Doing Time...

I was so touched this afternoon when I received an email from my former Yoga teacher and friend, Christy Brown...

she has been busy with teaching as always, but she went into San Quentin Prison recently to teach a yoga class to the inmates, and her story went deep into my soul....

you see I have a connection with that place...a connection of sorts you might say. I did live right down the street from San Quentin Prison when I lived in Marin at one point, but that isn't the connection that I speak of.

My birth father spent many years there, as an inmate.

I was adopted when I was 6 months old you see...

my birth parents tried to rob and bank and they used me as a shield so that the Police wouldn't shoot them...

by the grace of God, I was fine...and went on to live a very Blessed life in my adopted home overlooking the Pacific Ocean in a beautiful home where I was very loved...

but my birth parents, whom I have never met, both went to prison. My birth father went for Life...

I have always wanted to know more, but have come to the realization...that it doesn't really matter.

Mainly I wanted to know Who I resembled most...him or her...I know that I get my athletic ability and drive from my birth father..as he was a Boxer at one time..

I have been told that I will see what my mother looks like every time I look into the mirror, as I am like her twin. But I will never meet them, at least not in this lifetime...

and I am actually really OK with that.

Because I have had the Best life and it has been filled with more love that I could have ever imagined...

and to me, that is Enough!

Here is Christy's story of her time in San Quentin and how it touched her..

I hope it will touch you in some small way...it did me, but in a very big way!

