stevenchristopher

As much as I use this blog as a personal exercise sort of like journaling, the fact is that I’m doing so in a public forum. I would so appreciate any feedback from those who take the time to read my posts. Also, let’s talk about this stuff. I’d love to hear your thoughts and ideas, your responses to what I write.

The comments on my posts are what encourage me to keep writing. I have a vague desire to “be a writer” someday, and this blog is partially writing practice for me…

So, I’m grateful to those of you who take the time to comment on what your read here. I also welcome suggestions on how I could improve my blog, both in content and in my writing.

Thanks!

I remember being a very, very young child arguing with my father because he wouldn’t give me money to put in the bent and dirty coffee cup held out by the equally bent and dirty panhandler. “He’ll just buy booze with it,” my father said with finality. My heart just about broke. I felt such compassion for the old beggar, and there was a painful, almost shameful awareness of the beautiful home and room full of toys I’d be returning to. There was something very wrong about the whole situation, but my child’s mind couldn’t understand it; instead, my child’s heart cracked a bit.

I’ve always been inclined to give money to panhandlers–or “stemmers”, as they call themselves. They don’t beg; they “stem”. Even when I myself was homeless, which is how I learned the lingo, I would give what I could. If that day found me particularly flush, I’d buy some food for the person. Because my father was right: most stemmers stem for alcohol or drugs It’s always a better bet to bring him or her to McDonald’s or something. At least then you know your charity is being used properly.

A couple of thoughts arise in response to this whole topic. The job I got here in Burlington finds me out sweeping up butts and trash, emptying trash and recycling bins, and otherwise keeping “as clean as Disney World” the four-block area of Church Street, which serves as the veritable heart of Burlington. As with any city’s downtown area, Church Street is where all of Burlington’s homeless, addicted, and otherwise marginalized people congregate. It’s got a vibrant semi-bohemian vibe that appeals to that facet of my personality that manifested itself with dyed blue hair and multiple facial piercings during my early adolescence.

A lot of folks stem on Church Street, but there’s one in particular that really sticks out to me. She’s a young woman, probably in her mid-20s, partial to flowing hippie skirts and poet tops. She’s out there every day, for hours each day, always with a different sign. She’s a smart girl, apparently, because instead of the standard, “Spare change for the homeless”, she chooses whimsical phrases like, “Kindness is never lost.”

I look at this healthy woman, this woman who spends as much time each day begging for money as she would at any actual job, and I wonder why she chooses to live like she does. To anyone visiting Burlington, she’s an appealing outlet for charitable urges: clean-looking, pretty, young. Not bleary-eyed, unshaven and reeking of booze like most of the other stemmers. She must make a killing, honestly. I heard her the other day telling some unsuspecting tourist a fiction about a broken-down car and plans for college in California. Today she told a guy about an abusive ex-boyfriend and involuntary homelessness. Which is true? Either?

Tonight I saw her all dressed up, arm-in-arm with a couple of equally well-dressed kids, uproariously laughing in a familiar camaraderie that belied friendships of long-standing. Apparently, she’s a professional stemmer. A con-woman. I was wondering why she didn’t just get a job with all the time she devotes to encouraging strangers to give her money only to realize that stemming is her job.

Perhaps the spirit in which charity is given is far more important than the spirit in which it’s received. Maybe it doesn’t matter whether the spare change goes to booze, crack-cocaine, or baby formula.

Maybe no kindness is ever lost.

In 2001 I was indicted for a bank robbery I committed two and a half years earlier. According to the then-binding Federal Sentencing Guidelines, I was looking at a minimum of twelve and a half years in prison–at least that’s what my court-appointed attorney told me. I subsequently discovered through my own research that my lawyer was (thankfully) wrong, and I was actually looking at somewhere around eight years. At that point in my life, though, eight or twelve or even twenty years seemed equally impossible to survive. I had just completed a two-year sentence for a store robbery I committed the day before the bank. For two years I had fought my demons, made peace with my past and put it behind me. It shattered me to find out that not only was I not done with prison, but that I would have to do four times more time than I already had. I was devastated.

As in all times of abject desperation, I turned toward Spirit. Faith had gotten me through the previous two years; it would have to get me through the next several, too, because I didn’t even have the will to live at that point.

