when shocked or knocking on death’s door.

Knowing the bird’s neck was likely broken, I paid particular attention to how I lifted it from the ground. Placing one finger like a splint against the left side of its body, I tenderly scooped up the barely breathing pile of broken feathers with my right hand. I closed my grip gently, just enough to feel its heartbeat and keep it from flailing in fear. Empty boxes are not something I collect or let take up space in my sparse world. I am not a collector or a keeper of things, choosing to get things off to their next owner as quickly as possible. At this moment, however, I was really wishing for an empty shoebox. Well, I reasoned. It would not be too long before the bird took its last breath. So I decided to take a seat on the hammock outside and hold the bird while it made its transition.

The sun was warm on this first day of fall and there were remnants of summer in the morning rays. The sun hit my body with soothing warmth that settled the situation for me. There was no need for me to do anything more than to just sit with this little creature and make it as comfortable as I could until that time when it was no longer alive. The music from inside the house was barely audible but enough so that I had a rhythm to rock to while on the hammock. Soon enough, I began to hum the tune and I placed my gently closed hand at my chest where the sun was hitting just perfectly. The bird’s heartbeat and breathing had slowed, almost undetectable. Six months prior, on March 10th, I had watched my own father’s heart beat slow until its undetectable beat stopped altogether.

As I held the bird gently at my chest, thoughts of my father crossed my mind; grieving thoughts of transitions. But more than anything, my thoughts were to the privilege we can experience if we are willing to help other living beings make transitions with all the tenderness and compassion which can be mustered in a time of pending loss. I hummed and gently swung the hammock back and forth. Now the bird’s eyes were closed, his heartbeat nonexistent and his lifeless body still cradled in my hand next to my beating heart. What a wonderful way to die, I thought.

Every living being leaves this earth sooner or later, but as bird-passings go, this had to rank among the best possible. Here was this little bird that had never had a human touch, never experienced touch at all, unless it was from another bird while tending to a nest or while mating. Here was this little bird, gently cradled in the arms of love, with a huge human beating heart so close to its own, and will the gentle warmth of the fall sun stroking its wings. I felt complete, as if I had done exactly what I would have wanted done, if I was the bird. If I was the bird, I would have been scared, and lonely, and hurting. While I might have been frightened to see a huge giant human approach, I would have liked to have heard a sound which was soft and tender, a voice of understanding or compassion. I would not have minded being placed in a box away from the ants, but would have been even happier to die peacefully as I rested my broken body listening to the heartbeat and gentle humming of someone who cared. Yes, as deaths go, this bird got the royal treatment. His death was better than any scripted plan which could have possibly been written.

My mind drifted to where I would offer a burial for the bird and I adjusted my position in preparation to get up. Just then, the little bird opened its eyes and its little feet moved against the skin of my chest. “Well, then,” I said. “You are going to be here a little longer?” The bird kept its eye on me, not moving its body, but I could feel a tiny heartbeat under my forefinger. “Ok, then. We will just sit here till you decide to go,” I said out loud, happy I didn’t have any neighbors walking nearby who would return home with the idea that they had seen Coach Taylor talking to herself in the hammock.

I think I fell asleep for a bit, or I just drifted off into a pseudo slumber. I remembered the last breaths my father took, and holding his hand. I thought about my own passing, and where would I be and who would be by my side. I thought of the inmates dying in prison and the family they miss and the support they receive from other inmates as they leave this world. I thought of the infants who die in the arms of neonatal nurses because their drug addicted bodies cannot win the fight to live. I thought of the grace which exists when we are of service to our fellow living beings, and of the blessings of stopping the email long enough to be present for an event important in the life of another.

When I awoke, the little bird opened his eyes as well. It seemed he had been napping, too. I loosened my hand from the bird’s body, wanting to assess just what might be broken. A wing? It’s neck, perhaps? I pulled my hand away and just observed. I was more than a little surprised when the little guy rose to its little feet and tilted its head just enough to look me square in the eye, eliminating the assumption that the loud thud against the window had broken its neck. My thoughts were now moving toward what form of a cage I would need to house the bird with the unbroken neck but broken wing or other broken bones which would eventually mean its passing, just not as quickly as I had suspected. Obviously, this bird was not broken beyond the ability to squeeze out a little more living, if only for a few hours or a few days.

