[EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the second in a series of interviews with people who have gone through tremendous spiritual change while in the prison system. We hope these stories will be powerful and inspiring in two ways: First, as a voice - however small - opposing the popular attitude that criminals will never change, and should be locked up forever; second, as a reminder of hope and encouragement to all of us who wonder whether our own transformation is possible. Jeri Becker has been in touch with our organization for many years. In the early ‘90’s, she helped arrange a workshop and visit by Bo & Sita to her prison. Earlier this year, Madri Devi Irani, one of our staff, visited Jeri to conduct this interview. First, Madri’s reflections on the visit:]

My visit with Jeri Becker just ended. I’m returning to my home, and she’s going back to her cell. She will be strip-searched, even removing her dentures for inspection. That’s the procedure after having a visit at Correctional Institution for Women (CIW) in Frontera, California. Her first few years at CIW, Jeri didn’t allow herself any visits because of such humiliating requirements. Now, as a yoga teacher for many years, she tries to see the strip-search as just another yoga asana, or posture. Inmates at CIW must wear their hair up all in the same way, wear just one piece of jewelry if any – a ring on the ring finger. Jeri is issued one pair of shorts and washes them daily.

CIW is located across the street from a manure waste-processing plant. A constant stench of feces permeates the air around the prison. Loads of flies are attracted year-round by the waste plant and by the cows in several dairies which surround the prison. Sometimes when she’s walking outdoors, Jeri will get shortness of breath, and her roommate Vonda feels pain in her lungs. These women don’t have any choice about inhaling human waste and smog 24 hours a day.

After four parole denials, the loss of her parents and so many years in an unhealthy environment, Jeri says she relies on the goodwill and prayers of others to keep her going. Yet she feels her health and energy declining, and yearns for the California parole board to come to its senses and release her after 22 plus years served on a 25-to-life sentence.

Mahatma Gandhi’s practical example and teachings are an inspiration & support to Jeri. I can see his influence on her -- she’s a full time spiritual activist with great personal courage and commitment. Another of Jeri’s inspirations is Vonda, her roommate of seventeen years —“the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” Vonda works with psychiatric patients at the prison, creating a full spectrum program, including yoga, music, and arts & crafts. She has enduring patience, says Jeri, to be working in that capacity for so many years.

Because CIW would not allow Jeri to be interviewed, I had to get on her visiting list as a friend, and was not allowed to bring a tape recorder along, or even a small notebook. I memorized some questions for the interview, and trusted the flow of it for the rest. When I left Jeri, I sat for a while in the parking lot furiously scribbling whatever I could remember of our several hours together. Jeri also sent me several articles she has written for various magazines, and I have filled in some of the gaps with her own words from those articles. Jeri’s life is a remarkable testimony to the triumph of our human spirit over bleak, difficult and even dangerous conditions.

What kind of woman were you when you went inside?

The first thirty years of my life I weaved a tight cocoon around myself. Ignorance, insecurity, fear made up the wrapping, and effectively sealed off a confusing jumble of painful emotions. I thought my cocoon would protect me, keep me safe. Good Catholic girls were always polite, agreeable, pious and composed. We were taught not to question the articles of faith.

Feminine qualities – intuition, feeling and creativity – were not valued. My artistic efforts were minimized as a ‘nice hobby’ that kept me quiet, so long as I didn’t make a mess. Intuitive ideas were whisked away by statements such as, “Doesn’t she have a wild imagination?” In school, the nuns completed the job my parents began at home — the notion that thinking was superior to feeling (and that priests were superior to nuns).

Facts, logic, and analysis were the foundations of the universe. Femininity was frivolous, childish and vain. I quickly learned what would win approval and what parts of myself to keep deeply hidden. I practiced drawing and storytelling in secret – in the basement, on the blackboard so it could be quickly erased. I wrote voluminous stories of magical women with special qualities who could fly and fix everything. I kept those stories carefully hidden under my mattress.

