What does it mean to center the value of love?

Hank
CLF member, incarcerated in LA

Through my eyes, I see all humans with equal vision, regardless of diverse qualities, color, gender, and belief — this is what love looks like to me. Through my senses, I perceive all as one and the same, directed by cosmic order, consciousness, self, God or Guru, which are all synonymous — this is what love feels like to me.

Through my ears I hear and hold no judgment, condemnation, ridicule, or punishments for whatever is said — this is God, through me, in me at all times. Love is God, and God is love: not separate from me, and never forsaking me, for me are one and therefore I am.

Donald
CLF member, incarcerated in CO

Love is a simple yet complex emotion for us to truly describe. However, we seem to know it when we feel it. Problems arise when we grasp at, try to control or desire love. Problems also happen when we reject or do not reciprocate love.

Love is at its best when we just allow it to be, and in turn, when we just “be” in it. Love exists outside of us, sometimes with, sometimes without us. We are not necessary for love, but love is a necessity for us.

What is Love?

Ryan
CLF Member, incarcerated in FL

L-O-V-E. Probably one of the most misunderstood words in the English language. Mostly due to the fact we only have one word for it. The Greeks however have multiple words to describe different types love. Here are four of them:

Eros, the easiest, is physical love. This is where we get words like erotic. It’s the love of how things look/feel/smell/taste or any other physical property. This might be an initial feeling towards someone we’re attracted to.

Philia is brotherly love. Think of philanthropy, coming together to raise money for a cause. This describes the love towards friends, co-workers and even humanity as a whole.

Storge is familial love. Not a common root word in the English language, but this is the love one typically feels towards parents, children, siblings or cousins.

The most powerful form of love is agape, or unconditional love that continues despite and perhaps even due to our flaws.

This is sometimes the hardest to achieve because as humans we put conditions on so much, usually unconsciously. This is what we as UUs strive for, especially in our acceptance of the LGBTQ+ and incarcerated members. This is the love to strive for.

What about your love?

Danny
CLF member, incarcerated in CA

Drops of water fall
Onto sidewalks and raincoats
Gloomy clouds stretch on
Shifting winds and sunshine say,
“This will not be forever.”

Artwork made by Rose Gallogly for the pageant version of this story, performed by the children of Theodore Parker UU Church (West Roxbury, MA)

Part I: the beginning of things, when cycles are born

When the world was very young, there were not yet any seasons. There were not even any days — the Sun and the Moon shared the sky in harmony, quietly watching over the world together. After time had been passing for some time, the Sun suddenly realized that he was tired. 

The Sun said to his friend the Moon:

“Moon, I have realized that I am tired, and would quite like to rest. What if we traded places here in the sky, so that we each get a break from watching the world, and have some time to rest?”

The Moon thought this was a wonderful idea, so they tried it out: each taking a turn to watch over the world in the sky, while the other rested. This is how the day and the night were born. This new cycle suited the Sun and the Moon very well — so well, that they decided that they each wanted their own larger cycles, in addition to day and night, so that they each had more time to rest and be renewed.

The Moon decided that she would wax and wane, showing up a bit less each night, until she was able to take an entire night off, and then come back slowly until she was in her full, beautiful glow. And so the months were born. 

The Sun decided that he wanted a longer cycle: he would go to sleep just a bit earlier every night and wake up a little later every morning for six months in a row, and then, more fully rested, he would start getting up earlier and staying up later for the next six months. And so the years were born. 

The Sun and the Moon loved their new cycles even more than they had loved the days. So much more felt possible in the world when everything worked in cycles. In fact, the Sun and the Moon felt so energized by their rest times that they decided they were ready for more life to join the world: in each new cycle, they introduced a few new beings. One new being at a time, they added mountains and rivers, trees and mushrooms, grasses and flowers and animal beings of all sorts. After many, many cycles, the world was full of beautiful new forms of life.

Each time a new being was introduced to the world, the Moon whispered to them: remember always that this world works in cycles. There are times of great light and activity, and there are times of darkness and rest. This is the great rhythm of the world, and all beings must follow this pattern in their own way. 

The mountains and rivers and trees and mushrooms and grasses and flowers and animal beings of all sorts followed these instructions, and they each found their own cycles. And for a time, all was well. 

