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by Scott Brooks



Long before I ended up in prison, I wasted so much time abusing myself. I had a professional’s ranking in the guilt game. From childhood, I had been conditioned to believe that guilt was an unavoidable factor in punishment. I couldn’t let it go, because I felt obligated to writhe in it. It seemed I had no other option. I mistakenly convinced myself that feeling guilt was a necessary part in becoming a better man. It would remind me to never make the same mistake twice, but that was crap. I lived with perpetual guilt throughout my youth, yet continued to make the same bad choices, while doing my best to stifle the guilt.

Also, I would create depressing fantasies regarding the things I would never do or be able to accomplish. Thus, I was miserable most of the time. I might feel the onset of a mood and proceed to get angry, sad, hate-filled, fearful, or any mixture of these four. The silliest thing about these fantasies was the fact that they were only projections. I couldn’t peer into the future. I couldn’t honestly say these horrid visions would ever come true.

The thoughts bubbled continuously, whenever my mind wasn’t distracted with some other task. They were dark, and they haunted me everyday. Compounding matters, whenever they manifested, I felt duty bound to wallow in the misery each thought produced.

The most predominant thought concerned April 10, 2000, the date the handcuffs hit my wrists, as well as the day fifteen months later, when that black-robed, gavel-pumping, life-changer sentenced me to 322 months in federal prison.

I would lay in my 8×12’ bunk thinking about my family, reliving the pain and humiliation I had caused them. My mind would play an elaborate daydream – starring my mom, as she sat at home alone, crying and praying for me. I would picture my dad rubbing his forehead, hunched over in sadness, wondering what he could have said differently to have prevented all this. I would feel further guilt, because I couldn’t bridge the gap between us by accepting their religion.

When those bars first clanged shut, my life felt hopeless. Suicide tempted a quick escape.

Thankfully, a better option came via a fellow inmate who taught yoga. I began to explore the possibilities of mindfulness. I discovered a better way to look at my situation. I found the tools to change.

Shortly after reading my first book on meditation, I had my first insight into how wonderfully simple and effective mindfulness can be. I was in my cell and needed a pee break. I set down the book and got up to use the toilet. Walking over to the bowl, my mind emptied. I wasn’t thinking about what I had just read. I wasn’t distracted by any other extraneous thoughts either, like wondering what the chow hall might have been serving that night. The narration had stopped. I simply felt my bare feet touch the cell floor, heel to ball, a weight shift to the other foot, step by step, full presence while I tinkled, and full presence while I washed my hands afterwards. The Buddha had the Bodhi tree; I had the Golden Stream of Enlightenment. During those aware moments, I still existed, but yesterday didn’t matter. Tomorrow didn’t matter. I performed the necessary tasks without any inner voice directing my movements. The directions weren’t needed. The actions took place without any orchestrating or accompanying thoughts. I realized I could function without that constant inner chatter. I could be fully engaged in whatever it was I was doing. Presence meant being fully engrossed in the moment.

Six years into my prison stretch and a few months into my mindfulness journey, I experienced a true epiphany. This experience occurred, not during my daily meditation period, but instead arose as a series of insights which enabled me to see how it was possible to integrate the benefits from mindfulness into everyday life.

One spring morning, I went to the penitentiary’s recreation yard, to follow my habitual routine and walk the track, like a human hamster, taking a continuous stream of left turns, always ending where I started. On this particular day, I was banging around the same ideas as the day before, and the day before that, when I had the realization that my unhappiness stemmed from one source alone: my repetitive, negative thoughts. On paper, it hardly seems a miraculous understanding, but unbelievable power lies behind this knowledge.

Out walking that day, I suddenly gained the understanding that I could think whatever I wanted. I was under no obligation to anyone to endlessly recreate this mental hell. Before, I considered it my duty to feel terrible when these thoughts occurred. Wrongly, I believed I owed these feelings to the people I had hurt. It was as if I was punishing myself on their behalf but, at this point, I had the quiet realization that this was my life. My thoughts belonged to me, no one else. In fact, my loved ones didn’t want me to be miserable. They didn’t want me to beat myself up on their behalf. The thoughts were a completely private experience. They were a product of my mind. I didn’t have to think these things. I didn’t have to remind myself what I had done in the past, or what I couldn’t do in the present. When these thoughts arose, all I had to do was pause, become aware of my breath, and allow the thoughts to float away like incense smoke.

My first years in prison had been wasted feeling sorry for myself. No one around me cared about what I was going through. Every prisoner deals with the heaviness of his own life. Like most of them, I was self-centered and self-absorbed, and those egocentric thoughts hovered around pure negativity.

Once a week, I had called home and unleashed the miserable torrent I felt. My parents were the only ones who felt any pity for the state of my life, the only ones willing to listen to the things I was whining about. More often than not, when I called home, my mom would end the call trying to hide the fact she was in tears. With this new understanding, I saw that – even if my parents were suffering, like I had envisioned in the worst possible sense – by continually pondering that to the point of making myself sick, I did them no good and only harmed myself.

