GoldenMomentsofRevelation10



	Chapter 10 GOLDEN MOMENTS OF REVELATION Exactly That Time I saw this title in my Daily Readings and I chose it; not knowing how appropriate it would be for this chapter. But when I called Linda Ford to find out when her son, Adam Martin, would be released from prison, and if it would work out for us to meet and take him along to his mom's, I realized the title was divinely guided. The line had been busy, and when I finally got through, she said, "Michael was on the computer." "Oh my God," I exclaimed, "You mean he's home! When did he arrive?" "I picked him up several hours ago," she replied. "I can't believe it," I continued, "I'd been getting this persistent urge to call you from exactly that time," so apparently I was tuned into the energies. How's it going?" "Oh great," she replied, "I picked him up at the bus station in Kenedy, but I could have gotten him even sooner in Sequine." "But, I thought he was in the prison at Kenedy." "He was, but they sent him to Huntsville for discharge, and then he rode a bus back here." "That doesn't make much sense," I interjected, adding, "but it's typical of government work." Another Time As Linda explained how the bus trip had worked, I remembered that I had sat in the entrance hall at Huntsville, while waiting to see Buddie Williams, and about ten prisoners had been released and walked right past me and through the door to freedom. And then walked past Van, waiting in our RV, on their way to the Greyhound Bus Depot, a block away. So I knew exactly the procedure, even to having seen them inside the holding room, being given final instructions, before discharge. This group, all Latino's, wore their discharge clothes and each one carried a small cloth bag of their possessions. They didn't look in my direction, as they focused on getting through that door, but I caught the eye of one and smiled, and he returned the smile. The day after I visited Buddie, we drove to Conroe, where Michael was incarcerated, and I spent several hours with him. In fact, I'd even planned one trip, through Tennessee, to include a visit with Michael when he served time in Tiptonville. I've written about these travels in my earlier RV travel books and consolidated my visit into Joyanna Visits Freedomers. Three Times Now, chatting with Linda, I realized how integrated my life had become with her sons, and with her, too, having visited her and Ken, her husband, three times in our travels. She is a terrific cook and makes a fabulous potato salad among other things. And they truly showed us Texas hospitality. We've faithfully kept in contact via e-mail ever since. They All Did Time The fact is that it all began when I corresponded with Donnie, the father of Michael and Adam, when he was incarcerated in Leavenworth Federal Prison, which is considered hard time. He and I became such good friends that I wrote an entire book, Not my Day to Die, about our unique relationship. And when his teenage son, Adam, was first sent to prison, Donnie asked me to correspond with him, which I did. And after Donnie was killed in a shootout with police, in front of Adam, as a result of their involvement in a bank money scam, I resumed corresponding with him (over twenty-years). Later, when Michael got sentenced for having accidentally shot his best friend in a drunken brawl, Adam asked me to write to his younger brother, who was only 25 at the time (over five-years ago). So, that's the history of some of the golden moments in the lives of Michael and Adam, and their dad, Donnie. But, it's all past history, and now we are looking forward to brighter moments to remember, and that's why I called Linda: to find out when Adam would be released. The Exact Time "I'm going to call the Parole Office tomorrow to get the exact date," Linda explained, adding, "It could go until May 12th, but Adam thought he would be out this month." "Okay, so I'll call tomorrow at this time," I concluded, and then asked, "Is Michael available?" "Believe it or not, he's already gone to bed, and I don't hear a sound from his room." "Please tell him that I called, and that I said, 'Congratulations.'" She agreed, and with that we said our good-byes. Commute Time The next day, after saying our good-byes to Rick and Snow, Van drove us along the Pacific Coast Highway through Playa Del Rey, Venice (where Rick and Snow want to sell their arts and crafts on the Boardwalk) and Santa Monica to the beginning of Interstate 10. Fortunately, we'd left early enough to avoid the intense commute traffic, but even at 3:00 p.m. it had already begun and we drove bumper-to-bumper through much of Los Angeles, and especially as we traveled east into the bedroom communities from Pomona toward Palm Springs. The worst congestion resulting from the influx of the other Interstate Freeways, such