Part II: Squirrel arrives, disrupts the cycle

The world continued on for some time, with the mountains and rivers and trees and mushrooms and grasses and flowers and animal beings of all sorts living on, each in their own cycle. Things were going well, so more and more creatures were added to the world: now the world had Owl and Crow, Deer and Spider, Hedgehog and Fox and Bunny Rabbit. Some beings struggled more than others to learn about the rule of cycles, but especially by the time the year got dark and cold, they always seemed to find their natural rhythm. 

One day, Squirrel was born. Squirrel was small and fast and so happy to be in the world. He was so excited, in fact, that when the first instructions from Moon were whispered in his ears, he didn’t quite absorb them — he was already scampering away, running up the nearest tree to explore and learn as much as he could about this new world he had found himself in. The other animals saw this, and it worried them a bit, but little Squirrel was so cute and inquisitive, they all figured that he would learn the way of the world sooner or later.

Squirrel arrived in the world on the summer solstice, when Sun was at his brightest and most full. Everything was blossoming and bursting with life, and Squirrel saw that the world was full of abundance. Even though every day after Squirrel was born, the Sun went to rest a little earlier and woke up a little later, each change was so small and Squirrel moved so quickly, that it was many months before he fully noticed what was happening.

A few months in, the days had become darker and colder, and the trees had started to shed their leaves as they prepared to rest for the darker months of the year. Squirrel finally noticed these changes, and one day, he asked Owl (who had been around for many years, and always seemed to have the answers) what was going on. Squirrel asked:

“Old Owl, why have the days become so dark and cold? The world had such abundance and warmth when I first arrived. Has something gone wrong?”

Owl replied: “Oh little Squirrel. Did you not listen to Grandmother Moon when you arrived? Our world works in cycles — the Sun and the Moon each rest in their turn, and so must we. There is abundance also in our rest.”

Squirrel heard what Owl had said, but quickly dismissed it. Squirrel was very young, after all, and had some of the arrogance that often comes with youth. He thought, “Surely that only applies to the old beings who have been here for many years — I don’t feel tired at all! I’m so small and quick, I’m sure I’ll be able to zoom right through this cycle thing without missing anything while resting. I’ll stay awake all the way through these long nights and soon enough, the Sun will be back to brighten the long days again.”

The days kept getting shorter and the nights kept on getting longer, and most of the beings in the world watched this great cycle turning and responded in their way. Many of the trees shed all of their leaves, and the plants closed up their flowers. Crow and Hedgehog and Spider and Bunny Rabbit cozied up their homes and rested all through the long nights. Even old Owl, whose way was to stay awake through the long night and to sleep during the day, still honored this cycle in her own way: she grew a thicker coat of feathers to keep her warm in the beautiful cold and dark world. 

But Squirrel, in his youthful arrogance, did not respond to the cycle’s turning. Squirrel pretended he was not cold and did not grow a warmer coat, but instead kept on moving so quickly that no other creatures could keep track of where he was. And even though it should have been Squirrel’s way to sleep through the long nights, he kept himself awake, wandering far and wide when he really needed to rest. 

Finally, the world got to the longest night of the year, the turning point in its cycle, and the Sun went down for his deep, restful sleep. The Moon, who lived on her own cycle, was up full and high in the sky that night, watching over all of creation, as she always did.

As the Moon watched the world that night, she was pleased to see so many beings still following her important first instructions: some were awake, as was their way during the nighttime, and many were resting, as was their way. All seems well as the night went on and the Moon made her way through the sky.

Then, when the night was almost over, the Moon spotted something strange: there was little Squirrel, wearing much too thin of a coat of fur, and staying awake in hurried activity even though she knew full well that was not his true way of things. Moon suddenly felt a flash of anger that this being she had brought into the world was ignoring her instructions so fully! Were none of the other beings seeing this and helping him learn? In her anger, the Moon stormed away from the world — leaving the dark night without even the light of her presence. The Stars, who always watched the world kindly from their far-away homes, saw the Moon leaving and thought they should follow suit. The Sun, without the Moon returning to wake him and start the next day, slumbered on. So the world was left in darkness without Moon or Stars or Sun: the cycle of the year had stopped turning. 

Part III: Squirrel learns to rest, everyone learns to turn the year around

It was Owl who noticed first. She loved the dark, so it was not the long darkness itself that she minded — but her heart felt it the moment the Moon and the Stars had left, and she knew something was wrong. There was an unnatural stillness to the world: the year had stopped turning. 