“Well, little fella, what are we going to do now?” I asked. It tilted its head as if attempting to understand what the giant was trying to communicate.

I placed my hand back on top of the bird’s body, its legs went limp against my chest and we swung in the hammock a little bit longer while I considered some options. The sun in the fall morning is lovely as it makes its final attempt to keep the breeze warm. In a week or so, the sun will lose the argument and the breeze will make way for the snow which will make way for the spring and a new batch of sparrows in the trees.

It’s not really a matter of fighting against the course of nature, attempting to keep things alive or being angry at the perceived cruelty humans wield upon themselves and others. It’s not really about collecting stuff and squirreling things away, just in case. It’s not really about being busy or getting things done. As I swing on the hammock, I am keenly aware that the emails are of little importance in the grand scheme of things. What is important is this moment, this very moment, as the sparrow and I close our eyes and feel the warmth of the sun.

I am not sure I believe in miracles as I think at their very root, there is a logical and scientific explanation for most everything. This does not mean I do not believe in Divine intervention or the tender touch of an angel which guides our path. Some may call it a miracle. Some will say the sparrow was simply in shock from the unplanned encounter with a pane of glass. Whatever it is called, the unmistakable truth is that the little sparrow rose to its feet and looked at me with the clarity of a perfectly healed and healthy being ready to take flight.

“Well, well well, little guy. Aren’t you a lovely little miracle,” I said. The bird had every bit of strength in its body. I could tell by the way it held its head, its wings perfectly in place, its little feet ready for the next grasp.

I took the bird in my hand and made my way to a wood post. I wanted to set the bird there, just to see what it would do; just how disabled might he be. A smile came to my face when it grasped tightly to my finger, almost suggesting that it did not want me to go too far. I stayed there for a moment, but it still held tight to my finger as it looked at its once familiar surroundings. Then, the most remarkable thing happened; it moved its other foot to my finger so the entire weight of its body was on my hand.

“Is that so, little fella,” I commented. “Not too ready to leave the comfort quite yet.”

I took a nearby seat and just held the little guy on my finger as if it was a trained pet which was purchased at a pet store and knew no different. If the bird was able to say something, I was certain it was expressing gratitude and comfort, a connection between unlikely beings which would never be replicated in this bird’s life. It seemed as if the bird was growing increasingly comfortable with me as its new partner, firmly planted on my finger and not too anxious to explore beyond my care. I wondered what our world would be like if all humans were to treat all beings with a profound concern for their care.

What would be possible if all beings felt witnessed and understood, appreciated and protected? Could it be that man could live in harmony not only with the animals, but with themselves? Could color lines and religious barriers be eliminated if we would all walk away from emails just long enough to make a significant contribution to the life of another living being?

The bird and I both heard the noise that would end the moment we shared. To me, it sounded like the sparrows I had heard for the entire summer. But this time it was a slightly different sound. Call it my imagination, but it sounded as if it was a family member, a sparrow who knew this sparrow, as the call had a slight urgency or longing to its notes.

Both the bird and I looked to the pine tree to source the sound. The call was offered again. As the sparrow in the tree came into view, I had the profound feeling that these two sparrows knew each other and there was a world within the life of birds, a world of community to which I was now a witness. My little miracle of a bird looked at me, tilted its head to get a better look, and then looked toward the tree. I set him down on the wood railing, certain that this was the moment, this was the time. If he was to fly, it would be because he would not resist the call he received from one of his own.

“Go on,” I said. “You can do it.” He hopped two or three times, moving a few inches from me.

Then, at the sound of the sparrow in the tree, he took flight. I didn’t hide my tears. I let them stream down my face. I asked myself, WHAT IF I had not left my computer? WHAT IF I had not been still enough to hold the bird to my heart? WHAT IF I had been too busy to miss this magical moment?

I am now back at my computer, but not as the same woman I was a few hours ago. I realize the blessings in everyday life are there for us if we will only slow down and welcome them. Even inside a small cell of an over-crowed prison, the blessings can be found when we slow down and permit them to guide our every response. There are very few important things in life; being still enough to hear the call of a miracle ranks right up there at the top.

