I have lived a brutal life, not attentive to my own well-being. Growing up I felt everything I did was wrong; so why bother changing? For too long, I repressed the pain and wrongful events of my past, didn’t want to own up to it.
You asked why I turned to crime at a young age. Well, it was always because I felt forced by my folks to do what they expected was good for me. It was never about what interests I had as a kid, or what I wanted to do growing up. On top of that came repeated beatings by my pops, which were ruthless. I reached that point I had enough of my parents forcing their ideology on me, how my life should be.
I’d rebel big time on purpose, started drinking and using drugs. I ended up stealing minor things at first—food, then clothes. I moved on to burglarizing houses nearby, later graduated to sticking up people on the street and stores. Nobody forced me to do any of that breaking the law, I acted on my own because I gained a deep thrill from not being told by anyone what to do. I ran the street: sold drugs, robbed, stole cars, took to strip selling the parts, I just didn’t care, thought I was on top of the world. Ended up in juvenile hall, then camp, county jail, and finally prison.
Criminals are the “other,” somebody else’s problem. We judge and marginalize them so we won’t have to face our own fears about being unlovable and imperfect. We are so afraid of our own shadow—the natural parts of being human that we repress in order to fit in—that we slumber in addiction to beliefs about our unworthiness, dulling our lives to what’s acceptable. Rather than opening to the Mystery of Divine Love, we create monolithic barriers called prison where we banish people we don’t know, and are afraid of, to make ourselves feel safe and right. We dare not look in the mirror to face that we, too, are capable of anything that anyone else is capable of. We avoid discovering the “other” as ourselves: In our fear of being real and whole, we create our own inner prison.
But this is not about crime and punishment; this is about love. As Hafiz wrote: “How did the rose ever open up its heart and give to this world all of its beauty? It felt the encouragement of light against its being.” My loved one’s story is this unfolding, an example of how even a violent felon can utterly transform his inner life even while in “the hellhole”—17 years of the social and sensory deprivations and psychological torture that constitute indefinite, unconstitutional, barbarous solitary confinement.

In California, citizens are more outraged by the crowding of chickens than of human beings. Most don’t even realize that the thousands of prisoners warehoused in 8×10-foot windowless concrete cells for decades—at great taxpayer expense—are denied due process, adequate food and medical care, sunshine, rehabilitative programming, phone calls, or a way to return to the general prison population unless they self-incriminate, snitch on other prisoners, or die. They are spit on, yelled at, cavity-searched, cells trashed, mail read by guards who do not follow the rule of law but fabricate personal policies on a whim.
Over six weeks in 2011, thousands of inmates labeled “the worst of the worst” by the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation unified across racial and geographic barriers for a nonviolent hunger strike to protest decades of abuse and indifference by CDCR, to raise awareness that they are human beings who deserve to not be treated like animals, even while incarcerated.
My beloved is one of these “worst.” Our relationship began with my guiding him in transpersonal psychology; today he is my teacher of compassion, respect, unconditional love, faith, and fearless courage. He has taught me what it means to be a human being, shadow and light as one, without judgment. Despite twenty-plus years of hard time, he awakened during the hunger strike to the light in all beings, including those guards whose hearts are armored against kindness.
In his own words:
Critics say that prisoners in solitary are animals, beyond rehabilitation. That inmates shouldn’t complain how staff treat them, accept it, serve our sentence. I think of this a lot and wonder if these same critics would surrender to abuse by the hands of co-workers or family members? Yes, we’re in prison because we violated the law, made some bad decisions, but we’re also human beings, worthy just as everyone out in society who has freedom. When a person makes mistakes in life, it doesn’t mean he or she is stupid or a disgrace to society. There’s so much healing, growth, and awareness in mistakes, which can make one a better person.
How can the human spirit survive and flourish in solitary while your human existence is desensitized and debased around the clock? How does one practice patience in a world of broken lives, hurt, pain, misery, aggression, mistrust, egos clashing constantly, hell itself where lives die slowly and spirits languish after a while, nothing to live for?
My reply from personal experience is this: to know that good exists in you and use the situation to create a new you, one that is responsible and has emerged out to the other side stronger and conscious for the first time, making you new and worthy and compassionate. Not does this only benefit you, but you’ll be able to help others find their way through adversity, to be a source of empowerment to everyone by your positive actions, which creates an atmosphere of faith, hope, acceptance, humility, and a life of quality based on human respect.
Encountering our own dark side is always scary and painful, but a necessary part of real growth.
When we stop being unkind to ourselves by not living our own lives, only then will we live consciously, free from the demons of our own prison within. All inmates can find out who they are and bring the light into their lives, deal with reality, begin a new chapter. It’s just the same out in society, lots of people not being truthful with themselves, running from life not living it. As long as we’re running from realness and change, the demons rule our lives, keeping us off kilter. I was one of those inmates, a lost soul untrue to myself, miserable, and I lied and hurt people, family and friends.
The greatest fear of prisoners is acceptance, and forgiveness. It doesn’t matter what difficulties we’ve experienced or how hardened our hearts have become through suffering and frustration. Love and wisdom from others transform us in ways never expected, and change our whole being, bringing one to a comfort zone in life and peaceful bliss. I know now that every human being has a sacred life journey that we must find and connect with, despite setbacks and imperfection.
You remove fear and barriers by knowing your personal self-worth, living by your own principles, believing in your potential and purpose in life. The sacred divine in us is what enables the human in us to stand the truth of who we are. The life challenge for everyone is to be free, accepted, and treated well and equally by others. And to also build bridges of understanding and compassion with everyone, and not judge because of race or differences of beliefs. Our true strength as humans lies in our ability to love unconditionally and stand up for what we believe in.
A person doesn’t have to be locked up physically to know what it’s like, incarceration. My character today is one of dignity and order, love, goodness, happiness, and awakening. I am committed to my growth and making a difference in my life and the life of others too. I’ve never felt this massive new energy of self-worth and self-respect, realness with myself and others, or this profound love and happiness for life and every person, till now. I love where I’ve arrived today, in a happy state, a form of realness and comfort that was elusive to me in the past.
I’m grateful to the Divine Mother I made it out safely. And what a feeling, let me say, to be in this new state.
and you?
Have you dared to look into the dark side of your human nature? Have you ever found yourself judging others, whilst ignoring your own potential for harmful behaviour? In the moment we dismiss another human being as unworthy, we perpetuate the very behaviour we lock people away for. Only through deep acknowledgement and a willingness to rehabilitate can things start to change. Please share your heart and insights. Let’s start a dialogue in the comments section below…
about the author:
BETH WITROGEN is a writer and speaker on spiritual transformation and sacred activism. As a journalist and author, she has earned two Pulitzer Prize nominations for groundbreaking work in family caregiving, including Caregiving: The Spiritual Journey of Love, Loss, and Renewal (Wiley, 2000).
She is currently a human rights proponent writing and speaking about the torture of solitary confinement, spiritual transformation behind bars, and moral conscience.
For more info and to contact Beth, please visit her site.
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