Owl, even in all her wisdom, didn’t know what to do. The year had never stopped turning before! How could she call the Moon back and keep the cycle going?

Owl decided she needed help, not just from her animal friends, but from all of the beings of the world. She flew around waking everyone up: the trees and the flowers, the deers and the spiders, the mountains and mushrooms, telling all of them, “Wake up wake up! The Moon has left us, the year has stopped turning!”

Soon, all the beings were awake, disoriented and confused in the pitch darkness. Owl was trying to get everyone ordered, to see if they could come up with a plan, when she felt a little tug on her bottom feathers.

She looked down and saw Squirrel, small and tired and shivering in his too-light fur coat. Tears were streaming down his young face, freezing in the cold night air as they fell. He tried to speak, but words failed him.

Owl said: “Oh my dear, it can’t be as bad as all that! What’s wrong?”

Squirrel, speaking through his tears, said, “But Owl, it is, it is! It is all my fault that the year has stopped turning. The Moon saw me running around when I should have been resting… It’s because of me that she felt so angry that she left the sky altogether. I don’t know what to do!”

Owl sighed, and was still for a few moments. The poor young Squirrel in front of her was so very tired and distraught — Owl knew that more than anything, before anything else could happen, Squirrel needed to sleep. Owl thought back to her earliest days and remembered a song that a grandmother of some kind had sung to help the beings of the world learn to fall asleep. 

Owl said, “Dear child. Rest now — the year has stopped turning, so really, we are in no rush. Let me help you fall asleep.”

And she started singing:

Return again *
Return again
Return to the home of your soul

Return again
Return again
Return to the home of your soul

The other beings who had been woken up in all of the commotion started to listen in — and particularly the older ones, who had been around in the very first cycles of the world, realized they knew the song too. 

Return again
Return again
Return to the home of your soul

Return again
Return again
Return to the home of your soul

Before long, all of the beings of the world, all of the mountains and rivers and trees and mushrooms and grasses and flowers and animal beings of all sorts were singing. It felt right to all of them, somehow, to join together in song when the world was suddenly so strange and uncertain. Little Squirrel, who had been so very exhausted from trying to outrun the turning of the year, was soon fast asleep — but the other beings of the world kept on singing. 

The sound grew so loud and resonant that even in her far-off place away from the world, the singing started to reach the Moon. She inched closer and closer until she could hear them clearly:

Return again
Return again
Return to the home of your soul

Then the Moon, the great grandmother of the world, realized: they were singing the song she had taught them! The anger in her heart started to soften, and she realized how hasty she had been to leave the world. After all, the beings she created were all still so young (that little Squirrel especially!) — of course they didn’t understand how very important cycles were yet. And now they were singing the very song that she had created to help them fall asleep! All was not lost after all.

And so, slowly but decisively, moving to the rhythm of their singing, the Moon returned to the world. She appeared again low in the sky, to the exact point she had left, just staying for a moment before going on to wake up Sun. 

The many beings of the world, still circled up in song as all of them knew they should be as soon as they started singing, started to feel a lightness in their hearts. The sense of unnatural stillness began to shift. Just as the sun started peaking over the horizon line, they all realized together: the year had started turning again. 

Little Squirrel, exhausted from his distress and his long refusal to follow his natural rhythm, slept for most of the month of this re-started year. When he woke up, the moon had gone through her full cycle, and was back in the dark, cold sky in her beautiful fullness. He saw her just for a bit, when she was low in the sky at the beginning of night. The young Squirrel was still moving as quickly as ever, but with purpose this time: he had much to gather to keep himself warm and fed before returning to a restful slumber for the rest of the night. Squirrel had found his natural cycles of things, and honored it as best he could. The Moon was glad, and she hummed an old familiar tune as she traveled, as ever, through her cycle in the sky.

All was well. 

* “Return Again” by Shlomo Carlebach, Singing the Journey #1011

Return again,
Return again,
Return to the home of your soul.

Return to who you are,
Return to what you are,
Return to where you are
born and reborn again.

What are the stories that shape you?
What role does storytelling play in your life?

