Fences, spotlights, and watchtowers

The temple of my spiritual practice lies within concentric rings of fences and walls, spotlights and watchtowers, guards and protocols. Being that I go to a prison to sit with inmates, it could be that I mean what I say literally. Being that my practice is to step aside from all that hinders an awareness of that which I am, it could be that I mean what I say metaphorically. I am thankful that I am not physically incarcerated.

            When we sit in silence and bring our attention to the present moment, the circle of vinyl-covered cushions borrowed from the sofa becomes a sacred place. There is a story of the Buddha (Buddha meaning an awakened one, indistinguishable from the awakened you and I) walking along with his disciples. He stops and says, “This would be a good place for a temple.” The god Indra steps up and sticks a blade of grass in the ground and replies, “There, I have built you a temple.” It is reported that the Buddha was pleased.

            Out in the prison yard, alongside of the track and basketball courts, there is a small dome-shaped skeleton of a structure. Once a week, barring lockdowns and such prison business, the Native Americans are given the opportunity to have a sweat. It does not look like much from the outside, but I imagine that to enter it with the legacy of tradition, ceremony, and community is to step into another realm of being, and, of course, the departure from another realm. I have noticed with interest that even the inmates who do not participate and are not Native American seemed comforted by its presence and use.

            So, just what makes us a prisoner? Or a victim? What hinders us from our potential at this time and place? I wonder about the concentric rings circling the being that I am. Are they protecting me or imprisoning me? Is it worth the price to be safe? Deadened is safe. Dead is even safer.

            But there is another kind of dying, a dying while alive, and a dying that is also a birthing. It is entering the sweat lodge moment after moment, coming back to it like we come back to our breath in meditation. It is to be fearless. It is our birthright.