I have turned up the soft music playing in the background in my home. Behind me is the window and beyond that is the tree. My little sparrow has joined his family. I have a deeper knowledge that appearance can be deceiving. Even the most broken among us may not be beyond the repair which comes from love. My little miracle was not broken beyond the repair but he needed my participation in his recovery. And, as I sit down to resume my attention to emails, there is no doubt in my mind that it is I who receives the biggest blessing for my participation in his healing.

One recurring theme in their communication, particularly in the material I receive from incarcerated women who by their very nature tend to be more emotive than men, is this concept of a childhood fracture.  I have titled it the childhood fracture because it seems that there is a traumatic experience, a singular event which happens and the individual is unable to recover fully which makes it possible for further injury to occur.  It is my experience that after the childhood fracture, the individual is never able to establish a wholeness which would enable them to make positive decisions in their life.  These fractures become, for the most part, a determining factor in the development of our personality.  It either destroys our self-esteem or fuels us to climb above the wreckage we have experienced.

Through my work with prisoners, I have also come to realize that much of my own spiritual growth occurs as I assist others; gently reminding me that I have my own personal prisons and I, too, have my own childhood fractures. The irreparable fracture of my childhood occurred on the morning of my 10^th birthday. Tenth birthdays are big ones as it marks the passage of defining oneself beyond a single digit.  Also, I was keenly aware that at the mature age of 10, I was also nearly age 13. I would soon be an official teenager who had reached the magnificent demarcation point from child to the beginning of adulthood.   I remember the date of my childhood fracture as if it were yesterday.

It was a typically 100 degree summer morning in Las Vegas day on July 18, 1968 and I was sitting at the kitchen table eating the marshmallows out of my bowl of Lucky Charms when my mother descended the staircase.   As I led my spoon deep into the avocado-colored bowl on the search for buried sweet treasures, I kept an eye on my mother as she went about the routine I had come to find comfort in observing.  She always wore a zip-up robe; floral with two pockets. Her closet, the left side, had nearly a dozen of such wardrobe items for her to choose from.  Each Christmas her mother would present her with a meticulously and ornately wrapped box, always the same size, and in it would be the new year’s version of last year’s gift; a zip-up robe and a pair of slippers.

I watched in wonder as my mother seemingly floated, angel-like, into the kitchen.  Gently pulling a coffee cup and the instant coffee from the cupboards, she would set the water to boil.  Before long, the cup would be filled and the intoxicating and mysteriously adult aroma of coffee would find its way to my anticipating nostrils.

“One day,” I would say to myself, “One day I will drink coffee, just like my mother.”

Shoveling the cereal into my mouth with my eyes trained on the art of drinking coffee, I keenly observed every detail of the morning ritual.  First, you had to hold the cup just right with your right hand gently grasping the handle and pinky finger subtly extended.  You had to sip, not swallow.  And after the first sip, you had to look very relieved or satisfied.  I hadn’t completely figured out what the expression meant, but it was one which I hoped I could experience when I took my first sip.

This was the fine art of drinking the morning cup of coffee as taught to me by my mother.

But there was something else I always noticed about my mother.  Her physical beauty was unparalleled.  As she sat at the head of the table, I observed her perfect profile, the fine features which could have made for a movie career to rival the likes of Elizabeth Taylor.  My mother was the petite china doll who married the hotel and casino manager who was more than a decade her senior. Eleven months after their nuptials their first child arrived.

I, however, was not like my mother.  I was the fearless, athletic, energetic, and far-from-dainty offspring born to at 19 year old debutant and 30 year old confirmed bachelor.  I had enough energy to light up the entire hotel/casino which I called home for the first years of my life.  I danced on the hotel stages to the delight of the hotel guests, sat in the kitchen eating specially scooped ice-cream and watching the chef in the big white hat slice the beef for the dining room waiters to serve, and I frolicked poolside generating massive amounts of attention as my perfect-looking mother sunbathed nearby.