By the time I was an adolescent, I was such an expert at hiding my feelings and expressing only what other people wanted, that I lived in a state of continual emotional turmoil and confusion, feeling like an imposter with parts of me missing inside. I was sure everyone else had it all together. I didn’t know that other teens, adults, even nuns were leading equally dishonest lives.

The ‘60s and ‘70s were turbulent times. In my twenties I imagined myself to be so free. I lived in a houseboat community on the Sausalito waterfront, near my brother who is ten years older. I attached myself to him, and clung tenaciously to what I perceived to be his ideals and power. But the tighter I clung, the more he seemed to move away. I tried to imitate those who were popular and intelligent. I tried using my sexual power to gain acceptance and love. I sought answers in the occult, in exotic religions, in philosophy and art. Eventually I tried drugs, and briefly believed I had at last found release from all the pain and confusion. It was wonderful. I didn’t feel anything at all. So I reinforced my cocoon with the drugs of the day, burying myself in walls of denial, becoming blinder to the reality around me.

Can you tell me about your crime?

On the day of the crime I was seeking heroin, as I had been for the previous three years. I had lost all sense of judgement and purpose other than procuring my next fix. A heroin addict gave me money to get drugs from a dealer in Sausalito. The dealer took the money but never returned with the drugs. In desperation, I returned to the addict and told him what happened. I did not foresee the danger when he and I headed back to the dealer’s houseboat – which is akin to saying I put on a blindfold and drove top speed down the freeway, not considering whether anyone would get hurt.

When we arrived, I was raging, demanding my drugs. The dealer responded with anger and told us to go away. My addict friend pulled a gun, the dealer grabbed it, they both fought over it with more angry words and the gun was fired. The dealer was dead. And although I had the momentary presence of mind to stop any further violence and see that we needed to get help, I still didn’t want to leave without getting my drugs first. It is this insanity that I had to confront in myself.

I feel terrible remorse for the man who died and I feel extremely responsible for his death. The memory of these events fills me with pain, regret and guilt and also the responsibility I have felt toward his son all these years. I also feel tremendous remorse for the pain and damage I did to my own family. My mom died bearing the shame of my behavior and my crime, and my dad died without having the comfort of his daughter to see him through his final years. It breaks my heart to think of it all.

I landed in a prison cell, cocoon still intact. Little did I know that it was God shaking my little artificial world. God alone knew it was time to wake up my sleeping soul. It was time to ask myself the question I had long avoided: “Who am I?”

What was your reaction when you heard your sentence?

Shock, disbelief and denial. But I did have a profound spiritual experience soon afterward.

I was riding aboard a small security plane being transported to CIW to serve a 25-year-to-life sentence. Bound up in hand cuffs, leg irons, and waist chains that weighed nearly as much as I did, I sat squashed in a seat between two huge male prisoners. The tattooed arm of one of them, just inches from my own, was twice the size of my thigh. I tried praying with all my heart, but fear, mingled with despair, overrode my best efforts. Then I spotted a blue light on the dashboard of the instrument panel and began to concentrate on it to the exclusion of all else.

Suddenly everything but that blue light dissolved. Closing my eyes, I still saw nothing but the blue light. I could subtly sense the light expanding with my breath until I was totally absorbed in a very safe and sacred space, feeling surrounded and protected by the presence of God. Thus I awoke to a very special reality, though perhaps to those around me, I may have appeared to be asleep. This awakening would take time to blossom since I would still have to face and heal the beliefs and habits which brought me to prison.

Was that when you "awakened" to the spiritual journey?

I was exposed to the practice of yoga and to my Guru, Paramahansa Yogananda, in the 1960’s, before coming to prison. When I was thirteen, I read his most well-known work, Autobiography of a Yogi, although I was unaware of the implications at the time. Even as a child I had a strong yearning for things spiritual but it wasn’t until I landed here that I awoke to it as a conscious participant.

