Radford Noone Research Service

climbing your family tree

Mighty Drofdar

Reality is Bending: You’re a Willow Dwight, Now Bend!

 

 

I walked into the family history center and the guys were laughing. “What’s so funny?” I innocently enquired against my better judgment. “We just had a strip search. Too bad you weren’t here,” was the common consensus echoed in the room.  I couldn’t help but ask what was so funny about a strip search. Again, I asked against my better judgment, but since the guys were going to tell me anyway, I thought I’d just beat them to the draw. Fortunately, volunteers don’t have to go through this process, but the inmates do on a regular basis. Drugs and contraband can be a problem in any prison. The correctional officers strip search the men before and after they have visits as well as on other random occasions. These can also include full body cavity searches.

In this situation, the correctional officers were training new officers on the procedures. The men were in the chapel at the time, when they were all called out and told to strip. These new officers had never done this before. They were about to reach down and grab the inmate’s penises and lift them up to see if drugs had been taped to the scrotum. Then came the punch line for the guys. The correctional officer in charge said “No, no, you don’t lift it up, you have the inmate lift it up!” As the guys were telling the story, they found such humor in how it played out. To build the story along, one of the men in the room immediately said, “Too bad they were stopped. That could have been rather enjoyable.” As they were howling I was horrified, not only for the inmates but especially for those new correctional officers. Better to laugh than to cry I kept constantly reminding myself. I bet the new correctional officers thought their reality was bending.

From my end of the conversation, I wasn’t sure which was more reality bending, the visuals racing through my mind of the correctional officers reaching down to lift up rows of penises or that the conversation was happening in the Mormon family history center for all to hear. For any volunteer, inmate, or correctional officer, reality can bend at a moment’s notice at the prison. There’s no way to predict how a story or incident is going to play out making the line between reality and illusion very thin indeed.

             Where most people think of reality and illusion in terms of what is true and what is false, I’ve come to think of it in terms of how to deal with the unusual, the unique, the bizarre, and the irrational. This is the first thing that hits any volunteer or anybody else working in the prison system: the rules as they apply just outside the gates no longer apply once you walk under the razor wire. Reality literally bends once through those gates and you must bend with it. As a volunteer, you’re exposed to things that you would never in a million years be exposed to on the outside – at least I wouldn’t have.

             I often envision myself as a willow tree bending in the wind once I walk through the gates because there’s a “What just happened?” atmosphere floating through the air. Whenever I call a volunteer or the director during the week, my first question is, “Did I miss anything?” If there’s an uncontrolled laugh or a grrrr on the other end I know I’m in for one hell of a story! The inmates themselves deal with it usually either through the chain of gossip or through humor. At any prison, the difference between reality and illusion can be very thin indeed.

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             Where the theme of reality and illusion hits you right upside the head at the prison, it’s trying to tell the difference on the outside in my everyday life that sometimes causes me the problems.

             A couple of years ago, my buddy Derek treated us both to an introduction to Zen Buddhism classes at the local Kanzeon Zen Center. Derek is medium height and in his mid thirties. He has a gentle approach to the world around him while at the same time secretly knowing that he is much smarter than the rest of us. Where most male bonding moments center around football games, bar hopping or pole dancing -- Derek is my one friend who bonds with me by church hopping. Our big game is throwing theology at each other, and for us pole dancing is someone who wraps themselves around a pulpit as we watch from a pew.

             He’s an addict when it comes to the great philosophers and is constantly trying to get me to read Pascal, Nietzsche, Camus, and Kierkegaard. One year for my birthday he even bought me The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus telling me how it had changed his life. Since my intellectual abilities, and my humor, run in another direction that his, I had a field day telling everybody that we both knew that “Derek gave me Sisyphus, but the health clinic took care of the problem.” Derek was only slightly amused. When he wants to escape the wife and kiddies we get together and explore the world of inner space. So with a grin on his face, he proudly signed us both up for our Zen classes.

             It was there prior to my prison work that I started thinking seriously about reality and illusion. This center is located on historic South Temple Street downtown Salt Lake City between the University of Utah and the huge Grand Lodge of Utah of the Freemasons. I had never had any experience with Zen Buddhism, let alone the Big Mind version of it developed by the local Roshi (a Buddhist monk who teaches Zen) at the Center. I have to admit that I came away from our classes feeling bewildered.

             That doesn’t happen to me very often. The last time I was bewildered was when Derek and I attended the Scientology Church close to my house. I honestly didn’t get that. I thought I did, but upon recounting my understanding to the lady in charge she said, “No.” Then I just walked away literally laughing out loud. In a perverse way it was actually quite comforting to understand that there are some philosophies out there that I just don’t get, don’t want to get, and no matter how I try, will probably not get. It was liberating. My experience with Zen Buddhism was the opposite. I did get it, and that scared the hell out of me.