When my mother became pregnant with my brother, we moved out to the suburbs where I was joined not only by one brother but by a total of three siblings over the next six years.  I was the eldest of four and although there was only two years which separated me and my brother, we were decades apart in maturity level.  He was quiet and didn’t poke and prod at life like I did.  As time went on, this hunger for life experience placed me with the disadvantage of perceiving a world which was not understood by my younger siblings.  I saw things which escaped their life experience, and my traumas came from this keen awareness of nuances and unspoken communication exhibited by my parents.  I watched the morning rituals while my siblings were busy watching Johnny Quest on the family television in the other room.

“One day,” I said to myself, “One day I want to be as beautiful as my mother.”

But I quickly realized I was not like my mother and the older I grew, the less I was becoming like her.  I was an unstopped force of enthusiastic energy which was neither manageable nor containable.  My shoes, for example, were always destroyed within a week of getting them. I would climb, hike, build or just plain overlook puddles of mud or destructive rocks.  My mother’s shoes were size 5 ½ and lined up just perfectly in her closet with never a scratch, never a blemish. Her hands, too, were those of a princess while mine were hands which didn’t look at all like the magazine pictures of the models for nail polish and wedding rings.

Nor did my hands look like the hands on the dolls I discovered in my mother’s childhood closet when I visited my grandmother.  The fact that she even had a doll collection made her different.  I had troll dolls with fuzzy hair standing strait up out of their heads.  My collection of the oddly shaped rubber creatures was complete; a dozen or more trolls with every possible brightly colored afro.  I would give the members of my troll family warm and bubbly baths, would wash their hair, then braid or cut their boldly colored manes and make clothes for them out of napkins or toilet paper.

Oh, how I wanted to be like my mother but the sheer force of my existence was too great for me to be anything other than what I was destined to be.  I was “athletic,” my father would say, as if being athletic was an acceptable excuse for not being a “real girl.”  That, however, was not the fracture of my childhood.  That was simply the foundation on which the fracture occurred.  The childhood fracture came on the morning of my tenth birthday when my world was rocked; my heart split in two, and the ground beneath my feet began a subtle shaking which lasted more than thirty years.

The coffee cup had been placed on the table and my mother’s gentle hand drifted into her pocket.  This was not uncommon, as she might be reaching for a tissue or piece of scrap paper with a reminder note tucked away which she suddenly remembered.  But there was an unusual sound, a plastic sound of rattling which I heard very distinctly above the sounds of my brothers’ argument ensuing in the other room. Instinctively I knew this sound emanating from her pocket was not good, not healthy. And I perceived a threat at the sound of the rattling.  The pill bottle emerged, caressed in her alabaster hands with the gentle fingertips.  My focus intensified. What was this strange new element being added to the morning routine?

The cap came off the bottle with ease. She navigated a pink pill out of the collection, replaced the cap with expertise which comes from practice and lifted the coffee cup in her hand.  The pill was inserted into her mouth, her head was jerked back a little and then the coffee cup reached her lips.

The crack which happened within my heart at that exact moment in time was a visceral experience for me.  It was that day the world turned grey.  Colors lost their vibrancy and my innocence evaporated.  The crack deep within me was made larger and cut deeper into my world as I kept a keen eye out for anything which supported my new belief that the world was not safe.  Mother yelling at my brothers in a shrill voice was immediately shifted to a syrupy sweet, “Hello,” when she picked up the ringing wall phone.  What was real, I wondered.  Who was my mother?  Was she angry or sweet?  What did the pill bottle do that I could not do for her?

People now ask if my mother is still alive.  That is a tough question.  My brother states that my mother is nothing more than a remnant of the women that raised him.  I have come to terms with the idea that she is a walking pill bottle.  Her 40 year reliance on increasing levels of opiates has certainly diminished her ability to function in the role I wished she could have assumed.  When I think of my mother it is easier to think of her as the troubled and powerless little sister, the one family member who had lots of potential but never could quite pull it together. Consequently the lives of the entire family are altered by the drama with which the family rallies around.