as I-405, I-5 and I-15. Add to this frustration the intense smog, so thick that I could barely see the buildings as we drove past downtown LA, and you've got a clear picture of the congestion. So bad that Van's bronchial condition worsened and mine began. Yuk! I don't know how people live in this. Fortunately, we don't have to, and we continued onward. At one point I thought I was seeing a snow-covered mountain top, above the dark smog, but then I realized we were in Southern California, so I concluded that it must be a thunderhead. Later, when we were closer, I realized that it really was The San Bernardino Mountains, which had gotten a heavy covering of snow in the recent storms. Now is The Time When the traffic came to a stand-still, I glanced at the clock and realized that it was almost time to call Linda. "I'll wait ten-minutes," I said to Van. But suddenly I couldn't wait any longer and I called. "They said Adam won't be out until May 12th," Linda announced. "You're kidding. Adam thought sure he would be out this month," I gasped. "I know. I don't understand it. I'll be talking with Adam tomorrow, and I'll see what he says." "Well, we're going to keep heading to Tucson, and I'll see Adam on Sunday. I just feel that he'll be getting out this month, so we'll wait around there and see what happens." "Maybe you can go to the office and talk with his caseworker, during the week," Linda suggested. "Okay, I'll ask Adam who to see. Please let him know that we are still on our way." "I will," Linda replied, then she asked, "Do you want to talk with Michael?" "Oh yes, I'd love to." A Golden Moment in Time By this time traffic was moving along quite nicely, as I said, "Congratulations, Michael. I'm so excited. You are out!" "Yes, I am and it feels so good!" His voice sounded different, peaceful and lighter. I asked, "Did you read my e-mail? I sent you one today." "No, I haven't had time, but I will just as soon as I get off the phone." I described our recent trip from the Pacific Ocean and through Los Angeles, just as we were passing the I-15 intersection and came to another stop. "You know what?" Michael asked, and then answered himself, "I'm in Paradise right here. It's so peaceful and beautiful. I can't think of anyplace I'd rather be right now." "Oh Michael, I'm so glad you feel that way; it is such a lovely place. Have you seen any deer yet?" "No, but Goldie (the family dog) and I went for a walk in the woods and she scared up something in the bushes, but I couldn't see what it was." "Maybe it was a javelina," I suggested, adding, "When we were there she got herself cut up by one of them and she was all bloody." "Those wild boars can be deadly," Michael replied. We chatted awhile, and then Michael said, "You know, just before I left prison, I had a spiritual experience and I've given up all those crazy beliefs I had. Now, I know that God is within me, and that's all I need to know." I'd literally stopped breathing, as I heard those words, and I blurted, "Oh Michael, that is such good news! You are such a knowledgeable person, and I'm glad you aren't staying stuck in that limitation." "Me too. I know it's someplace I had to go to learn about it, but I'm no longer there." "Your energies are so different, you seem so light." "I know, isn't it wonderful? I'm rid of all that darkness and I feel brand new." "I can feel it, and it is the real you." "Yes, it is. I'm truly a new person," he said. Then I started to tell him about my conversation with Bob Davey, and I remembered that he has access to his mother's computer, so he can read it for himself. So I told him where to look for the chapter, and also guided him to finding his own webpage. As I happily talked with Michael, Van was maneuvering us through the traffic, which had now begun to flow quite freely, and I felt such a sense of oneness; with Michael and with God, and that all was truly unfolding according to God's Divine Plan. Michael had walked outside, with the phone, and he sounded so peaceful as he said, "You should see it here; the sun is setting behind the trees and it is so beautiful. The temperature was in the 70's today, and the evening is cooling down." Truly, it was a Golden Moment in time, as the marvels of modern technology allowed us to share this moment, with me at one end of I-10, in California, looking at the snow-covered mountain peaks, above the smog, and Michael standing in their acreage in Texas, looking at the sunset above the trees. I had been there and could picture it in my mind, and I felt transported through time and space into this Golden Moment. We chatted awhile longer, but we were heading into some mountains and I feared that I would lose my signal, so I reminded Michael, "Check-out Inner Freedom Ministry website and find your webpage, and then send me an e-mail with your