             It seemed as though I already believed everything the Roshi taught us. How could that be? I sat there wondering what had just happened. It’s not like I had ever really had a reason to expose myself deeply to Zen philosophy, nor read anything in depth about Zen. My knowledge was basically like everyone else’s and that was through pop culture. Zen sells in America and there’s no shortage of Zen themed commercials on T.V. or shows that feature a Zen master somewhere relaying a Zen koan (mind puzzle) to a student or stressing zazen (sitting meditation). Yet there I was, a victim of pop culture sitting in Zen classes wondering what the big deal was. Why were some of our classmates having such a hard time with concepts that to me were second nature? I honestly was puzzled as I had been living them for a few years at that point.

             Zen is a wisdom tradition that comes through Buddhism. While Buddhism as a world faith is some 2,500 years old and originated in India, Zen traces its philosophy to the twelfth and thirteenth centuries and was brought out of India to Japan where it developed its own uniqueness. The Zen as practiced at the Kanzeon Zen Center in Salt Lake City follows the zazen (sitting meditation) branch of Zen rather than stressing the koan (mind puzzle) path to wisdom. Zen Buddhism, like so many other eastern religions was brought to America during the 1893 World’s Parliament of Religions in Chicago. It has continued to be popular in America by way of path breaking books such as Jack Kerouac’s Dharma Bums (1958) and Robert M. Pirsig’s best seller Zen and the Art of Motocycle Maintenance (1974). Books such as these went a long way to introduce an “Americanized” Zen and efforts continue to divorce it from Japanese culture. To this day, Zen philosophy continues to influence American thought (aside from the commercials) from popular culture to literature.

             To go along with this Americanization of Zen, the Roshi had developed the Big Mind process, which he teaches in Zen workshops. His program is deemed as a practical method for transmitting the wisdom of the Buddha’s enlightenment experience to everyday folk like me. In short he was conveying ancient wisdom in a modern way so that knuckle heads like me could grasp concepts like reality and illusion.

             His core ideas were that we are all born with this Big Mind. It’s our unborn “Buddha Mind.” We have it, but as we grow up we replace it with a smaller mind as we separate ourselves from the world around us. “OK…” I thought, right with you buddy. When we trade in our original Big Mind for the smaller mind we become preoccupied with things that really don’t matter and are transitory by their very nature. “OK…” I thought, right with you buddy. He continued that as long as we use our small mind, which centers on the “me” concept, that we seek for happiness “out there.” However, this is the wrong place for us to be looking for happiness as it was never “out there” in the first place. “OK…” I thought, still with you buddy.

             To rediscover our original Big Mind we turn inward for the search. We realize that there is no me, there is no center. It’s within the emptiness outside the realm of small mind concepts that we truly find ourselves. In reality, when we see the world from the Big Mind, we understand that we are not separate from everything around us. We can actually stop looking for God out there or even inside as our Big Mind is that place of enlightenment. “OK…” I thought, tell me something I don’t already know.

             The Roshi went on to describe that when we go to our original place beyond the made up concepts of the small mind then we let go of control. There is nothing to control or to seek after. It’s already there. There is nothing bigger than our Big Mind. The key is to let go of wanting and everything will take care of itself. Finding the Big Mind is a process that can take years, or it can take minutes. It’s all a matter of how quickly we are willing to let go. “Yeah, got it…” What’s next on the list Mr. Roshi?

             Have I found my Big Mind? Well some days are better than others. If that were not the case, then I’d have to honestly say that I seriously doubt it. I would also seriously doubt that many of us slobs on the planet or just in his classes have either. The Roshi sees that when we enter that space we no longer seek. We are there in the moment, fully aware and fully alive. Funny thing is that I get that too! On a good day, I don’t control, I don’t seek, and I set aside the illusions that the Roshi speaks of when referring to the small mind. I unlayer that one layer at a time. So while I may not have fully returned to my Big Mind, I can say that I believe it and I get it – on a good day.

             In their own way this had to be what the guys were trying to tell me after their strip search. They don’t attach to what it may mean. Lift up the penis, don’t lift up the penis, it’s all the same. The key is in understanding what attitude is best to have when someone is looking for drugs taped to your scrotum.

*****

             I must admit, I’m pretty OK through the first three scary doors on my way towards where the Wasatch Chapel is located. However, it’s always between the fourth and fifth steel door that my stomach just knots up. Then I’m OK through the next three doors. In between these magic fourth and fifth steel doors is where I am literally caught. There’s nowhere to go until the correctional officer pushes the magic button and lets me out. Within this physical space is the receiving room where new inmates come in to be processed for diagnostics to determine if an inmate can be rehabilitated. They are chained to a long bar all the way across the wall where they are sitting on benches. There’s nothing separating them from where we stand to check in a second time except steel bars. For me it’s intimating. When I see men in there I just wonder what must be going through their minds. If it were me, it would be “Oh hell, my life has just ended.”