As I type, this my family has called neighbors to go see if my mother is dead, lying in her recliner chair with her morphine patch attached to her arm and her Oxycontin bottle tipped over by her side.  Likely, she will be awoken from a drug-addled slumber and we will receive the report that she was just “resting” for the last four days. I am well aware and certain that one of these days we will get the call that my mother has worn her last morphine patch.

There was one time when I got to truly “see” my mother.  We had done our only failed attempt at a family intervention and she reluctantly agreed to go into a treatment facility to prove to us that the medications she was taking was for pain and not an addiction.  After three months of hard detox she was moved to a rehabilitative ranch.  She had been weaned off the hardest of narcotics and was being stabilized with medications to address the underlying mental illness.  When my mother met me outside the ranch home, it was as if I was meeting a stranger, a dream come true, and the mother I had always wanted.

For the first time, her eyes were clear.  Her speech was understandable, not slurred or forced.  Her mouth was not dry, her jaw did not twitch.  She didn’t wring her hands nor did she shake them back and forth claiming they didn’t work right.  She was not the hyperactive whirlwind I had come to tolerate but, rather, she was slow to speak and had a peaceful elegance about her every move.  It was the only time I remember getting a clear and present experience of my mother, one absent a steady stream of doctor’s prescriptions and rattling pill bottles.

During my visit at the ranch I listened and observed for signs that this was truly the new life she had sought to create.  I was neither disappointed nor upset when the words she spoke indicated this would be a short-lived experience.  I suspected her sobriety would not last; I suspected it was just a moment in time, a rare and precious moment to be memorized and burned into my heart and soul for constant reflection. She did not claim responsibility for her addiction nor did she have a plan for getting support to maintain her sobriety.  A week after our visit, she left the ranch and took a flight back home as a “cured woman” with the enthusiasm and promise of finally having the life she had dreamed was possible.  Within a week, however, she was back in the waiting room of the variety of doctors who willingly wrote scripts just to get her out of their offices.

I am more privileged than most children of addicts.  I caught a fifteen minute glimpse of the mother I might have had, were it not for the doctor’s prescriptions and her addiction to their remedies. That day at the ranch I actually met an extraordinarily beautiful and highly intelligent women who might have created a very different life experience.  Many children of addicts never get that; never see who their parent might have been… if only.

My childhood fracture could have broken me, and in a way, I must admit it did.  I suffered through a world of greys and depression until I reached well into my 40’s.  But this fracture, as disabling as it was, became the fuel in the engine of my life’s purpose.  It became the catalyst for my work with our nation’s incarcerated, 80 percent of whom have drug and alcohol related crimes.

Personally, it is still a challenge to think of my childhood as a blessing but as a result, I have a purpose which drives me to greater levels of excellence.  I feel compelled, driven and committed to identify and deliver a simplified way for any individual to make positive decisions in their life.  I suffered great emotional pain as a child, hoping and wishing for a mother who was not there.  And while my mother is less than 300 miles from where I now live, she cannot be there in the ways a child dreams and hopes.  She is preoccupied with carefully managing the cocktail of patches and pills and wandering her home all night and sleeping all day.  My mother left this earth long ago; escaping in the only way she knew how from the pain which was too great for her to bear. I am an orphan.

The blessing I now experience is that through my pain and suffering in my orphan-hood, others who suffer from a similar plight as my mother are benefiting.  I was orphaned at the hand of opiates on my 10^th birthday, but I am a good sister to anyone seeking the simple tools for altering one’s addictive destiny.  I am an orphan, yes, but I have a family which encompasses a world of humans now better off for my suffering.  I made the choice not to be broken beyond repair and to use my childhood fracture as my greatest strength. This is the message I am compelled to share with incarcerated men, women and children.  You may be broken, but you are not beyond repair.  You may be damaged, but not beyond your ability to contribute great things to your brothers and sisters, no matter who they are or what their struggles may be.

I do not judge my mother harshly.  What if her role in this life was to provide me with the catalyst for my work?  If I did not suffer through her addition with her, would I have been motivated to seek a solution to our nation’s struggle with addiction.  Being an orphan is as painful as we make it.  It is also the privilege of strengthening a weakness until it becomes of great service to the maximum number of those who suffer.