With the help of daily mindfulness practice, I came to realise the only way I could help them was to show positive change. It started with the simplest measures. If I was in a bad mood, I wouldn’t call home. I wouldn’t put on a happy mask before I telephoned; I just waited until I found myself in an upbeat mind state. Just by practicing this, I realized after a few short months, that I felt even more upbeat when the calls were over. I also discovered their willingness to listen to the new ideas I was mulling.

The next thing I discovered may sound callous, but hear me out. When I had this understanding, I saw that whatever my parents, anyone I cared about, and everyone else, was feeling was the result of their own internal decision. No matter how difficult their circumstances were, they alone had the ability to release the thoughts that intensified the negative experience of those circumstances. It was their choice, and it would work if they made sincere effort. I realized, ultimately, I could stop blaming myself for how others felt. Their feelings were their own responsibility.

At first glance this seems cold and selfish, especially considering how much suffering I’ve caused in my life, but this understanding did not void empathy. I realized I could feel love, show compassion and offer my support towards anyone I had hurt, but I did not have to suffer with them. That would be a purely internal decision, and I chose not to feel that way anymore.

A few days after my walking-the-track experience, I was watching television with some other guys. We were being assailed by food commercials, one after another. First, we saw a beautiful girl eating pizza with a seductive gleam in her eyes and a sexy flip of her tongue. Next, came a cowboy cutting into a juicy steak. Then, four slobs carb-loaded 4,000 calories in a diabetic-coma-inducing IHOP breakfast.

The entire while, everybody around me drooled over these food images. Inevitably, they began to complain about the terrible food we were served. Then, a contest commenced. Each man described what his first meal would be on the day of his release, followed by the next fellow trying to top the previous guy’s story.

I found myself thinking, ‘Why are you torturing yourselves? You can’t have any of that stuff. Why even think about it?’ That’s when the second, pivotal revelation flashed. Desires were causing as much pain as the other stuff. Half the time, I abused myself, reflecting on past mistakes; the rest of the time, I drove myself crazy, salivating over the things I couldn’t have, like a gourmet meal or a pair of warm thighs wrapped around me.

So again, I realized these too were only thoughts. Without them, the pain they caused wouldn’t exist. I didn’t owe those thoughts to anyone. They were mine alone. I had final say over them. When I thought about that crap, I felt terrible. My stomach would start to boil like there was an Alka-Seltzer in there.

In the end, all this came down to the simple understanding that my situation, my environment, and all other exterior factors, had nothing to do with my mind state. The mind’s creative powers are extraordinary, but I had been using mine to create and sustain a personal hell. I had no one else to blame for it. I could no longer assign the responsibility to others. Ultimately, I was the one to decide, in each moment, what I would think. I just needed to stay vigilant in my mindfulness practice. By being aware, I could remind myself to practice gratitude and appreciate the things I did have. If I refused to think of the things that were missing, the things I couldn’t change, I would be content. I put it all together, applied it, and it actually worked.

As I continued to practice, it became second nature to be mindful in my everyday life. Whenever I had the opportunity to take a short walk within the prison walls, I formed the intention to be mindful while I was walking. Noticing the sensations in my feet as my weight shifted forward from heel to toe. Feeling my clothing shift across my legs. If I was outside, feeling the wind on my skin. Being aware of any smells in the breeze. Focusing on the horizon loosely, without fixating on any one landmark. Bringing my focus away from the mind’s continuous rambling, its continuous desiring. Every time I realized I’d become distracted, coming back to all the sensations my body felt while walking.

My jogging buddy told me he loved running so much, because it gave him time to think. He liked to run and chew on his problems. This is the exact opposite of what I’m suggesting. Allowing the autopilot to go full throttle, while running, just fuels more daydreams, more fantasies, more negativity, and more desires. There is no point in “chewing on” your problems. The clarity found in present moment awareness usually resolves them anyway. Solutions often arise with clarity but, more often, you will see the “problem” never existed, other than as a needless worry conjured up by your mind. More importantly, insight and creativity come when the chatter stops. It is the ultimate muse. During meditation, I’ve gotten new ideas for books. Many musicians “hear” inspiration for new songs while sitting.

I discovered that I could turn the most simple tasks into mindfulness exercises. And anybody can do this. Turn your next meal into an exercise in presence. Say grace or just take a moment to feel gratitude for all the energy that went into providing your dinner. Then, eat with awareness and mindfulness. Don’t talk. Don’t think about what you will do when you finish. Taste each bite. Feel all the sensations as the food liquefies. Feel it absorbed by your body as you swallow. Chew thoroughly. Notice when your hunger feels satiated. Every time you catch yourself daydreaming, or having a thought, shift back to the present, using all your senses.

Good habits develop just like bad ones. The key is regular practice. When I first discovered mindfulness practice, I had no idea how profoundly it could change my life. Now it’s part of the fabric of my life. It’s a lifelong pursuit.

Scott Brooks has served the past two decades in federal prison for a marijuana conspiracy and firearm conviction. He has been an incarcerated student of the Syda Yoga Foundation for eleven years and taught Hatha Yoga and Taoist meditation to fellow inmates for the past decade. Brooks recently published the first work in his Soul Call Series, a line intended to help people on both sides of the razor-wire find a little more awareness and peace.