I remember asking my brother-in-law Nelson about that room. He said that the room was intimidating, because he was chained to these other guys who to his shock looked just like him. He said they asked what he was in there for and he said you don’t know whether to lie or tell the truth since they might not like either answer. Nelson said he learned how to be vague quickly so that they were satisfied. For me that receiving room is where reality bends to no small degree. Nelson said for him it was the shower experience right before going into prison to serve his sentence. It is located in the old death row section of the prison. He said it was dark with moss growing in it – and a correctional officer saying, “Welcome to hell.”

             Another area where reality bends for me is when guys who have been there awhile and are intimately familiar with the history of a particular building tell me the history. Matthew has been around the chapel area for perhaps a little too long. He knows all the stories about every room imaginable. He has a grin that just says it all. He’s in his forties, medium height, thinning hair and a pretty smart dude by anybody’s standards. He always smiles when he sees me and will usually give me a wisecrack that is his way of letting me know that he acknowledges me and is glad to see me. When life shoots him in the foot he jumps right back up and with humor asks why the other foot wasn’t shot also. He recently reminded me that it was his birthday coming up on a certain day that I needed to shower him with praise and accolades. I immediately shot back, “I will certainly give you what you deserve.” To which he then shot back, “Which is probably nothing.” We both laughed and laughed.

He has a bad reputation as a manipulator although I’ve never seen that side of him. What I do see is a man who loves to hear himself talk and wants to show us all just how smart he is. I don’t mind listening to his storytelling although I understand that after a decade in prison that some of the other inmates are pretty tired of it. My storytelling friend has a yarn about everything and everybody. “Dwight, did you know that your bat cave office was where men used to have sex with each other? I have walked in on guys before in the act. So I just excused myself and gracefully exited out.” Then he followed it up with, “Don’t get me wrong; it wasn’t a whorehouse or anything like that.” OK dude, thanks for that visual. The last thing I was going to ask was how he knew it wasn’t a whorehouse because I was afraid I already knew the answer.

According to Matthew, another “meeting” place was in the upstairs above the chapel. Men can’t be up there without a male volunteer escort. Maybe escort is the wrong word, but that certainly describes our function in a practical kind of way. When I’m up there meeting with one of the guys, I try and not smile to myself at the bizarreness of the whole setting. Thanks to Matthew and his open book policy towards me, I’ve come to learn a lot about the rooms above the chapel. I’ve also come to appreciate why the door upstairs is locked! When I’ve been upstairs, I’ve been drawn to a large painting of the Virgin Mary holding Jesus. They are both looking down on those walking by. It’s actually a creepy-looking Virgin Mary and neither she nor the baby Jesus look too happy. I wonder why? The LDS bishop now has his office up there, as does the Wasatch Chaplain. In the upstairs rooms, the Catholic priest will hold confessions, and the Muslims sometimes will use it as their prayer hall. You have to have to obtain the key to unlock that kingdom. Maybe the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus can smile now. Again, Matthew thanks for the visuals.

I think the frankness is what surprises me the most and makes my reality bend here and there. In Utah the winters can get cold, and the state prison was built at the Point of the Mountain in what used to be tumbleweeds and wheat fields near Draper. This is about eighteen miles south of Salt Lake City itself. The Point of the Mountain is that literally. It’s a point that separates the Salt Lake Valley from Utah Valley, and the snow and ice storms can whip around that point with a fury. The main north-south freeway in Utah, Interstate 15, was built after the prison was and it runs right by the facility and up the point into Utah Valley. It’s a nasty place in the winter. Now it’s suburbia, wind farms, National Guard buildings, and a polygamist school is hidden below the interstate. Since parts of the prison date from the 1950s, the heating system isn’t always as uniform as it could be, especially when the wind and storms are whipping around that point off those 10,000 plus foot tall Wasatch Mountains. The older sections do have heat, but it can still get cold. To keep themselves warm, the inmates will put their hands down their pants. Maybe it’s not the most visually pleasing thing to do, but when you don’t have pockets and your hands are turning blue, you do what you can.

             In one conversation I was listening to between Brad and the director’s wife, they were talking about this subject in a clinical way. The director’s wife is in her upper sixties and literally looks like the stereotypical grandma who used to bake you cookies when you were a kid. She’s as sweet as any classic Mormon matriarch can be. So when she casually mentioned to Brad that

                                                                                           Continued……..