I am writing you this letter but am also going to publish it on my blog on the internet so it can be shared with others.  I will also make copies of it to send in the mail to the men and women who write GOGI seeking help in their journey toward internal freedom. This story may eventually find its way into a GOGI book of inspirational messages, as well.  The story I am going to tell you is actually a dream I have had; a recurring dream, one which has played over and over during my sleep, as if calling me to somehow find a resolution to the desperate helplessness I experienced under the circumstances of the dream’s events.   I know you will understand the dream, as you have experienced a similar life experience to that of the girl in my dream.

It is early morning in my dream. The sun has not yet crept over the hills in the distance.  I am a little girl, no older than 8 or 9.  By the way I am dressed and the buildings, the horse-drawn carriages, and the women with the bonnets and big dresses, it seems in the early 1800’s. Maybe it is Ireland as the people are fair skinned and the landscape lends itself to images I have of the terrain of Ireland where my ancestors lived before immigrating to the United States.

The dream takes place in an active village with possibly thousands of residents; a large enough place for a child to escape being seen, if so desired.  While the buildings and people are clear in my mind, the dream starts from an isolated prison cell. It is me in the prison cell, a little girl locked away from the village she can only witness from a small window a few feet above her.

I am very aware of how I came to this place and I am not angry as much as I am desperate; powerless and anxious.  My tattered clothing and matted hair are of no consequence to me.  I care very little about the filth on my knees or the dirt under my fingernails.  I don’t see the smudges on my face, nor do I care about the remnants of sleep in the corners of my eyes.  The ripped and torn dress I am wearing is brown, not because it was made from brown fabric, but for the three years which it has been on my body, it has never been washed.  I am hungry, but I do not care. I just wish my stomach would shut up so I could think more clearly.

The fact that I am an orphan does not bring tears to my eyes, as that is the least of my concerns.  I didn’t cry the day they died and have not cried since. It is not as if I am cold, it is just that tears serve no purpose. The week will die, only the strong will live.  I will not cry about being locked in this cell, either, but a sense of anxiousness and desperation is overpowering to me and I want nothing more than to rip off the bars and jump through the window onto the street below.   I have always been able to fix problems, but here I am, locked away and trapped.  Still, I will not cry.

My little brother needs me.  He is not strong, not nearly as strong as me.  He is tender, like my mother; too tender for his own good.  He was born sickly and was only two years old when momma was killed.  It’s been up to me to care for him. I am his mother now.  He is too trusting and too vulnerable.  I have to watch him all the time or he is spotted by people who approach us wondering where our mother is. I am his only protector, the one who has kept us alive for what seems to be a lifetime. At night I soothe his tears with gentle humming, like my momma used to do.  And I hold him in my arms and gently rock him until he falls asleep.  When he sleeps, I leave our secret hiding place and I go find our food for the next day.

It is easy to find food if you know where to look. When the shops are closed and everyone has gone into their homes for the night, it is in the rubbish bins in the back where you can find the freshest and widest varieties of delicacies thrown out by the shopkeepers who must offer fresh goods to the morning’s customers.  If I get there right after the shops close and before the others come to scavenge for food, I can return home in just a few short minutes.  If I am late, or the supply is short, I must look elsewhere for our sustenance.

On this particular night, there was not a morsel of food to be found behind the shops.  I had arrived too late.  But, if I ran quickly, I could get to the back of the bakery before the carts left and take a loaf of bread, which would feed us for a couple of days, at least.

I am a fast runner, but more than fast, it is important not to be seen.  I am really good at moving unnoticed. Three years of practice has nearly perfected my skills.  Grabbing a loaf of bread was not a problem. It felt warm in my hands. I tucked it behind my back into the waist of my clothes and suddenly felt the firm grip of someone stopping me dead in my tracks. My heart started to beat wildly.  I looked up to see the red face of an angry man.

“You little thief,” he said with a tightening grip that hurt my arm. The bread dropped to the ground and I was led away.  That was how I ended up in the block building with the window overlooking the village as it came to life.

Was my brother awake, yet? Was he crying?  What was I to do?  What would happen to my little brother?