feedback." "I will. I'm really excited about it." "Me too, Michael, I know that there are some wonderful times ahead for us. And I know that you will be making a tremendous contribution to the world." "I hope so," he replied, adding, "I really want to." "We'll talk more about it via e-mail," I suggested, adding, "But ask your mom to give you your own e-mail address, so we don't freak her out with our far-out ideas. In fact, for now, it's best if you just work with Ken and let things settle down, before venturing into anything else. Let God open the doors." "Oh, don't worry, that's exactly what I intend to do." "Good. Just remember that your mom really loves you guys, and she deserves some peace of mind, so be cool." "I know she does, and I'm not going to do anything to mess things up." After we hung up, I still felt in a golden glow of spiritual energy, and life was finally beginning to make sense. I could feel that I was on purpose with God's Divine Plan; and possibly it could be so much more than I ever dreamed about. Only time would tell, and for now it was enough to be heading in the right direction. In fact, as Michael and I talked, when passing I-15, I'd said, "We're at the fork-in-the-road; we could turn north and go to Las Vegas and Laughlin, or we can keep heading along I-10 to Texas. By then we were past the turn-off and I knew there was no turning back; we were heading toward our destiny. Call it a Day Driving through the energies of Los Angeles, at commute time, in heavy smog, had taken its toll on Van and I. After such a late start, we were ready to call it a day early, and we chose the Morongo Indian Casino near Palm Springs, in the shadows of San Gorgino Mountain. Van was tired and near relapse, so he went to bed early, especially since the mountain interfered with TV reception. I didn't mind the lack of distraction, because I wanted to update my writing and this gave me the perfect opportunity. Also, I needed to reflect on our time with Rick and Snow, which had taken place earlier in the day. Reviewing the Day Once I'd finished writing the chapter, I reflected on the conversation with Michael, and I remembered that he'd talked about a motorcycle that someone had given him, but it's in Houston, and he would have to retrieve it from there, when he had the time and money. That would give him a good project. And I chuckled as I recalled that "Big Mike" had said that he was intimidated by his first experience on-line. As I said in my e-mail to him, "It's a Whole New World, but you will soon master it, and then the sky's the limit." I get excited just writing those words, because I can feel the truth of them. A challenge for "Big Mike" that he can easily master. I put "Big Mike" in quotes, because who knows, maybe with his new identity, his biker name will no longer be the right vibrations for him. Congestion! Feeling intensely energized, I'd been writing until 3:00 a.m., updating the events of the day: Rick and Snow upgrading my website; Michael Martin released from prison; Van and I moving through the smog and traffic of LA. Even after I went to bed, it took awhile to fall asleep, as I mulled over the momentary status quo: sitting at the Morongo Indian Casino, near Palm Springs, with my ears plugged to reduce the noise decibel from the multitude of trucks and traffic, not only on the freeway, but the generators of parked trucks (at the casino) were literally vibrating my bed; and that's after I insisted Van move us away from the new neighbors who arrived and ran the generator for two hours. There's something about this noise and vibration that adversely affects my nervous system: emotionally and physically, so I decided not to rerun a previous tape where we hadn't moved and I'd suffered terrible stress. This time I decided to take care of myself, despite the fact Van was readying for his early bedtime. His bronchial congestion had worsened, as a result of the smog, but I suspected something else was causing his congestion and figured he was processing through something that he would soon be releasing. The worst result of the day's activities had been my own constricting chest. Not only from the effects of the smog, but also because my website was again in a gooey mess state: like the caterpillar in the chrysalis, no longer able to remain on the ground, but not quite ready to fly forward as a butterfly. Before falling asleep, and again when waking, I surrendered it all to God, trusting Him to put everything into Divine Order. I simply had to let go and let God; a condition I felt ready and willing to do, knowing that I certainly couldn't resolve the mess. In fact, when I made an effort to work on my website, before going to bed, the computer even refused to move forward, blurring the graphics and pages; a strong indication that it was time to