That’s when I really turned myself over to the care of God. Though I’d always believed in God, the extent of my spiritual life was informal prayer and a fascination with the New Age movement and all things paranormal. It took the A-bomb of an unexpected federal indictment to bring me to my knees and to open my heart to God.

So, it was at this time in my life that I started exploring meditation, yoga, and other formalized practices as means of actively inviting Light into my daily life. I had no idea that these spiritual practices were inextricably linked with Eastern thought and religion. My studies led me to Buddhist, Hindu, and mystic Christian texts. The deeper I went into these practices and studies, the more fundamental commonalities I discovered. Whether in the nontheistic context of Buddhism, the polytheistic world of Hinduism, or the trinity-as-one doctrine of Christianity, emphasis is placed time and time again on Love. Unconditional Love as the highest form of emotion, as the closest we can hope to come to come to godhead.

In most of our “love” relationships as humans, however, the love is anything but unconditional. There are aspects of possessiveness, jealousy, and familiarity in most love relationships. Rarely can the human heart love truly without conditions.

In realizing that what I know of as love is intrinsically limited by my human nature, I nonetheless seek to cultivate unconditional Love. I have grown tired of my wary, untrusting heart hidden within itself like a turtle in its shell. I choose to live with my heart wide open today, for it is in giving that we receive.

I have a job interview at 9:00 this morning. This is something of a minor miracle, because my efforts so far to find a job haven’t been what one would call fruitful. In a job market still suffering from the economic crisis and with unemployment rates still very high, law-abiding candidates with consistent work histories are struggling to find jobs. A candidate like me is another matter altogether. I’ve had one job in the past dozen years, which I held for just under six months. And I have a criminal record. Now, a lot of employers will overlook a youthful indiscretion or two, say a DUI or a simple assault. I have a serious record, though. A long one. With charges like bank robbery, armed robbery, possession of crack cocaine, assault and battery on a police officer, and common nightwalking. And those are just the highlights.

I’ve filled out a slew of applications since moving to Burlington, and I’m developing a pretty deep-rooted resentment of “the question“. It’s generally a variation of this: Have you ever been convicted of a felony? If yes, please explain in the space provided.

The space provided isn’t even enough for me to list all the felonies I’ve been convicted of, let alone explain them. That’s beside the point, though. The ex-offender employment specialist I’ve seen a couple of times at the Department of Labor here in town tells me that 10-15 candidates apply for every opening. Employers use “the question”, she says, as a means of eliminating one or two applicants right off the bat. I haven’t gotten a callback on a single application I’ve filled out. When I call to see if anyone has had the chance to review my application, the position has been filled, or someone will call me back.

Resumes are a similar minefield. My work history is truly historic–like precambrian or maybe mesozoic. I try to be creative with my resume. Past jobs are listed chronologically, sure, but I leave out the dates of employment. The Department of Labor lady supports that bit of smoke and mirrors. It’s either let the prospective employers know that I haven’t really worked since the 1990s, never in one position for more than a year–almost as sure to eliminate me from consideration as “the question”–or leave out the dates in hopes that I’ll get called in for an interview.

An interview is my only chance to present myself as a candidate and explain my past. Fortunately, I interview well. I don’t come off like someone who’s done nine years in prison. In fact, people often don’t believe me when they find out about the time I’ve done, just as my fellow prisoners used to bust my balls about still seeming fresh off the streets years into my bid.

The obstacles that men and women face in transitioning from prison back into society are daunting. This reality is starkly proven by the sad fact that 67% of people released from prison are back in on new charges within two years of their release. One of the most important elements of making a successful transition is securing employment and a steady source of income. Pretty much everything from shelter to clothing to food follows from that one basic requirement: a paycheck.

Given the uphill climb from ex-con to productive member of society, I think something should be done to even the playing field in terms of getting a job after release from prison.

It’s pretty simple, really. Employers most certainly have the right to know whether a prospective employee has a criminal record, but what if the employer were to have to decide to offer the position to a candidate before asking “the question”? This would eliminate many of the problems discussed above, and it would still enable employers to make informed decisions about who to hire. Instead of asking about convictions at the beginning of the screening process, which often denies felonious candidates an interview and the ability to explain his or her record, employers should be required to wait until a job offer is forthcoming to ask “the question”.