Jacob
CLF member, incarcerated in AK

This has been a harder question for me to approach. Many times we hit the point we want to ignore or hide the truth about the stories that have shaped us, either because of embarrassment, fear, or some other now silly-seeming emotion. As I sit here, though, I realize that if those stories had not shaped me, I may never have made it so far in life before incarceration or even possibly death.

To start, a bit about my familial/social setting. My mom’s side of the family is from Iowa, and my dad’s side of the family is very Hillbilly, Good Ole Country boy types from the Northern Hills of Arkansas. All of that meant a very big learning curve for a child.

The stories of Hedge Witches, Shamans, and Healers are accepted truths from my dad’s side of the family. On my mom’s side, there were hardcore Catholic rituals, teachings, trainings, and underpinnings. The two do not readily mesh, but I always enjoyed walking in both paths of my family, learning from both sides.

Then, you add in the fact that I am homosexual, and could never hide my effeminity. My father and his fifth wife loved to give me lectures on the stories of Sodom and Gomorrah, fixating on the homosexuals while ignoring the full stories. They never appreciated me pointing out the key fact that is was the culmination of the sum of all of the inequalities that led to their destruction. Often this would lead to arguments and anger on both sides.

Disney Princess stories such as Mulan, Cinderella, and Beauty and the Beast made me think, “If they can find love then maybe someday I can as well.” Or can I?

The stories of various novels, like the Ramona series, gave me an escape from the pains of daily life, while motivating my curiosity and creativity.

The stories that family and friends told of their experiences and things they had seen helped shape my ambitions and drive to leave our small town. Grandpa, my dad’s dad, would tell of the antics of his peers and family. Often these would make me not want to be trapped in those same patterns. My Grandma, my mom’s mom, would point me to stories of succeeding, being yourself and fighting for something. These encouraged my drive to help others as well as be an outspoken advocate.

All of these stories have pushed me on, opened my eyes to things I may have missed, as well as motivated me to leave the hills and to see what I could learn and do.

Overall, storytelling has greatly shaped my life. Now I write fiction and non-fiction stories in an attempt to help others in similar situations push through and succeed. We have to share our stories, our truths, and our experiences to help others know that it’s possible to push through it all. 

Comfortable

Barney Silk
CLF member, incarcerated in TX

They say I must have grown up with a ‘chip on my shoulder,’ but I’d like to see you come and push my boulder. Or walk a minute in this mile I call my life, and see how well you manage strife. I grew up watching other kids get things they never had to earn, that was a tough lesson I had to learn.

Because you see, I grew up in poverty and never knew what it was like to be rich, having to cut steps in the dirt to get to the mailbox from the ditch. Or wondering how me and my Grandma would make it another day, when black eyed peas and cornbread proved to be the only way.

So please don’t sit in judgment of me from the comfort and confines of your nice big home, because ain’t no one ever just throw me a bone. And don’t try to say, “you know what it’s like,” because I’m no fool, see you don’t know anything about the beatings and sexual abuse when I came home from school. Or about the times I was almost killed, lying torn and bloody in an old farm field.

And I’m not just some writer whose dream it is for his name to be called out from a crowd by a Raven fan, I’m comfortable enough just being a man. Because you see I’m a Silk and I know what it’s like, to not have all the tools yet still get it right.

Gary
CLF member, incarcerated in SC

Growing up in the South of the 1960s, my pre-school days were spent in the tender care of my maternal grandmother. These were seemingly innocent times long before video games, cell phones, or computers. The turbulence of the time, the Civil Rights Movement and War in Vietnam, were far removed from the fresh-baked bread smell of Grandma’s Kitchen.

My days were filled with tomato sandwiches, iced tea with lemon, and snow cream in the winter. But each day came with “naptime.” And naptime always came with one of Grandma’s “Lake Swamp Stories.”

Grandma was from a “little speck of a place,” as she termed it, called Lake Swamp in the South Carolina lowcountry. About 30 or so miles outside of Florence, Lake Swamp was little more than a local school, a tiny grocery store, and a barbershop.

Her daily tales were like a fantasy world to my childhood ears. No TV? No refrigerator? No indoor bathroom? I was fascinated.

The 1920s in rural South Carolina may initially seem a quiet, pastoral scene. Yet, Grandma’s stories of barn dances, alligators crawling out of creeks, thundering circuit-riding preachers, and huge Sunday dinners seemed like an amazing place in time.