stop. So when I awoke and Van asked me how I was feeling, I said, "One word: congestion." And then I reiterated the above, adding that our journey even seemed blocked due to the uncertainty of Adam's release date, and more importantly, we were in a morning fog bank with threats of afternoon high winds. Do we move forward or stay put? Totally blocked, but I said, "It's only a momentary condition. I expect everything to clear and move forward according to God's Divine Plan and in Divine Order. Letting Go of Stuff The desert is a good place for releasing and I decided to not only release my own burden, but to assist Van in letting go of his stuff, whatever it might be. I had already told God that I wasn't going to codependence Van, that it could be between them to work out; I had enough of my own cleaning up. I asked him, "Do you realize that you have something going on that needs to be recognized and released?" "He said, "I know it's going on, but I don't know what it is. Any ideas?" Whoa! That's like a recovering alcoholic working in a brewery, so I tried to toss it back to him by asking, "What do you think it is?" As usual, he didn't have a clue. So, I said, "Okay, since you've asked, I'll tell you what I'm hearing that is going on, or I'll just shut up." "Please do tell me." At this point, I was feeling the need to move on, but I also wanted to go into the casino for their steak and eggs special, so I said, "Let's get ready, and we can continue this conversation over breakfast." What's the Pay-off? Cold! Cold! Cold! A heavy dark cloud hanging over Mt. Jacinto (behind Palm Springs), and strong winds swooshing through the San Gorgonio pass, created winter temperatures, as we rushed across the parking lot and into the casino. The smoke inside was all we needed, added to the effects of the rain and smog on our bodies. But, the cafe didn't have smoking and we settled in for a pleasant meal and conversation, starting with small talk and leading into the subject of congestion: Van's and mine, especially as it related to the patterns that seemed to have surfaced. Van's current issues seemed to relate to his self-appointed purpose in life: Fix whatever isn't working. I reiterated that this does not mean for him to project the need to be needed by creating things not working, so he can feel useful and validated. We have had this conversation before, but it seemed to be up again, especially after last night's episode of his having to move Freedom despite being so tired. I explained, "There is a fine line between your purpose of fulfilling everyone else's needs and not having your own needs met. In other words, if your purpose is being fulfilled at the cost of sacrificing your well-being, then you become resentful, resistant and rebellious, and no one is happy; least of all your inner child. Then he retaliates by creating body stuff, such as congestion, so you can nurture and pamper yourself with supplements (or medications, depending on preference) and lots of rest. Because you begin to feel out of control, you find it necessary to covertly remain in control of everything that is going on around you by your reasonable need to be the center of attention (with your illness and absence, so to speak). He listened attentively, as he ate, and I continued, "It's like Snow was saying, when she said that they were going to work another month and I asked how their inner kids felt about that." I paused to chew my food and collect my thoughts, and continued, "She said that she has a good working relationship with her inner child, and she's worked hard to gain her trust, so when a change of plans, such as this, happens, a compensation is made to make sure the young one's needs are being met. In their case, having the extra money for more fun is the positive pay-off. It's a Set Up I'd reached a break, so I asked, "So, what do you think was going on last night that caused the set up?" "I have no idea. Do you?" "What I'm hearing is that the pattern began, as a child, when you were expected to take care of your mother's needs above and beyond your own. It became so real to you, that it's like water to a fish; it's simply how it is. The truth is that your mother is suppose to take care of you, but that's not your reality. It's like the airplanes at LAX. When we arrived, they were all coming in from the west, and we got used to it, so when they changed, it messed up our reality. Again, the truth is that you don't have to take care of everybody and fix whatever isn't working. And once you get that truth, then you can do what needs to be done without having your actions being at the sacrifice of your own needs. It's a consciousness thing. For instance, we wouldn't have created an RV parking next to us and running their generator all night." Van looked up, and his face lightened, as