The Insight Prison Project at San Quentin high-security men's prison in Marin county is inspired by and named after Vipassana meditation, a technique that was taught by the Buddha when he lived and which still survives very close to its original form, having been passed down from teacher to student for over 2000 years. In Pali, an ancient language spoken in India at the time of Gautama Buddha, vipassana means insight. Vipassana meditation has transformed the Indian prison system, as is documented in the film Doing Time, Doing Vipassana. India's most notorious prisons have Vipassana centers inside the walls, and both inmates and guards sign up on waiting lists to take these 10-day silent courses which involve 10 to 11 hours of sitting meditation each day. Learning to hold the mind still for prolonged periods of time tends to generate sometimes profound insight and personal transformation, and has thus had a dramatic impact on rehabilitation of prison inmates in India.I first saw a documentary similar to Doing Time, Doing Vipassana back in 2001 while attending a 10-day Vipassana course in Igatpuri, India. I recall from the documentary that an Indian woman, who at the time oversaw India's prison system, was responsible-together with S.N. Goinka, the guru of Vipassana meditation-for this embracing of Vipassana in the rehabilitation of inmates. It was the combination of this practice, which holds potential for profound personal transformation and awakening, together with dedicated leadership, that led to success.The Insight Prison Project (IPP) at San Quentin is an umbrella program dedicated to genuine and sustained rehabilitation of inmates and is based on principles and practices of Vipassana meditation. Founded by Jacques Verduin and privately funded, IPP helps inmates to trace back, understand and confront emotional patterns and reactions that led to crime. According to an article about IPP in Ode Magazine (October, 2007), as many as 300 inmates, including "lifers" and men doing time for murder, attend IPP's programs each week. Programs include group and individual psychotherapy, conflict resolution and mediation, victim/offender education, violence prevention, parole planning, addiction recovery and yoga. Yoga, as part of IPP, plays a critical role in the self-transformation often required for true rehabilitation of participating inmates. James Fox has been teaching the yoga, as well as leading group sessions, for over five years. When I met James about five years ago and first learned about IPP, I was immediately intrigued and felt a strong desire to teach yoga to inmates myself. I told James of my interest. He suggested I try teaching at a juvenile hall or women's prison instead. About six months ago, I contacted James for a second time about teaching yoga at San Quentin, this time with a few more years of teaching under my belt. I told him of my desire to serve, and he responded that for those on a spiritual path, it's natural to arrive at a desire to serve. He agreed to meet with me for an initial conversation. James ended up taking me under his wing. Through a series of in-person and over-the-phone conversations, and, as he told me, operating on his intuition about whether we would continue, he began to prepare me to teach yoga to inmates at San Quentin. I knew it was possible that he might decide I wasn't the right fit, especially since very few women had ever taught yoga to inmates at San Quentin. Through James, I came to appreciate more intimately the cycle wherein inmates, born into life circumstances beyond their control, and trapped in a moment or a lifetime of inner darkness or darkness of the collective environment, now find themselves trapped in San Quentin, potentially for a lifetime. Or, as is so often the case and largely because the prison system includes virtually no state-funded rehabilitation programs, the problematic cycle of recidivism continues un-checked, wherein inmates, once freed, soon find themselves locked up again for having returned to criminal activity.James told me about a group session where he helped a guy to trace back through his life and search for the original emotion in a series of emotional reactions that eventually led to an act of crime. After a point, the guy sat there, wordless, and finally said, "Man, I've been so cut off from my emotions for so long that I don't even know what I felt." This is just one example of the sort of challenge facing IPP in the rehabilitation of criminals. The kind of inner shift that is required to soften a hardened shell to be able to feel where feeling has been lost is some of the most difficult and extreme inner work that a human being can undertake. To be successful in it, to whatever degree, requires nothing less than profound self-transformation and awakening. James arranged for my clearance into San Quentin and had me accompany him to a yoga class he teaches each week to about 20 inmates. Going into San Quentin, I didn't so much find darkness as much as intensified reality. It was as if being inside of San Quentin and feeling the weight of all that the place represents, stripped away everything but what actually was in every transitory moment. I didn't fully realize the intensity of being inside San Quentin until I later left the prison and was surprised to find that it took me several hours to readjust.That first time going into San Quentin, I was prepared for the worst. I had spoken with a handful of people beforehand and had taken in the various responses I received, which varied from admiration to alarm. Interestingly, in those cases of alarm, like, "Why are you doing that?" or, "It's too dangerous for a woman!", I found that the reference point of understanding often came from movies. It is true that going into San Quentin is not risk-free. This became most obvious to me when James ran down the list of colors that I could and couldn't wear-in the event that a gun needs to be fired, it needs to be immediately apparent to guards who is an inmate and who is not. I was prepared for the worst and was surprised to find the experience to be not only mellow, but even enjoyable. Everyone I met was pleasant, including guards and inmates, though I know it's not always so smooth and that I was accompanying the long-established yoga teacher himself. After passing through two separate security checks, which took about an hour, we walked through an open courtyard where inmates are allowed to roam about freely. There was lots of physical activity happening, guys playing basketball, guys lifting weights, and guys milling around, and, unexpectedly, a sweat lodge dominated a corner of the yard. There were some curious glances our way, but not the aggressive cat-calls I'd been warned of by some. Once we were inside the IPP office area which consisted of two closet-size, windowless rooms on either side of a hallway, I met a couple people who work with or in conjunction with IPP to help inmates in a variety of ways. I was struck by the down-to-earth dedication and devotion to the cause that I sensed. Finally, two hours after I'd met James to go through the initial checkpoint, we went into the classroom. It was a long room, on the ground floor, with a couple windows looking onto the courtyard we'd walked through. Desk tables and chairs were stacked in a corner. As the guys began to wander in from the courtyard, a few guys who'd signed up for the newly created second class, which was scheduled to begin later that same week, also came by. They were double-checking to be sure that their class wasn't that day, that they weren't missing their yoga class.The guys in the class, many of whom were Hispanic, and dressed in some combination of light gray sweats