A volunteer at Carmel Prison Shares:

I’ve been meeting with a group of inmates for the past six months. The group is made up of about ten regular inmates that belong to a program which uses Methadone as a drug substance.

It was a rough start despite a lot of good intentions on my part and on their part. The participation in the group is mandatory and at first that created difficulties. They had a lot of respect for me for coming as a volunteer, but they didn’t really understand ‘what I wanted from them’ and felt they were being coerced into something that didn’t suit them. I also came with some kind of a preconception of my practice and my notion of what meditation is, and it took me a while to let go of this preconception and listen more deeply to what works and what doesn’t work for them.

At some point they were brave and great and told me that ‘it’s not working for them’. So for several meetings we just talked. I listened a lot and learned from them. We established some trust and since then the group became a special place for them, giving them a place to rest and create a form of partnership. They told me: “You are the only person who listens to us who doesn’t have any self interest.” to me it is a great gift and I love them dearly.

In the past couple of months we formed a few “rituals” at the start and end of our sessions, that provide some framing and continuity to our time together, and I feel it has great value.

At the beginning of every meeting I invite the participants to close their eyes and let the body and mind relax in the room. I draw their attention to the shift from outside inward, to the day they came from and the need to take a moment to adjust to the transition to another space. I think this practice achieves several things: It teaches them about the need to adjust to transitions and changes, it respects and
acknowledges the experiences from which they come to this moment, and allows them to find some quiet and a new way of breathing when entering the meeting.

Then each one shares ‘how his heart is feeling today’. Sometimes they share a word, sometimes they share something they are going through. Sometimes I address something they said in the spirit of Dharma. At the end of the meeting I invite them to close their eyes and think of something good that came out of the meeting that they would like to take with them for the rest of the day or week: A good thought that passed through their mind, a moment when they felt good, something someone else said that touched them. I invite them to wrap themselves in this moment like a gift and take it with them back to the wing.

During the session we perfect the ability to reflect on the way we act. I use the same metaphors over and over again. For instance, just as you open the car hood to learn how it works so you can take better care of it, so we try to learn how our body and mind work. I found that silent meditation that lasts for more than a minute doesn’t work for them. So I focus more on structured things: Mindful/conscious eating, paying attention to feelings/thoughts/sounds, practicing loving heart meditation, working with anger, etc.

There was an incident in the prison recently where a teacher had an inappropriate discussion with some inmates. The result was a new instruction that an education officer has to be present at all meetings. At first the inmates were very irritated and felt it was a vote of distrust towards them. I tried to undo this decision because I too felt it would hurt the balance and sense of safety we worked so hard to achieve, but I failed. I decided to invite them to try to see together what this change triggered in us. In the last session the education officer joined for the first time. Some of the time I felt like inmates were saying only things that she would want to hear, but at other moments I felt we succeeded in seeing together what her presence had triggered.

A volunteer at Ha’sharon Prison recounts:

I would like to share my experience teaching meditation at the Hasharon Prison. I was assigned a group of inmates from the rehabilitation ward who were taking part in the 12-step program. There, I encountered people who yearn to find a true place to rest. Above all, I make an effort to clarify that we must learn from our own experience, by exploring the place inside ourselves where we can let everything be as it is, and rest. One moment at a time. For me it is a great privilege to sit with this group, to share, teach and learn. People who have chosen to undertake a rehabilitation program are consciously making a very significant change in their lives.
These are people who – even though they may struggle along the way – have found the strength within themselves to assume responsibility for their lives and choose a new, unknown path. I make a consistent effort to link meditational practice to real life, to remind them that we aren’t practicing in order to sit in silence for two hours but rather so that we may incorporate the insights gained during meditation into every moment of our lives.

Currently, the 12 steps fill their lives. I try to use a vocabulary familiar to them so that everything will come together and so they don’t feel like they are being led down two different paths. At the end, we learn to let go of all that brings us suffering, whether it be thoughts, emotions, sensations or addictions. At the end, we are all searching for a way to face life’s pain and hold on to life’s pleasures. In the first meeting we discussed change, choice, responsibility and courage. We discussed changes in life that always begin from within, and what had to happen inside them so that they could decide to come to this ward.

I find there is something very easy about teaching this group. Firstly, the fact that they are already a group. A group of people who are already undergoing a variety of things together. I assume they have already heard each other’s experiences and are learning to support each other. There is no pretense here. Everything is very authentic, nobody pretends to know and understand everything. Even when
objections or doubts arise, they are expressed openly, making it much simpler to discuss our many difficulties, whether in life or in meditation.

