I cry no more

I cry no more. There was a time when I was “soft”. I’d cry when hit hard. I would even cry when abused. My time in prison hardened my heart and dried out my tear ducts. Prison increased my tolerance to endure hardship and pain tearlessly. When abused I now don’t cry. Being disrespected is something expected and, therefore, it doesn’t shock the tears out of my eyes. When I miss my family, who I haven’t seen in over 20 years, I think of my last family gatherings and the love we shared. I don’t cry. I smile. I even face torture as a challenge to my endurance. When tortured, I think of my coach and recall his encouragement and shouts for me to not give up. To never let them see me sweat. I don’t cry even when it is hard because I know that letting my coach down is even harder. I spent many consecutive months in solitary confinement. I had neither reading nor writing material. I did not cry. I “entertained” myself by counting and recounting the bricks on my cell walls. I did not cry. Many times I came up with different brick totals. I did not cry. Other times, I counted the cracks on the walls for you never know when that knowledge can be put to a better use. I spent countless days reflecting on subjects that are beyond my intellect and other topics that are on my level. I wondered on the reason(s) for our existence and I also wondered why a bathroom tissue would be named “Heavenly” or “Sweet”. I had no sorrow nor grief but pain was part of me. I had so much pain that I felt it no more. I did not cry. I prayed and called upon my Creator to help me. No voice, no thunder, no lightning, no visions came about. I did not cry. Silence was all around me. I did not cry. I heard the usual cries and shouts of prisoners far away from my solitary cell. I did not cry. I heard the bangs of steel on steel as gates open and close. I did not cry. I wasn’t the only living creature, yet I was alone. I did not cry. I continued my worship and considered my cell a cave in a high mountain. I looked at my solitary confinement to be a religious seclusion and an opportunity to be alone with my Maker. A retreat. I felt peace, safety and great calmness. I even started telling myself a few jokes and found them to be quite funny. I laughed at myself and at my situation. There was a time when I needed to know what time it was. I don’t know why that was important then. However, by my second Christmas under those conditions, hours or days or weeks did not make a difference. All the days and the weeks were the same. I started using months as my time measurement. I now understand why a friend of mine who spent many years in prison used to respond to those who ask him what time it is by saying “2007″ instead of the hour. Hours have no meaning when you are doing decades in prison. I spent hours, days, weeks and months in the exact same place. Literally the same cell. I was allowed to get one hour every 24 hours for recreation inside an iron cage. I did not participate in that program. Why? I did not like to be disturbed, I refused to interrupt my worship, and I hated (and still hate) prison jewelry (i.e. handcuffs, leg irons, and waist chains). I have been in prison for a long time. Some of the prisoners I now meet were just born when I first set foot into prison. I am a different person now. Not so soft. Not so innocent. Not easily tricked. I no longer care what others think. I speak my mind without concern if the truth hurts or not. No sugar coating in my conversations. Many prisoners were stabbed, killed, had their heads cracked by locks-in-socks right beside me and I just kept watching my TV program or reading my book or walking as if nothing happened. I, too, was attacked. I had my nose and front tooth broken but I did not cry. This past Friday I received a letter telling me that my friend Russell had passed away. I read it more than once. I read the newspaper obituary and looked at the photo of my friend Russell smiling… I cried so much.
A path of patience taken by choice is much more comfortable than that forced upon me by circumstances. For the cold chills that my problems bring become warmth and a cool breeze when they face my coat of patience. To smile against all odds requires redefining the odds. I only love roses because someone told me that roses represent love. I never challenged that notion or definition. A sunflower is just as beautiful and its living characteristics are easily observed as it follows its lover (sun). If I were to express my love to my sweetheart, I’d rather use the example of sunflowers than that of roses …