Do you relate to the term “transformation?” Do you feel you’ve had one or many? What do you consider the beginning of your transformation?

Yes, I relate very much to transformation. My earlier life became a sham as I tried to hide my addiction from others and myself. As painful and futile as that effort was, it didn’t compare to the pain of my soul screaming in agony at 4 AM — the emotional pain, self-loathing and shame I could not ignore or opiate into oblivion. Those late night revelations were my first real spiritual experiences, but I did not know how to act on them. If I had, I’m certain they would have been transformative. But to look at myself honestly was too painful to bear.

When I came to prison, it could no longer be avoided. Suddenly I found myself extricated from all the external props of my life that I had so strongly identified with. I was taken to a six-by-nine-foot prison cell, my whole reality shattered. And in that cell, I had to reevaluate my whole concept of freedom. There was no doubt that I had lost my liberty but what about my freedom? What part of me was restrained by the confines of the prison cell…and what part was not?

No longer confused by drugs, I could see things more clearly. The pain of being abandoned by friends subsided as I realized I had only been leaning on them for a false sense of identity. “Artist…addict…sister…” Only by surrendering these outer layers to the stillness of meditation did I begin to sense the truth. A silent objective witness began to emerge from within, and I began to see who in fact I really was: A divine child of God, an infinite spirit in a world of change.

During 1981-82, the year I was in solitary confinement, there was nothing but raw truth – and God’s love and presence. I made that crucial first step of recognizing the dishonesty of my life, forgiving myself and everyone I had held responsible for hurting me. It takes such an intense awakening to recover from drug addiction. The surrender must be genuine and complete. It takes tremendous courage and faith. Nothing else works.

I turned to God in deep meditation and to my amazement, She answered from the very depths of my soul. In the kind eyes of Divine Mother, I finally saw my own self reflected with compassion. Holding fast to Her hand, I learned to dance in this life and let my true self emerge in Her radiant warmth.

I began to meditate daily using a technique I had learned years ago but seldom practiced. Now it seemed only natural to sit still and follow my breath into the quiet silence which exists at the core of our being. And in that silence I found where real freedom lies. I understood the message of Christ’s death and resurrection—that we are so much more than this limited physical body. And I experienced for the first time the actual presence of God as Father/Mother and felt a sense of strength, comfort, and peace that did not come from myself.

The journey is ongoing and filled with twists and turns. I still encounter strong winds of change. But no longer blinded, I can see the brilliant light of day and know that it remains even when obscured by clouds. I can rise above worldly worries, fears, and problems on the wings of prayer and rest in the peace of God.

Soon I had to return to everyday awareness and face the routines of prison life. Now I understood my life’s meaning and purpose. I didn’t need to figure it all out by myself, only surrender to God’s will moment by moment, day by day. Even the sting of the injustice of a life sentence was neutralized by knowing that I was dependent on God alone, accountable to God alone.

What are your personal spiritual practices?

Kriya yoga, mantra, chanting, hatha yoga, meditation. The practice of Kriya is known only to those who have been initiated. In 1988, by special arrangement, I was initiated by Swami Kriyananda and Jyotish through tape, letter and phone. I also practice prayer through inner dialogue with my Creator.

What’s been the hardest test of your transformation? Both particular events and ongoing struggles.

During my forties, I began to heal my relationship with my parents. We became close and I hoped to be with them as they grew older. But my mom died first. Especially after her death, which my dad had a hard time with, my hope was to get home before his age and health required him to go to a nursing home. He also died while I was trying to make parole. I’m heartbroken that I was not released to be with them in their old age.

I will be up for parole for the fifth time this Spring*. I have the support of many friends, the trial and sentencing judge, the trial attorney, and even a state senator, all of whom speak strongly for my release. But the state of California isn’t granting parole to lifers. Even after serving twenty-one years, fulfilling their requirement of finding a parole plan and financial support to get me started, they continue to close the doors to someone who has atoned for her past and who offers her life up in service. After the last parole denial, I had never felt so cut off from God as I did on that long walk back to the cell, unable to pray or even cry out, “Why have you abandoned me?” I never felt so beyond God’s reach, and I discovered that there is no greater pain than feeling beyond the pale of God’s comfort.