The first of the 12 steps is admitting that we are powerless in the face of alcohol and that we have lost control over our lives. If we replace drinking alcohol with any other attempt to grasp happiness, we can see that all of us are addicted. If we weren’t addicted, it would be much simpler and easier to let go instantly: to stop seeking, once and for all, the desired happiness and relief in all transient aspects of life. In order to make them understand better, I simply said that the first step in meditation is to see that we don’t have control over our mind. They immediately understood and were enthusiastic, someone even asked me if I designed their rehabilitation program. After we really see clearly that we don’t have any control over our mind, we release the necessity to try to manage it, to organize or control it. Suddenly I remembered the second step: we believe that a force greater than ourselves can give us back our sanity, and the third step: we have decided to dedicate our desires and our lives to reaching God as we understand him. The 12 step process is very spiritual; it involves great dedication to something that is greater than one’s self. I can see so many analogies: the letting-go that we agree to undertake while meditating, the dedication to something greater than ourselves. Agreeing to give up control, to lose
our grip and to try to open ourselves to a new layer within ourselves, even and especially if we have no idea where it may lead us. I must say that I was surprised by the degree of openness and the inmates’ personal, honest explorations (of course there are still many doubts and objections, it is impossible to avoid them). There is something specific about their difficult situation, both in prison and in the rehabilitation program, that doesn’t allow them to live an illusion. Although I believe there is not a single person among us who would want to find himself confined in the therapeutic ward of a prison, perhaps in such a situation, where it’s so clear that this is not the way you envisioned your life, and where it’s no longer possible to delude yourself that everything is OK, a new door opens: some sort of readiness and
incertitude, which are a great point from which to begin practicing meditation.

Something else I would like to share: in my experience, it is most important to give the meditators the feeling that everything is OK. Everything that is happening within them is alright, and it is important to allow this space to resonate so that they can find respite within themselves, even if the thoughts, emotions or pain they experience are unbearable. One man shared with us that he has many malignant or self-destructive thoughts and that he is trying to rid himself of them. He asked whether I was saying that he does not need to rid himself of them. He is a very intelligent and curious man, and always asks relevant questions. I answered that he should try to let go of the need to change or to manipulate his thoughts in any way, and check if there is space within him as these thoughts arise, so that he may rest, without needing to do anything. I reminded him of the clouds in the sky, and the many phenomena that may appear within them: lighting, storms, rainbows; that despite everything, the sky will never be influenced and will remain open and pure. I told him that within him, there is also a part so pure that cannot be influenced by anything. That very second, his face transformed before my eyes, as though a mask that was glued to his face fell off, and there was such great relief and openness there. That moment remained with me all week.

A volunteer at Carmel Prison recounts:

Yesterday when I arrived at the prison, I saw a large and beautiful butterfly lying motionless on a small tray on the education officer’s desk.
“Is it alive?” I asked. “Yes, but it seems to be injured,” responded the officer, “we put it here so nobody would hurt it.”
“May I take it with me to the meditation group?” I asked. “Of course.” she responded. As I carried the butterfly with me towards the room, it continued to lie almost entirely still on the tray, occasionally fluttering its wings as though to prove that it is still alive. The inmates drew close, amazed to see the butterfly. I placed it in the center of the circle and said, “It will be our teacher today.”
They wanted to verify that it was still alive. One of them came near and touched its wings, and the butterfly fluttered them.
I asked them to sit and we began to meditate. I asked the inmates to think about the fact that the butterfly’s life is very short and who knows, maybe it is nearing its end. We continued our usual meditation silently and focused on inhaling and exhaling, as the butterfly lay motionless in the center of the circle. After the bell rang, marking the end of the meditation session, I suggested the inmates share their experiences as they observe the butterfly and consider where their paths converge. Here are a few of the experiences shared by the inmates:
“I live many more years than the butterfly does, but since its life is so short, it reminds me that I must pay attention to every moment that passes and ask myself whether I am at peace with myself at that moment. Time passes quickly and my bad deeds or words can hurt someone; thus, I need to choose my actions and the words I say, and live each moment in the best possible way.”
“The butterfly brings only beauty to its surroundings. It flutters between flowers and everybody enjoys seeing how free it is. I would like to be able to live like the butterfly.”
“Before it was a butterfly, it was a cocoon. When I was a drug addict, I lay in the corner of the room, unable to move. Now that I am in therapy, I begin to spread my wings and I hope to learn to fly.”
Many things were said, other perspectives were presented. The butterfly was an excellent teacher. From time to time, one of the inmates would touch its wings to check if it were still alive, and it responded by fluttering them as though nodding: “I’m still with you.”
When we began to practice walking meditation, I placed the tray with the butterfly on the table and suddenly, the butterfly spread its wings, lifted itself and flew through the cell bars.
We were all stupefied. “We gave it energy,” said the inmates. It was a lesson for me as well, about freedom in prison.