on the cover / By Barry Evans

A Room Without a View

Meditation for the guys inside

(July 22, 2010)  In Europe, the tradition is to build the cathedral on the highest part of town. Here in Humboldt County, that honor goes to our local jail. From the bay and much of town, the blocky five-story eyesore known officially as the Humboldt County Correctional Facility rules its surroundings like Tolkien’s Dark Tower.

The bleakness doesn’t stop on the outside. The moment I walk through the heavy metal doors to the visiting area, I’m in another world, cheerless and severe. This Thursday evening, a few family and friends of inmates stare at the floor as they wait under a pastiche of “Call us first!” advertisements for bail bonds. Old newspapers and magazines litter the waiting room. “Men’s meditation, Room 322,” I say through the microphone to the woman sitting behind reinforced glass, as I trade my driver’s license for a visitor tag, to be worn at all times.

Pete Kayes, one of the men’s program volunteers from the Arcata Zen Group, rings a bell to signal the start of meditation. PHOTO BY BARRY EVANS

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The metal detector screeches as I pass through, but after nearly 10 years they know me and they know my brass Tibetan chimes. I’m never stopped. Two sets of remote-controlled doors and a brief elevator ride later, under the constant scrutiny of security cameras, I enter our meeting room.

Room 322 is an unlikely zendo, with its concrete walls and circle of plastic chairs squeezed between a mess of metal tables. The room normally functions as a classroom for rehabilitation programs. My first task is to rearrange the furniture to create a sitting space for however many of the jail’s 300-odd male inmates have chosen to sign up. I’ve had zero and I’ve had 20 show up for this weekly “time out.” While I wait, I deconstruct what’s left on the blackboard from a previous class. “Think before you act.” “Respect yourself and others.” “Participate!”

For a few minutes, I savor being alone, wondering how many “brothers” will come tonight, whether I’ll know any of them, if the evening will be quiet or challenging. Just one time I felt anxious. About a year ago, a big guy — he looked like he might have been a professional wrestler-fixed me in his gaze. “You ever feel scared in here?” he asked. I replied, truthfully, “Not until now!” Laughter all around. We were cool.

The door clangs open, and they start arriving from the dorms in ones and twos and sixes and sevens, high-fiving buddies, sometimes greeting me as if they’ve known me for years (a few have!). Some I recognize from a couple of weeks back; others I can’t quite place. “Remember me? I came to meditation five years ago, last time I was here.” Jail time is an occupational hazard for some, up here in the Emerald Triangle.

Once they’re settled in and we’ve gone around the circle saying our names, I tell them we’re going to do two sessions of meditation. My instructions are about as terse as the motivators on the blackboard: What I’d like is for you to sit quietly and notice what’s happening. Then I switch the lights off. Although it’s not pitch-black, it’s better than anything else they’ll experience inside, where harsh fluorescent lights are on night and day. I might remind them that this is the darkest, quietest, safest place in the jail. Whatever tension they — we — might have brought seems to soften in the gloom.

Most stay in their chairs. A few sit on the floor or on the tables, some erect in formal lotus posture.  “Relaxed but alert,” I say, before modeling a long, loud out-breath: “Let it all go!” I ring the chimes three times and the adventure begins. My routine is to sit for 15 minutes, check in with the guys, take any questions, then sit for another 20 minutes. At the start of the first session, I usually give brief guidelines for relaxation: “Notice how you’re sitting, what your hands and feet are doing. Are your eyes open or closed? Are you breathing through your nose or mouth? Are you feeling safe … bored … anxious … calm? Check your body for any tightness, then imagine exhaling the tension.” And that’s pretty much it until I ring for our check-in.

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