Massachusetts passed a law like this, with a little added protection. Once an employer decides to offer a job to a person and finds out the candidate has a record, the employer then has to prove that there is a direct conflict between the duties and responsibilities of the position and the candidate’s charges. For example, if someone is hired as a security guard at a retail store, shoplifting or larceny charges would constitute justifiable bars to employment; drug charges would not.

These kinds of practices give ex-prisoners a chance. I mean, let’s face it, most employers simply aren’t interested in hiring ex-prisoners regardless of the nature of the charges. With all the unavoidable hurdles newly-released men and women face, it seems fair to make the process of finding a job a bit more equitable.

I got this interview this morning because my godmother’s friend is married to the guy doing the hiring. He knows that I’m in recovery and did a lot of time in prison, and he’s interviewing me because his wife put the screws to him on behalf of my godmother. I had one other interview since my release in May, and that was because interviews were held just as the application was completed.

God willing, I’ll get this job this morning. I have faith that the Universe will provide the right opportunity for me at the right time, but I’m starting to get pretty anxious about money. My rent comes due again August 1, and I have credit card bills coming in. There’s $17 in my wallet, with no prospect of money coming in unless I get a job. It’s challenging to have faith in times like this.

Sort of like it’s tough to be spiritual when you’re having a tooth pulled.

I spent quite a few Fourths of July in prison. One in particular was spent at the Metropolitan Detention Center-Brooklyn, a federal detention facility right on the waterfront in Brooklyn. By standing on a couple plastic crates stacked one upon the other, one could see up over the recreation-deck wall out to the water, with the Statue of Liberty beckoning in the distance. The irony of this wasn’t lost on me, and I often thought of what a provocative image it would make for a short story or something. Anyway, I got see the Fourth of July fireworks one year from that rec-deck–quite a panorama, the NYC waterfront, breathtaking fireworks display, ol’ Lady Liberty.

There were a few times where the position of my cell or the prison it was in gave me glimpses of fireworks displays, and it always seemed like a gift from the Universe, being able to see those explosions of color from the confines of a prison cell.

So this past weekend, it was a glory to stand in the drizzling rain and watch a tremendous display over Lake Champlain. So meaningful and steeped in symbolism for me. To actually be free on Independence Day! Free not only in body, but in Spirit.

Alcoholism and addiction, when active, are pretty much the absence of freedom. A person like me has no choice once he or she puts a drink or drug in my body; all thoughts and actions pretty much feed into the “getting and using and finding ways and means to get more” drugs.

That’s was I was mindful of out in the rain this July 4th–how precious freedom is. How there are so many different levels of it. How I’ll never voluntarily sacrifice mine again.

As a kid I was in accelerated classes in school. They actually called the program I was in from 2nd to 8th grade “Gifted and Talented”. Clearly, intelligence hasn’t been much of an asset for me! Nine years in prison, more than that squandered in the cesspit of drug addiction. Basically I’m just qualifying a bit. I’m sort of smart, so the fact that I’ve been an unforgivably slow learner in certain areas of my life can’t be excused as a result of dim-wittedness. If only!

The lesson I’ve been beaten about the head with for a couple years now is that it’s impossible for me to “live dirty and stay clean”. Basically, for most recovering addicts and alcoholics, there’s a need to live clean to stay off drugs. In 12-Step fellowships, addiction is viewed at its core as a “spiritual malady”, the most obvious symptom of which is powerlessness over drugs, alcohol, sex, food, gambling, ad infinitum. They even have 12-Step groups for internet addiction! Whatever we’re addicted to isn’t the problem; it’s the dynamic of addiction itself, which is far deeper than any substance.

Basically, because my addiction is a spiritual malady, I have to live in accordance with my spiritual values if I’m to have any chance of staying clean. Once I start compromising my Spirit and letting my ego run the show, my first line of defense against addiction is commensurately compromised.

I know this, obviously. I sure the hell can TALK like I know it, anyway. The consequences I’ve suffered from repeatedly testing these murky waters range from the loss of loved ones to complete spiritual bankruptcy, from incarceration to financial ruin.