or blue pants with a white, gray or blue shirt, said hello to James, gave him their ID cards, and some of them I met briefly. They were all respectful towards me and, if anything, a little shy. They each got a mat, sprayed and cleaned it, and patiently sat down or laid down on their mats to wait for the class to begin. They had clearly been through this routine before. James had me put my mat down next to him, with the mats arranged in two long rows facing each other. Before he began the class, he introduced me as a visiting yoga teacher and explained that there would be time after class if they had questions for me. As the class proceeded, I began to experience first-hand what James had told me of his emphasis on incorporating mindfulness, self-awareness and softening into the practice, and how important this is in helping the guys in the class to learn impulse control. I also became more acutely aware of how privileged these guys are to have this opportunity; yoga and mindfulness practices don't tend to be readily available in the communities that most of these guys come from.The guys were focused and attentive and understood when James called out certain poses by their Sanskrit names. There was an innocence in the way they practiced, a genuine beginner's mind. It was a straightforward and meditative practice, with breath and movement in sync, and it went by quickly. James had them partner up for handstand, which he later explained to me is good for developing the ability to shift perspective. The sivasana and meditation at the end were very still and peaceful. As James had told me, these yoga classes are likely the only sustained interludes of peace that these guys experience being incarcerated at San Quentin. No wonder they appreciate it so much.The hour and 45 minute class ended, the guys put away their mats and put the desk tables and chairs back in place, and we stood around, waiting for clearance to leave, which didn't come. Indeed, there was a lock down. At this particular time in the day, every inmate has to be accounted for, and until that happens, nobody goes anywhere. So here we all were together, for another 45 minutes or so, until the lock down ended. It turned out to have been a clerical error, but it gave me the opportunity to talk to most of the guys, some of whom I spoke with in Spanish. I asked some of them what they liked most about the yoga. Most all of them expressed, in some form or other, that they most appreciated the yoga's calming effect. And, they had various questions for me: How long had I been doing yoga? How did I learn to teach yoga? Had I been to India? Where do I teach? When the lock down cleared and the guys walked up to the door to leave, each one of them shook my hand, looked me in the eyes, and thanked me for being there. Each eye gaze was a profound moment for me.Some weeks later, James suggested I accompany him back to San Quentin to guest teach the same class, where, apparently, the guys knew me as "Christina" (my name in Spanish). He asked me to prepare a theme and a sequence. After meditating on my theme, I came up with the idea of breaking down his theme of impulse control into my own three-part theme: (1) cultivating inner calm, (2) self-observation, and (3) shifting perspective.It's a little hard to put into words the experience of leading a yoga class at San Quentin. Having had some familiarity with the group, I fortunately felt comfortable and at ease. In some ways it felt very normal, just like teaching a class anywhere, only there weren't the extras like music, lighting and candles, and they wore prison clothes, some of them socks. It was stark, which had the effect of stripping the practice down to its purest form. I began (and ended) the class with a brief meditation and gradually led the class into a series of basic standing poses and sun salutations, a few seated poses, including core-strengthening and twisting poses, gentle back-bending, a partial inversion, and a yin-style pigeon. I emphasized breath, using and moving from core, observing physical sensations, and abiding in a quiet, gentle inner space. I found the group to be cohesive, focused, diligent and endearing. I felt present and a calm joy. Offering what I had to give in that context was deeply rewarding and somehow softened me, though my intention was to help them to soften. There wasn't a lock down this time around, so the room cleared more quickly, though I did talk to some of the guys afterwards. I went in expecting to give and ended up receiving so much. I felt grateful, honored and privileged to have spent time in San Quentin, and deeply touched by these men who live in such stark and endless circumstances, with extremely difficult lives left behind or awaiting their return, who come to this room every week to do yoga with James, and who respectfully allowed me to lead them in a practice. They may not be privy to the mainstream world of yoga, but at some deep level, they really get the practice and appreciate it for the real benefits, beyond the physical, that yoga promises: a quiet and calm mind; heightened and expanded awareness; uncovering and recognizing our inherent goodness; and, among other numerous benefits of the practice, developing the ability to observe oneself and one's reactions and to potentially break long-held mental-emotional patterns that create stress and discontent in our lives. It can be easy to miss these jewels at the heart of the practice out there in the mainstream world of yoga, yet it is here that the potential for real change in ourselves, our society and our world lies. The population at large needs practices like this as much as inmates at San Quentin. Rehabilitating inmates at San Quentin, as essential as it is, is still treating the symptoms of society's failings. Now, to treat the root causes of society's failings means that the collective consciousness needs to shift, and that depends on each member of the human species.As I left San Quentin, a sadness came over me which still lingers and calls me back. I was leaving behind a moment of service, which no doubt felt rewarding and fulfilling. I was leaving behind this group to whom I'd opened my heart and who had received what I offered. I was leaving this place where reality is stripped to the bare bones, where superfluousness has no place. I was leaving behind a sliver of the world from which we are sheltered in the mainstream. Sitting in my car, waiting to meet a friend for dinner, I looked around me and, in that moment, it all seemed a little superficial and blind to the sobering reality of San Quentin, though it dominates the Marin county landscape. I felt torn away from the real world and dropped into a reality that felt a little flat in comparison and in denial. And, at the same time, I felt more deeply connected than ever to the beauty and grace that is always in abundance in and around us. I know I'm not alone in feeling isolated from the real world and to sometimes feeling powerless to make change in it. The infrastructures, government, media, and all the deeply embedded systems don't make access easy for us. But, as the Nobel Prize-winning author from Nigeria, Wole Soyinka, writes in You Must Set Forth at Dawn, "Futility stared one in the face, but inaction was far more intolerable." And, as the ancient teachings tell us, one of the most valuable gifts we can each make to the collective is our own self-evolution.

If there is light in the soul,There will be beauty in the person.

If there is beauty in the person,There will be harmony in the home.

If there is harmony in the home,There will be order in the nation.

If there is order in the nation,There will be peace in the world.

-Chinese Proverb