The shifting paradigm

14 March 2011

Dear anne,

"How tarnished is the gold,
how changed the noble metal,
How the sacred stones lie strewn
at every street corner!"


"Hey Spicer," Greg said, "You look like you've been working out!" I burst out laughing. No, I definitely haven't. And Greg, who hasn't either isn't beyond ribbing me for something we've got in common.

Anne, months ago I accepted the reality that an act like "crossing the line" would engage me both with my society's demons as well as my personal demons. Instead of trying first to absolutely evict my own, I resolved to embrace my imperfection with an openness to the greater goodness of society also.

My letters have offered you, I hope, revealing testimony of one citizen-user's experience of the US Justice System. It has come in pieces, in fragments, and admittedly in biased storytelling. For instance, yesterday I scribbled to you about Greg, and to give you, I thought, a good impression of him, I began by mentioning his reference to Grapes of Wrath. I never detailed his appearance or all of his criminal background, for although he shared a good deal, I thought of it as "immaterial" evidence. Then something occurred to me reading last week's New York Times article, "3 Officers Hurt in St. Louis Shootout, Suspect Killed."

I found myself entirely unsympathetic to the frame of the article. Immediately, I looked for holes. The man was a known felon, okay, so what? Greg has 13 felonies, would he be shot? Greg vented yesterday about the legal kidnapping he experienced and had even mentioned in a kind of fury how wrong it was that with a gun he would not go quietly. I imagined that the suspect may have held this indignation when he fired on the invading US Marshalls and then I became conscious of my bias, of how my paradigm of the world slowly shifts in my sole act of being here.

Just writing this, somehow, I would like to feel better. For I have in fact felt that I have done nothing today. I seem to merely have awoke for meals and already we're at the 10pm count. Still Life with Woodpecker by Tom Robbins and your loving letters, friends, have indulged me.

Thanks,
C