So, why the fuck did I spend the past three days consciously choosing to compromise what I know is True?

I’ve lately come to appreciate what an apt metaphor “whirlwind” can be when describing life. “What a whirlwind week I’ve had!” I’m really identifying with that sentiment these days…

Anyone familiar with the whole Animal Spirit/Native American paradigm? For a while, I experienced a strong resonance with that whole wisdom tradition. It’s an earth-based sort of perspective in which animal spirits are thought to share kinship and provide guidance to us, spiritually. I’d been having lots of wild, in-your-face experiences with red-tailed hawks and crows, believe it or not, both of which turn out to be steeped with symbolism and meaning in Native American folklore and wisdom traditions. The hawk is about clear-sightedness; the need to be vigilant and aware of thinking and surroundings. The crow is the “magic” spirit that connects this world with “the void”. The crow is about all things related to ethics, and symbolizes the “shadow” side of our personalities and the Universe.

When I came to Burlington, one thing that really struck me was how many CROWS there are in this city! They wake me up almost every morning, rowdily cawing on the street below my bedroom window. The crow, they say, calls us to do “shadow work”, to confront darkness and overcome it. To work skillfully in darkness, is what one website says:

http://animalspirits.com/index1.html

That’s what I find myself having to do these days, all in a whirlwind of activity and challenge. The butterfly (another powerful animal spirit) carries “the power of the whirlwind”. The spiral is a huge part of symbolic imagery, and the whirlwind/tornado is one of the most powerful, unpredictable forces in nature. Think of how it can rip a house up from its foundations, splinter it into a million pieces, yet leave the home right next to it completely unmarked. Amazing. The energy of the whirlwind, of spirals, calls us higher and deeper…

So, these are some of the concepts and signs I’m trying to be mindful of these days. I’m reminded of my powerlessness over so much in this life: over my various addictions, over other people and their addictions, over just about everything other than how I approach and deal with everything I’m powerless over! Life, for me, has to include a near-constant attitude of surrender into something greater than me. I have tattooed on my wrists the words, “Higher Powered”. I once had a bracelet–my ex-fiance got it for me a long time ago–had “Higher Powered” engraved on a silver viagra attached to a leather strap. It fell off in the ocean, but I liked it so much I had it tattooed on my wrists when I ended up back in jail after a relapse and probation violation. I got them to remind myself in moments like these of late that Steven is no good at running the show.

So, I choose to turn it over, pray for guidance, get out of my own way.

I’ll start with a self-disclosure, sort of a disclaimer: I have made few really good decisions in my life. My efforts to live in God consciousness have usually been short-lived and half-hearted. But they have been ever sincere. That said, during the times when I’m intentionally trying to surrender myself into Higher Consciousness, there’s a part of me–or a force outside of me–that tries to knock me off the Path. My spiritual worldview doesn’t have a place for “Satan”, but I am inclined to believe the Satan figure is a personification of, well, a Destructive Principle. The whole yin and yang, light and dark, good and evil–we live in a universe of duality. This and not-this. Black and white. Male and female. Creative Principle and Destructive Principle.

I’ll do some story-telling here.

When i got out of prison in 2007 after 8 years, I returned to drug and alcohol abuse immediately, and have bounced in and out of Recovery since. Prior to my time in prison, I’d never even attempted to stay clean and sober. My whole life was built around “the getting and using [of drugs] and finding ways and means to get more.” Prison, periods of involuntary sobriety, and also long periods of drug use in prison all conspired to bring me to my knees in a humbling way. I did over two years in “the hole” and turned inward, seeking something Greater than my own will and sense of self which, after all, landed me in prison in the first place.

So, 2007. I got into drug treatment through the Federal Probation Department, got into Recovery for awhile. Over and over again, what can only be described as a Bluebeardian force arose in my life. [Bluebeard, as some might remember, is a murderous, chaotic figure in folklore. He sought to dismember all sources of Light and innocence. As a symbol, the Bluebeardian force can be seen as a Satan/Luciferian energy, one that resents and seeks to extinguish Light wherever it burns.] manifesting in all sorts of uncanny and ridiculous ways–strangers offering me drugs, multiple circumstances in my life falling apart, necessary dental surgery and painkillers. Tests, one could say, of my commitment to the Path. Or maybe opportunities for me to choose what I seek to manifest in my life.