he got it." Sabotage the Works All right, so now what about my pattern that is unfolding? I began to discuss the website process, which seemed to be triggering my latest revelations about my childhood issues. "It seems that I got a message from my parents that who I am and what I do isn't okay, and it became my reality. I don't even question it, but I sabotage what I'm doing by telling myself, "I can't do that. I'm not doing it right. Someone else can do it better." I concentrated on my food a minute, and then continued, "For instance, when I owned the health food store, I'd created a lovely business environment including fixtures and furnishings, carpets and products; and having worked in health food stores, I knew how to relate and communicate with the customers. Since I wasn't good at handling the bookkeeping, I hired a service that did my accounting. Everything was going good, until one day I decided 'I don't know how to do all this.' And I sold the store. But, the new owner couldn't do any better, and he hired me back as manager." As I've mentioned in an earlier chapter, this was a sad and lonely time for me, because I was in the process of a divorce. I'm becoming much clearer on this pattern, as we continue with the website, and I did the same thing: about the time everything was working good, I decided that I didn't know what I was doing or how to do it, and I sought someone else to take over and fix it. I'm understanding that my syndrome, like Van's, evolves from having too much responsibility, as a child, and not knowing how to handle it. In my case, being told, as a two-and-a-half-year-old, 'Take care of your Mommy, Joanie,' with no idea how to do it, but still thinking it's up to me. This causes trauma for a child and is extremely harmful to its psyche. I learned this insightful information from John Bradshaw, author of Homecoming: Healing the Wounded Child. Although none of this was new information, it was coming up from a deeper level, and it was difficult to discuss, but I wanted clarity and freedom from congestion, and I knew that talking about it was having a healing benefit for Joanie and for Little Ralph, too, since we are victims of the same childhood issues. I'd reminded myself and Van that not completing projects and bailing out are symptoms of codependence, no doubt caused by this over-burden of responsibility too soon, without proper knowledge and ability to handle it; therefore the sabotage syndrome. Deep-rooted Subjects I'd finished eating, but Van hadn't, so I decided to launch into a communication about the website, in order to get more clarity for myself. As I began to talk, my head tightened and I knew that I was entering into deep-rooted subjects, such as asserting myself and my creativity. "Keeping in mind what I've been saying, let me talk this out. I understand the concept of clarity and simplicity that Snow has presented with her design for the Inner Freedom website, and I agree with most of it. But I want to keep some of my designs. Is it possible to combine the two formats?" Van nodded, and I continued to discuss some of my ideas, and then asked, "Would you be willing and able to do this?" Again, he said, "Okay." As we talked, I could feel us reaching another new level in our business partnership and relationship. Furthermore, I knew that I'd passed through a "Golden Moment of Revelation," because my head released its pressure and the chest congestion had also cleared. Last Outpost But the trip was barely beginning, and I knew there would be more to the chapter, as we sped across the California desert, which I rarely write about, because there isn't much of interest. However, it is springtime, and soon all the cacti will be in bloom, but for now, only the ocotillo were proudly waving their scarlet tassels from their long green stems. Otherwise, the color theme remains basic beige with gray sagebrush and various green shrubs. The highway had become too bumpy to write, and as I sat looking out the window, an inspired idea crossed my mind: "It's your last chance to get your California Driver's License renewed. Stop in Blythe, which is the last town in the state, at the DMV; it won't be crowded." I remembered Van's experience in Oceanside, last November, when we first tried to stay at Guajome County Park and discovered that his driver's license had expired in January. Shocked that he didn't have a valid one, I insisted that he immediately go to the DMV. With Joyce's help driving us there, he stood in line for nearly an hour. But the good news is that he only had to do the eye test, pay $15.00 and have his picture taken, because his renewal notice had not been forwarded and was still on file. We asked directions and found the DMV, which wasn't difficult in this small town. In fact, I was surprised that there were six people