With all my power I moved one of the blocks near the solid wood door over to the wall just under the window.  If I tippy toed and used the bars to pull myself up a bit, I could see the street outside.  I would raise myself up until my arms gave out, looking onto the street to see if I could spot my brother.  Until night fell, I repeated the same effort, pulling myself up to see if my little brother was looking for me.

That was always the end of my dream.  The helplessness was a profound feeling which permeated my thoughts long after I awoke.  Over and over in my mind I thought about that dream, the hopeless circumstances for the little girl and her abandoned brother.   For years this dream bounced around my head and heart during my sleep and my waking hours. And it always created the same feeling of hopelessness and desperation.

Every time I thought about this dream there was no sense of wishing things different.  I didn’t spend time wishing the man outside the bakery didn’t catch the little girl. I didn’t wish that her parents had escaped being killed. I never even considered the possibility of the little boy being stronger.  I never wondered what life could have been like for them if only a nice lady in a pink hat would have found both of the children three years before.  The fact is, the dream was the dream and their appeared to be no option or resolution to be found.

Today, however, while I was closing my eyes and thinking, thoughts of the dream came to mind.  I played out the dream in my mind, the moving of the stone, the grasping onto the cold bars to pull myself up.  In my dream, I had always imagined that I was in solitary, locked away from the entire world.  To me, there was no one in that room but me.   As I sat and considered this in my quiet and contemplative state, I decided to expand the possibilities beyond the limits of my dream’s reality.   In my mind, I saw the little girl lowering herself from the window.

“Come on now, Dear,” the woman’s voice said.  “Your little brother is not going to be wandering the streets.”

As I turned and took a seat on the stone, I could see the other people in the room.  A warm and tender woman, who had addressed me was not the only person there.  There were some men, and even a few children about my age, some even younger.  I was not alone.  There were others, just like me, locked away for breaking a rule we had no choice but to break.

In my awaked state I wondered what would have happened to the little girl if she had the ability to use the Twelve Tools of GOGI?  WHAT IF I was her? How would I use those tools to find internal freedom? I began to LET GO of the urgency to escape.  I began to FORGIVE my mother and father for dying.  I began to CLAIM RESPONSIBILITY for remaining calm.  I began to do my BELLY BREATHING, which gave me increased level of internal power.  I acknowledged that I was BOSS OF MY BRAIN and I could control my thoughts and reactions to anything.  When I started to drift back to desperation I would acknowledge the emotion for no more than five seconds then move on to a new productive thought as I used my FIVE SECOND LIGHTSWITCH.

I chose POSITIVE THOUGHTS, POSTIVE WORDS and POSITIVE ACTIONS as I observed and began to converse with the other individuals in the holding cell with me.  I considered the WHAT IF, realizing that any one of these individuals might be able to, or might know someone who might help me save my brother.  When I felt my heart heavy and sensed water try to make itself into my eyes, I would have a REALITY CHECK and acknowledge that being in the room with others was far more advantageous than being locked away alone.  And my ULTIMATE FREEDOM came when I was able to comfort another one of the children who began to cry.

As I thought about the dream and of a possible ending, I considered a Christian Bible teaching that states that when we do something to the lowest of individuals, it is as if we are doing that very thing to God.  When the little girl turned her attention to the good she could do, not the good she wanted to do, that opened the way for more good to occur.  She could not directly impact her brother’s wellbeing from inside the wall, but she could positively impact the life of an individual seated right next to her.  If she tended to those she could assist, who is to say that the favor would not be extended to her loved one?

WHAT IF one of the individuals who were being held in the same cell was released that evening and they went to the secret place and found the young boy?  What if the young boy was fed and washed and cared for until the return of his sister?  By focusing on what she could do with the situation before her, and by being of good service to others, the girl was creating the possibility of magical outcomes.

I don’t think I will have the dream of the little girl in the prison cell anymore.  I think the message is clear.  I am to do what I can with the situation at hand.  I am not to be concerned with things outside my window, things I can not directly impact positively at this exact moment.  And while I may feel powerless in certain areas of my life, I can also create the possibility that the favor of kindness is extended to the things which matter in my life as I tend to what matters in the lives of others.

Love,  Coach Taylor