Another test of faith has been my lifelong struggle with my health. Being a vegetarian and having multiple food allergies has been a challenge in here. About ten years ago, my immune system broke down to the point that I became unable to use foods as nourishment, and instead food began poisoning me. My weight dropped to a dangerous 76 pounds and I was close to dying. It was only by God’s grace, not medical intervention, that I am still alive. And my health continues to decline because of the conditions here. I live mostly off fruits, cereal, and graham crackers, and pick wild greens daily. These seem to be the most wholesome things available for my condition.

How do you feel most of service to others?

I feel most of service to others through the yoga class I have taught here for fifteen years. It’s a beautiful shared experience and the high point of my week…and so often participants tell me it is the high point of their week. I just close my eyes and breathe into the space at the beginning of each class, without a plan—this is something I learned along the way. I used to be such a meticulous planner until a wise friend asked me one day if the Universe would disappear without my careful micro-managing of it? I had to laugh…it was a breath of fresh air I needed!! So often after the class one or more of the women will say to me that the class brought them exactly what they needed, but I don’t take credit for ANY of that. All I do is “get out of the way” and it flows.

Also I feel of service through the 12 Steps class I have been facilitating once a week for the past six years. It is a true women’s support group, continually evolving. The members change every nine to twelve weeks but I often have people who return. Much of my growth and personal discovery occurs through teaching yoga and the 12 Step group. 

In my position as a Peer Helper in charge of conducting orientations, I come into contact with a steady stream of new arrivals. Their obvious low self-esteem, showing through their anxiety, tells me that no judge could have handed out a sentence harsher than that which life had already imposed on these wounded ones. My duty is clear – to love them, treat them with dignity, kindness, that has been so lacking. Sometimes I fall short of the mark, giving in to my own impatience with their endless questions, demands, and general neediness.

When I get bogged down in routine paperwork tasks—typing names, numbers, housing units on endless streams of yellow chronos, or the prison’s return address on fifty identical envelopes, how often my mind wanders to the “next-thing-to-do” on my perpetual list. Ah! But this is what I have learned – no matter what the activity, this moment is the important thing. My duty is to spiritualize each moment, giving it my full attention, doing the best I can, and surrender it to God. As I become more mindful, I've developed a policy of “People First.”

This simple rule has nearly cured me of impatience. It makes establishing priorities so simple – an envelope or deadline is never more important than a woman standing in front of me. I am fortunate, in a sense, to be here in this prison. My job is assigned to me. I needn’t be bothered by personal motives of ambition, greed, and prestige which can become so compelling in the work force out there. I am free to open up to lessons as they unfold, to meet each challenge as it arises, viewing it as an opportunity for service and increased understanding. And in that context, to perceive this work as “yoga” – the union of the spiritual and the physical. Isn’t that what we’re all here to learn?

So to me, service is not a duty or an event. It is an attitude of love, respect and caring. How do I feel most of service? That is EASY when you live in an environment surrounded by so much pain and suffering and confusion. Just keep your eyes, ears and heart open, and don’t let a chance pass to love, listen, or reassure. Genuinely care. God places opportunities in our life no matter where we are.

Since Dad died and the Governor has slammed the door on lifers ready to parole, I have found that the ONLY antidote to grief, suffering and despair is LOVE & SERVICE, & MORE loving service…reaching out and genuinely CARING about those “who others pass by”. This energizes my soul and brings me back to the moment. It restores meaning and joy in living. At times when I personally feel I cannot go on living (in here), I just go on loving…and life goes on.

Jeri’s parole hearing finally resulted in an approval. However, the governor has rejected 82 of 84 such parole approvals for lifers since he took office. Please keep Jeri in your prayers as she waits for final word of her possible release.