ahead of me, which caused some concern, because I thought there had been a time change and I only had fifteen-minutes until closing. But, to my delight, we were still on California time and I had over an hour. Bottom-line, I was able to renew my driver's license with the same simple procedure as Van, with much less hassle. In fact, the clerk, Rusty Taylor, shared that when she retires, in three years, she plans to buy a motor home and travel around the country. We exchanged website and e-mail addresses, as she has a shopping network, which I will list on my Money Makeovers Networking Page. "Thank You, God, Thank You!" I shouted when outside. I felt absolutely exhilarated to have this matter handled. I haven't driven Freedom in the four-years we've traveled, but it's a safety precaution, in case anything should happen to Van; like in Hammond, Louisiana, when he went to the hospital in an ambulance. Fortunately, the driver and attendant helped retrieve the RV from Wal-Mart and drive it to the hospital parking lot, where I could easily visit Van. But, that was pushing my luck, and I realized that I must learn to drive Freedom; this project is high on my agenda. As Good As it Gets Within minutes from Blythe, we crossed the Colorado River into Arizona and stayed the night at the Flying J Truck Stop. This would not be noteworthy, except for one thing. Van had been trying to learn how to use their free phones to check our e-mail, and this time we found vacant table-phones, used by truckers. His patience came into play, along with his obsessiveness and powers of concentration, as he spent several hours trying to conquer the problem: another example of his purpose in life: fixing what isn't working. Not that I don't appreciate his support in these matters. However, I got bored, so I wandered into the rest of the Truckers Lounge, passing a small arcade with games, which occupied one driver. And others, in another area, watched, As Good as it Gets, the movie with Jack Nicholson and Helen Hunt. I sat down just as it ended with a sexy love-scene, and I looked around the room at the expressionless five lonely drivers, and the very elderly couple who had wandered in from somewhere. "One way to spend Friday night," I thought. The video movie began replaying, but I didn't feel like watching, so I checked in on Van, who was totally absorbed in his challenge. At this point I was feeling like the little kid who stood by his mom at the pay phones and wailed, "I am so tired. Can we please go home," but she ignored him and kept talking, as his desperate pleading continued. I got up and wandered through the convenience store, toward Wendy's, where we had eaten several hours earlier, and spotted a pay-computer that offered e-mail and other services for 20-cents a minute. "It would be worth it," I thought, and passed the word on to Van, but he was hot-on-the-trail, and barely looked up. I could definitely relate to the little kid who wanted to get out of there, but I sat down. A very tired fifty-something father plopped down at a table and used his cellular phone for an important call. Apparently he couldn't get through on the pay phone, for some reason. I couldn't help hearing his monotone conversation with someone he hoped could help with his problem son, who had been involved in some kind of trouble that took him to court. I assumed that he was a truck driver trying to maintain a life, while on the road, and I noted that I must say extra prayers for all truck drivers. I remembered a sign that I've seen out on the highway: "If you've got it, a trucker brought it." It's true; the truckers keep this country supplied, and we definitely take their efforts for granted. Yes, they choose the lifestyle, but thank goodness they do. Finally, I got up and checked out the movie's progress, and noticed a younger group of viewers, and I again sat down. This time, Greg Kinnear's character, the gay neighbor, had made the mistake of knocking on Melvin's door, and then stood by while Jack delivered a classic dissertation beginning and ending with "Never, Never Knock on my door." And then he painted a word picture of possible dire circumstances; none of which would justify the man knocking on his door. The viewers chuckled, and I realized that I'd only had five-hours sleep the night before and I was tired. Unlike the boy's desperate wailing, I simply said, "Let's go!" Fortunately, Van had reached an impasse and was already disconnecting the laptop. This story will be continued. There Must a Reason I'd considered returning to Blythe to see if their library had a computer center, but decided against it. Instead, the next morning I called Cousin John to ask how to use my Street Atlas to find a Kinko's along the way, as I knew they had free e-mail service. But he told me about another place in Gila