A Day in the Life
. . . Still a regimented life, to the extent possible, is essential. So many prisoners give in to the throes of depression by sleeping half the day and ruminating most of the night. Such depression feeds itself and leads to an empty life devoid of meaning. It is tempting to fall into it at times, but it is spiritually toxic.And so no matter what keeps me awake at night, and that list is sometimes long, I am out of my steel bunk with its two inch thick mattress every . . .
Field of Dreams
. . . As I rounded a bend on the 1/4 mile track near the outfield, I was overwhelmed with a sense of the foreign. I was alone for a few moments for the first time in years. I was surrounded by silence after all the years of senseless prison din, and I was in the company of trees. It was a setting that I instantly knew could save me from Dostoyevsky's despair. . .