But beyond being mere childhood pre-nap stories, Grandma’s tales gave me a unique sense of identity. She, unknowingly, lit the fire for my own love of writing and fed that flame with the basis for many of my short stories.

The 1960s were truly not “Leave It To Beaver” innocence for many, if not most, especially in the South. But my Grandma carved a safe space for my childhood and, importantly, gave me a love of writing.

Leo Cardez
CLF member, incarcerated in IL

“Corners,” my newest celly, is middle-aged and polite — the sort of man who carries the normal toil of the world. We have a lot in common and often spend hours talking about this or that. He’s easy to talk to, quick to grin with a wry sparkle to his eyes when he shares stories that are close to him.

Neither of us are much for idle chit chat or gossip, but occasionally we open up about our fears, hopes, and dreams and it can be quite powerful. I can always tell when he’s getting into a story, he leans forward pinning me with the force of his words. Stories of his past life, pre-prison, are tinged with regret; nothing more so than the loss of his daughter. She’s not dead, but when he came to prison in many real ways he died to her. Prison is certainly a type of death. Are we buried yet undead or are we dead yet unburied? She was only 8 years old when he came to prison and he still recalls her bright pink pajamas with the footies she was about to outgrow in another growth spurt. In fact, he told me, there has not been a single minute in a single day since he left that he hasn’t thought about her — not a moment has slid by when the world was not still oriented toward her. His words shook me to my soul. The depth of his tragic story of multi-generational addiction and abuse pinched the oxygen from the air. Yet, by all measures, it was clear to me he had learned to use his grief as a weapon for his faith and inner recalibration.

I see myself in all his stories, it is as if I’m speaking through him, only the names and dates are different. I suppose that is the purpose of good storytelling: be tiny and epic at the same time. The best stories are local slices of Life. They concern the neighborhoods where we grew up, our closest friends, and favorite things. They are close to the bone, the flesh of our lives. And yet, they are universal, too, because they speak to our shared humanity; the fears and hopes we all share as sons, brothers, fathers, and friends. Stories of prison woes, I’ve learned, are very similar regardless of age, nationality, or culture; what happened to one, happens to all.

Corner’s story is rooted in suburban privilege, but the story arc plays out similarly around the country’s prisons: an unfair criminal justice system, fear, loss, and the desperate attempt to find and hold onto hope and purpose in our cold, austere world.

It is an undeniable truth, when we open our hearts to hear each others’ stories — we oftentimes find ourselves in them; we realize we are not so different after all and others’ experiences can become our own. I’m confident employing shared storytelling as part of a larger restorative justice effort, connecting victims and offenders, would certainly break down barriers, shatter stereotypes, and be a conduit to true healing. But, that’s a bigger story for another time.

“There is no agony like leaving an untold story inside of you,” Zora Neale Hurston wrote in Dust Tracks on a Road. That quote is the principle that guides my writing. As much as my writing may have a self-help angle or sense to it, what I really want to impart is the human pulse of the stories. The essence of their message is that we’re all in the same boat just trying to get through this harder-than-we-could-have-ever-imagined thing called life. We need, nay, we must, share what we’ve endured as a means of catharsis and connection. I’ve often encouraged my fellow inmates to write their story. I believe everyone in prison has a novel inside of them waiting to bloom, if only they’d sit down to write it.

Corners’ stories keep unfolding, every one as poignant as the last and as we get to know each other the recitation and exchange of these stories is where the common ground begins to emerge. It is how respect and friendships are built.

My greatest fear is that my own daughter may follow in my addiction footsteps. I’ve read that young people today have the highest rates of anxiety, depression, and suicide in history. Many experts believe they are symptoms of a generation being raised during the digital revolution. As connected as the internet has the capability to make us, apparently today’s youth has never felt more alone and unheard. Stories are unfolding in them and they need to express them. I encourage my daughter to seek help, if and when she feels she needs it; to talk about her feelings. And she does. She’s putting cracks in the emotional walls that hold her hostage, so eventually the whole thing will fall. That’s what happens with enough time and pressure, even the hardest rocks will eventually turn to dust. But, the waiting and continuous effort needed to break down the walls is what is heartbreaking. But, that’s why we must continue to share all those stories we keep hidden in secret chambers of our hearts — they are what make us and what may save us all.