Bend, which would be on the way, so I decided to go for it. We had no problem finding RV-Sat-Link, a seasonal business in a former gas station, with a bunch of RV's around it, just as John had said. And Ron and his wife, the owners, were friendly and helpful, willing to let us use their hi-tech satellite system to check our e-mail. First, we needed our password, which we'd forgotten, as it's an automatic entry. I searched every place I would record such precious information, but I couldn't find it. Finally, my memory kicked in and I looked in the journal for the year we bought the laptop, and sure enough I found it. But, we still weren't able to send out any messages from our laptop, after a number of fruitless attempts, so we gave up. I concluded that there must be a reason why this wasn't working, and I found out, later, when we settled for the night at Flying J, south of Phoenix, and I called Linda. It seems that there e-mail carrier had gotten fouled up some way, and they wouldn't have been able to receive what I was sending: two chapters for Michael to read. So, now the urgency had been removed, but the mystery of sending e-mail still hadn't been solved; and I knew that the saga would continue. "There's Been an Incident" In the meantime, another mystery remained: why wasn't Adam getting released this month? I'd hoped that the story of his release and our celebration, with his family, would be part of this chapter, but now I decided to visit him and find out for myself. Not the golden moment I'd hoped to record, but still worthy of writing. I'd visited Adam many times during his seventeen-years incarceration, at several different locations, so we knew our way to the prison, east of Tucson. But the visits are so far apart that I forget the exact procedure; and each prison is different: some require quarters only for the vending machines, and others insist on bills; this one requires quarters, so I took along my stash of laundry coins. Next, what color clothes are required? Again, each prison varies, depending on their uniforms, so a prisoner wouldn't be able to steal a visitor's clothes in order to escape non-detected. This prison's clothes code is orange, so I wore maroon pants and a blue sweatshirt, as it was unusually cold for the desert. Van walked with me to the entrance, and then left in the RV, because the security officers don't like anyone hanging around the parking lot, so he would return at 2:30. I hoped he'd be punctual, because last time we got out early and he was late, leaving me alone in the parking lot. This time, once at the Visitor's Entrance (outside), I showed my ID, signed in, passed through the door into the inner courtyard and walked past the orange-clad inmates and their visitors to the building, knowing that later Adam and I would, no doubt, come outside. I filled out the forms and sat at a table, midst the sea of orange scattered with civilian garb worn by family, sweethearts, wives and kids, and maybe a few others, such as myself. Usually the Latinos and Blacks outnumber the Whites, but this group seemed equally divided, as I wondered what crimes each had committed. It's for sure that looking at them, it could be any group of people; nothing, other than the clothes and ID cards, would identify them as criminals. Adam explained that the majority of the younger offenders (18-30) are there for drug-related crimes, and some for DUI (driving under the influence). What a waste of life. Adam, for instance, has been in prison since he was sixteen, other than a few years between incidents. And, of course, this last incarceration resulted from getting caught while on a bank scam with his dad, as part of the "family business." He stood there, after being arrested, and watched his dad run across the field, shoot at the police, and then get gunned down by one, a story that he reiterated, today, as we talked. Although orange is not his best color, Adam looked good, with his dark, pulled back pony-tail, mustache and twinkling blue eyes. We hugged, and I could feel that his energies were clear, once he'd made the choice to change careers from crime, since he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in prison. That's one good thing he'd learned from his dad, who, at 37, was only two years older than Adam is now, when we first began corresponding. But all that is another story, which I've written in Not my Day to Die. This is another day, and it's Adam's story. And it will be a much different one than Donnie's, because Adam has his entire life ahead of him, and he has a good head on his shoulders and he's able to make good decisions. For instance, I listened as he outlined his plans: ranging from A to Z, as he put it, and then back to the beginning from 1 to infinity. Like his dad, Adam believes in having a diversified curriculum