Ati, de Osho Canada, anime des méditations en milieu carcéral une fois par 2 semaines depuis l'hiver 2007. 

Si ça vous tente de mettre en place un tel projet dans un pénitencier près de chez-vous, il offre de vous coacher et de vous aider dans la réalisation d'un projet humanitaire qui vous fera apprécier avec plus de réalisme notre liberté de tous les jours.

Une activité vraiment libératrice, qui, de srucroît, vous fera rencontrer des êtres uniques en leur genre !

Nous publions ici une lettre de Lawrence Conlan, un chiropraticien qui séjourne actuellement dans une prison aux États-Unis  suite à des démêlés avec la justice américaine.  Un de ses amis m’a fait parvenir cette lettre suite à la publication d’un article racontant mon projet de méditation en prison dans le magasine Viha Connection. 

Il me fait plaisir de partager cet article avec vous car je le trouve très inspirant.


Dear Friends,

    So much to say ! So much to keep feeling deeper. So much to accept in our humanity. I am blessed to go through this journey at this time in my life. Before now, I would have judged and resisted the system and the rules and the egoic expressions of overcompensated fear.

    At this time, I have a deep commitment to allow all feelings, thoughts, and expressions to simply be held by Presence. As a result, I am touched in ways I never knew were possible in prison. It is natural to put on armor here, but I am discovering much more strength than that.

    Each day I hear another story of tragedy as heart-breaking as any could be, and I weep inside – and sometimes outside – at what we go through as human beings.   Some stories I cannot repeat for fear of endangering the inmates’ families – those who have mafia or drug-cartel would-be assassins.

    But one story I heard today is one I can share. I went to the heavy-duty prison today for a medical check-up with two other men. One was a 60+-year-old from Nebraska. He had a scrap-metal business and crushes old cars. In one, he found a hand-gun and kept it. He had it out in a glass-enclosed case in his home.

    A few months ago, his partially mentally handicapped teenage daughter came to him crying, because she had just been raped. He called the police, and, when they arrived, they put him in jail for having a stolen gun. They never pursued the rapist. Because he had a prior record, the man I speak of was sentenced to 21⁄2 years in prison.
    While he has been in jail, his teenage daughter, full of anger, burned down their house and was sent to prison, as well.

    I may tend to overlook negative traits in people, but I can usually sense evil and goodness with clarity. This is a good man and someone I enjoyed hanging out with.

    When he shared the story and then went into the office for his physical, I sat alone in hall and cried. I didn’t just cry for him – and I didn’t just cry for the feelings of helplessness I feel in a system that treats it citizens like animals. I didn’t just cry for the system itself, which has many good people.

    I cried for the heartbreak every human goes through with inevitable loss and suffering. I felt into this archetypal pain, and then a wave of gratitude washed over my sadness. It was gratitude for how the Divine loves us even when we humans hurt each other so much. It amazes me that the Divine has not wiped us off the planet a long time ago. Yet s/he doesn’t and keeps using every opportunity to show us the Truth beyond the suffering. She keeps using the suffering to free us from it.

    As I look into the hearts of these men, many have been humbled enough to ask the deeper questions about life that most humans don’t ask.

    Beyond the “why am I here?” is “how can I be caring and kind?” in an environment that breeds protection and separation. Some actually have the question at a conscious level and many just under the actions of courtesy and respect for one another.

    However, many are young and their egos are just trying to reclaim power out of fear of loss of power by imprisonment and competition from inmates. Many are here because it’s better than the world they came from.  As I watch the “show” I ask myself what can I do here. I suspect, but don’t really know, that recognizing the goodness I see calls it out. But I also see that I don’t really know. I am left with letting go of my identity as a good person, a healer, a light worker, etc.

So I just feel it all and get broken open again and again yet keep it to myself in sadness and joy. I am reminded again of the lines from Chogyam Trungpa’s book “The Eastern Sun” that hangs on my office wall: “Hold the sadness and pain of samsara in your heart and, at the same time, the power and vision of the Great Eastern Sun. Then the warrior can make a proper cup of tea.”

I don’t consider myself a big warrior but I like tea.

My room is about the size of a small dorm room in college with a bathroom and four other guys. No bars -- a nice window and a door that closes to the chaos in the halls.

    The men in my room look out for each other and are varied in their interests. One was put here for an EPA violation at his foundry in Utah. He loves to hunt and read about the Old West. He hates Mormons and blacks.
    Another is a born-again Christian who is here for drugs. He has been very tolerant of my meditating above him in my bunk. He also helped me out with toiletries the first 10 days I was here without them. He hates blacks.
Another is here for drugs, too, and inherited thousands of acres of wooded land in Montana. He has a machine that clean-cuts acres a day. I keep suggesting he replant, but he just laughs.

He also got a big laugh when I told him the first thing my counselor said to me when I told him I was from Boulder. “I am sorry there aren’t many trees here for you to hug.” Anyway, he hates black guys and Mormons.

When I first arrived and heard all the prejudice, I got angry – and then very sad. But as time has gone on, I realize I could hate them for hating others -- and then more hate just gets cycled. Or, I just feel this and let it break me open some more. To whatever extent I am doing (or “whatever” is doing) this; there is love in my heart. So, as I look back at the party we all shared at my office a couple weeks ago, I recall not knowing what it really was I am to be here for. Now I know less and more.  I see I am here to be open, and that is for me and us all.

If I left today, I would never be the same having rubbed up close to this much “humanity” and having found more acceptance and compassion. I feel very connected to all of This -- something I never really wanted to do in my elitist ways.

When I spent the first 24 hours in “the hole” (maximum security) and was surrounded in insane-asylum chaos in a 50-degree cell with space enough to lie down and stand up, I found profound inner silence and was shown that grace is always present to simply be discovered. And furthermore, any attempt in even the subtlest manner to avoid any of our shared “humanness” (life, death, sickness, pain, loss, suffering, joy, fear, courage, confinement, and freedom) is to separate from the richest rewards of surrender to what is.

I have been a rebel my whole life, and part of me will never stop seeing and telling it as I see it. I will probably never stop trying to make my world better. But I am not likely to do it out of the sense of lack anymore.

    Oh, I almost forgot to mention my 4th roommate, Fermin. He was born in Mexico to a single mother who was beyond poor. Since he could walk, he sold gum to tourists. At night, his mother outlined her children’s bodies on the dirt floor where they slept with rat-poison to protect them. The family of four lived in one room adjoined through an ever-open door to a room with two prostitutes where Fermin learned about sex peeking through the makeshift book/dish case that was put in the doorway for “privacy.”

    I found out that I visited Juarez at the time he still lived there in 1972. I even went down the boulevard where he sold gum and visited the cathedral he often stood outside of.

    I have a suspicion I saw him. I recall my state of mind at that time. I had just finished college, and my new wife and I were stationed in San Antonio – I was a Medical Service Corp officer. We went on a weekend to Juarez, Mexico. I remember seeing such poverty and rolling up my car window to a man selling sandals made of old tire-tread. The light was red, and he came up to my window and knocked. When I rolled it down, he rebuked me for turning up my nose to the conditions around me. I felt very small and never forgot him.

    Many blessings to all of you. You are all brave to keep seeking inner connection and to feel into your bodies, your hearts, and your worlds.

With deep respect and deep love,
Namaste!
Laurence