Like I said, I’m short on experience with good decisions, and more often than not, I made poor choices. Returned over and over and over to drug and alcohol use. Acted out in so many ways–gambling, meaningless sex, material acquisition, lying. Turned my back on the Path and the Light.

I ended up violating my Probation numerous times after my 2007 release, resulted in two separate violation sentences, one of 4 months and one of 6 months. Less than a month ago I wrapped up the 6 months and finished my probation. For the first time in 12 years, I’m completely free of the criminal justice system.

As I’ve expressed in previous posts, I’m really trying to bring through Higher Energy in my daily life. Aligning myself with the Universe, with the Light. Recently, though, Bluebeard has been everywhere. I’ve met lots of great people here in Burlington, but I’ve also, and completely unintentionally, met drug users. I’ve gotten involved in (and quickly extricated myself from) a couple of unhealthy potential relationships. My ego is in a panic; it feels threatened, and has its bag of dirty tricks wide open.

I wonder if ego is something far more than just my sense of self. The more I try to surrender into Light, the more internal resistance and external temptation comes up.

A woman who’s been an integral part of my spiritual evolution once pointed out that the great Teachers–Buddha, Jesus, Etc.–all experienced great challenges. Buddha was tempted by Mara, the personification of illusion, as he sat under the Bodhi tree. Jesus has a similar test (and here I ask for forgiveness for my Christian illiteracy) at Gesthemane. Whatever the allegory, however I seek to conceptualize it, there really seems to be a force that seeks the ruin of souls. Something that thrives on separation, alienation, and darkness.

Whatever it is, as the magnificence of the Universe, of Creation becomes more and more evident in my life, so does the Destructive Principle. Today it’s all about vigilance, choosing on a moment-to-moment basis to be still, quiet, and consciously choose the Light.

Okay, so I want to share a great Amy Winehouse song with everyone. Now, it’s probably not much of a surprise that I’m a huge fan of her music, having lived something dreadfully similar to her lifestyle when I was young…Her voice is really powerful, and I think her antics cause people to have closed minds about her music.

This is the link, but I have no idea how to post the video itself or a hyperlink…

Help!?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7CJzMkvJUno

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through years in prison, it’s that prison is a state of mind. There’s a classic spiritual text distributed by The Human Kindness Foundation’s Prison-Ashram Project, written by Bo Lozoff, called “We’re All Doing Time”. The core purpose of the book is to provide a framework with which incarcerated people can use their sentences as opportunities for spiritual work and development. Beyond and behind that, though, is the idea that freedom is an inside job. Regardless of the exterior circumstances of our lives, whether we live in a jail cell or a penthouse apartment, freedom comes from within ourselves.

This evening I was forcibly reminded of this by a phone call from a dear friend who’s in and out of recovery from alcoholism. She has plenty of money, but tonight had two and a half gallons of vodka delivered to her house. She’s in a prison of her own making, in a way. During my time in prison, there were times where my spiritual fitness was such that the presence of gun towers and concertina wire has no effect on the expansive sense of freedom I experienced. While I was confined to cells, even 24/7 for over two years, there were moments of exquisite freedom. Now that I’m out, I see everywhere that the way people live their lives out here is often a far harsher form of imprisonment than any I saw in maximum-security penitentiaries.

I realize how trite that might sound. How easy it would be to focus only on the semantics of being in prison. After all, out here we decide where we go and when. We never get locked in. We eat with metal utensils. But is that real freedom? Or might it be that being locked into a dissatisfying job, living paycheck-to-paycheck, living a life of appearances might be a more insidious form of bondage?

It’s so important for me to stay aware of this paradox. There’s a quality to this fast-paced society, a sort of siren song of lulling mindlessness, and I notice how damned tempting it is to live a sort of half-awake life. Reaffirming my intention to stay awake, to get and stay truly free: this is the Work.

I’m going to try to include a bit of media on “Fourth-Dimensional Consciousness” that I find really interesting…Let’s see if I can pull it off!