of activities, all of which result in high profit. My head spins, whenever he starts listing his itinerary: everything from buying and renting out used mobile homes to building wood patios and screened porches. And he already has ideas for using the Internet legally for an auction; and he intends to continue his gem business, making fine jewelry and selling for a high profit. He even intends to have a raffle and donate some of the profit to Inner Freedom Ministry. My favorite discussion with Adam revolves around spiritual matters, because he has studied and understands the deeper things, so I could discuss with him about my visit with Bob Davey, and he knows exactly what I'm talking about. In fact, he was extremely interested in the breaking of the code of the bible, and he wanted Bob to send this information to a friend who is interested in the Kabbala. The day went on, as we chatted; sometimes inside and sometimes outside (while Adam smoked a cigarette). And around noon, we selected our items from the vending machine and ate outside, despite the unseasonable cloudy cool weather. Although Adam has chosen not to continue a life of crime, he loves to talk about his past accomplishments, especially the feeling of power and control that it afforded, even changing the course of history, to some extent; a fete I am not at liberty to discuss, though it explains why he and his dad were on the "Most Wanted" list. took advantage of the opportunity to caution him not to indulge in talking about those addictive criminal activities, because, like any addiction, the association will give them power and could cause their energies to regain control of his life, just like an alcoholic working in a brewery. It's very slippery business. He agreed, saying that he and Michael would have one good session talking about the "good old days," and then he would put his energies elsewhere. I don't think Adam realizes how quickly those negative energies take over, but they definitely have a disrupting effect on me. For instance, he reminded me of the fact that my home was under surveillance and my wire tapped, during their "Most Wanted" days. Whew! I sometimes wonder why or how I got into this situation. And then I thank God for guiding and protecting me. Adam gives me credit for having had a positive influence in his life, yet we both know that it's his choices that makes the difference. However, I appreciate his acknowledgment for my efforts, because I have put forth a tremendous amount of energy into supporting him, and his brother, and their dad. I don't know why I was brought into their lives, but I accept that part of my destiny, and I continue to follow the guidance. For instance, I had offered to take Adam with us to his mom's, but it turns out that he must be there within 24-hours, which we would never be able to do in our motor home. But, we can meet him, when he is released, and take him to the bank and for new clothes and to the airport, if he gets out while we are in the area. We both felt that he would be out in March, but it might not allow us time to go to their home and get back to Dottie's for Easter, so time will tell. A sidelight on the subject of Adam's clothes: The state issued garments have the words "Releasee" typed across the front and back. Can you imagine how humiliating that is? And they are not given a coat, either, so if they are headed to cold country, they are in trouble. Fortunately, Adam has earned some money from his prison job, so he can afford to buy new clothes. When I shared with him that Michael had burned his release clothes, Adam was disgusted, saying, "He could have sold them. I'm going to sell mine for at least $50.00." "You mean people want to buy them?" I asked. "Oh yeah! Kids love to buy and wear them." "I guess it's just part of our culture," I concluded, and we went on to another subject. For instance, Adam often talks about the government take-over in our lives, and it's scary to realize that he's right. I hear about their control in everything from parenting our kids to running our business, and this is from everyone we talk with in our travels. As I told Adam, "All I want to do is be left alone to live my own life quietly and peacefully." Suddenly, in the midst of our conversation, we were told that visiting hours were over, even though it was early. But, you don't argue with the guards, so we hugged and said our good-byes, agreeing that he could call us when he's ready to leave, if it's during the month. As I reclaimed my Driver's ID, I explained that my husband had to leave, and wouldn't be back until 2:30. The officer said, "There's been an incident, and we're ending early, but you can tell the outside officer that you're waiting for your ride." I didn't know if I'd be hearing gunshots, or what, but soon Van arrived and we left.