A Night in Jail - Part of a Personal, Spiritual Journey

One aspect of my spiritual growth occurred in anclose to the edge. I think I understand what it is to be
unlikely place. Not everyone has a dramatic oron the brink of insanity--that place where we can't
traumatic event, but many of us experience a negativecope with reality so we escape into some other place
occurrence that forces us to reevaluate our lives andin our minds. Fortunately, I was not alone.
recommit to a spiritual path. Mine was a conviction andI was processed, which meant completing the
night in jail.paperwork in order to go into the jail itself. More
April 1993 was the date of my final court appearance.fingerprints and pictures were taken. Then we had to
The specifics are less important than the experiencewalk down to get our jail clothes. The idea of giving up
itself. A plea bargaining had been worked out with themy clothes and putting on the jail outfit was pretty
final details to be decided in court. My attorneyupsetting. For the first time in my life I felt violated as
suggested that I cry to show how really sorry I was.the male guard asked me if I wanted a bra or T shirt
My reaction to this suggestion could cover an entireand what size panties I wore. It was not at all the
book about how women are "supposed" to act. I hadhorror stories I have seen on TV, but at that particular
already experienced a scene in court the previousmoment, it was as awful. I'll never forget that feeling. I
year where my cool exterior, which worked well inrealized I had no say or recourse in the matter. That
business, was hurting me in court. Men and women arewas the scary part.
not treated the same in court. As I learned later when IOnce dressed in my blue top and pants, white T shirt,
did some volunteer work at the women's prison inwhite socks and slip-on rubber shoes, I was told to
New Mexico, women are not expected to do wrong,wait in another cell before going to the jail. I might have
and are judged and sentenced more harshly whenstarted to calm down, but the guard looked at my
they do.sheet and saw that I was in for one day. He told me
Despite the philosophical debate, I was too sick andthat one day meant 24 hours from the time I entered
emotionally upset that day to try to pretend anything. Ithe jail, meaning I would be in jail all the next day and
didn't have to try to cry in court; I couldn't stop myself. Iinto the next evening. I panicked inside. What could I do
had plea bargained to a third degree felony for whichif they tried to keep me, if I had to stay, if the judge
there could have been a sentence of 4-6 years in jail,had misspoken when he said I would be let out the
but it was waived. The 200 hours of communitynext morning--what could I do? Any strength I had left
service was the easiest part of the sentence. I haddrained away. The guard said he would check this out
already been doing volunteer work at the women'sfor me, but never did. I asked a second guard about
prison in New Mexico and I intended to continue. Thethe time frame. He reinforced what the first guard said.
repayment of the money on a monthly basis wasLater, before we were sent to our assigned rooms, I
what I had been offering to do since the beginning.was informed that I would be released early the next
What was too overwhelming was the fact that,morning. I was relieved but still apprehensive. We
despite everything, despite the fact that I had notcarried our blankets, towels, toothbrushes and toilet
committed a crime, I was being convicted of a felony.paper in a bed roll. My cell was on the second floor. I
This wasn't a misdemeanor, the lesser charge. Thishad to go back downstairs to get a mattress and
was a felony. A convicted felon. I couldn't come topillow.
grips with that reality. But reality it was and when theI remember little of the other women except my
judge pronounced the final part of the sentence, that Iroommate. She had been sentenced to a year for
was to spend the night in jail - I died inside.drunken driving. Even though this was not her first
A night in jail. That is what the judge said. If anyoneoffense, the sentence was extreme. She had agreed
thinks this was an adventure, fun, exciting, or any otherto a plea bargaining, then went to court only to find
positive description, think again. Even when the judgethat the district attorney had changed his mind and she
said it would only be one night, my heart sank. I waswas sentenced to a year. She didn't even have time
stunned. I realized that the outcome of my sentencingto go home to get her affairs in order. She had a
could have been much worse. But with thedrinking problem, but had received no counseling and
circumstances of the case, I didn't expect anythinghad been depressed for three months. She wasn't
other than probation. My attorney kept assuring mebitter; she accepted her responsibility, but was angry at
how lucky I was, but I was not to be consoled. I wasthe lack of help. We talked quite a while. It helped her. It
physically ill and had been for 3 days. I was exhaustedhelped me. In playing listener and counselor, I could stay
from the emotional strain. I just wanted it to be over.out of my own pain.
The only saving grace was that, in the sentencing, theIn the small cell that I shared with her, I was on the top
judge said, "This was not a criminal case; it was a civilbunk which was almost too high for me to reach. A
case." That one sentence confirmed what I knew, butvent was blowing on me but I was too sick and
at that point I needed validation. If I had listened to mymiserable to move the pillow to the other end of the
own instincts, I would have gone before the judge withbunk. The noise kept me awake, but I couldn't sleep
the case and I would probably have won.anyway.
I felt betrayed. I felt sick. I felt alone and I felt awful. ALights went on at 6 a.m. I had to wait until they called
guard motioned me through a locked door to theme. I wanted to be ready, so I sat on the edge of the
elevator leading into a tunnel connecting the court tobunk for the longest time, too paralyzed to move.
the jail. I realized that I was functioning as if this were aFinally I jumped down.
dream. The guard made me turn around to beI took my mattress and spread it out on the floor, laid
handcuffed. I was numb. I'm sure I looked normal anddown and cried. I had this unfounded fear that I
maybe even sounded normal as I joked with the guardwouldn't get out. When would they call? My cellmate
about the metal gate separating us in the elevator. Buttold me that this was her birthday. That only made me
I was not normal. I experienced something I had neverfeel worse. How could one endure a birthday in a
felt before. I felt disjointed, a sense of being outside ofplace like this? She had 9 months to go on her
myself. I was two people. The outward me looked andsentence, the thought was too overwhelming.
talked fine, but the real me wasn't really there. I wasAt 8:00 am, they finally called my name. I was taken
somewhere else since it was too awful to be whereback to the processing place and after changing back
my body was.to my own clothes, I walked out, got in the car, and
The situation progressed with the same sense ofdrove home.
illusion. I was too sick and too tired to be sensible. I satA night in jail. Years later, I better understand the
in a cell waiting to be processed for six hours. Thankimpact of this experience on my spiritual journey.
goodness for the other woman in the cell who wasNegative events can prove to have positive outcomes.
also waiting. If I had been alone, I might not have beenAs with most of us, one event is only a part of the
able to handle the situation. I felt as if I were reallyspiritual story. The rest continues to be written.