During our workshop at MacLaren Youth Correctional Facility, last month, the young writers scribbled down either a white thing or a black thing on a card. From these seeds, sentences were constructed and collected, and then delivered to the PonyXpress writers across Oregon. The prompts circulated in our workshops and line by line they were organized like a Rubik’s cube in the writers’ nimble fingers. As we shared the results in our group, patterns would arise. At Snake River Correctional Institution (minimum) five of twelve writers focused on the line: “I wrote a letter to my brother.” Some writers found a poem by combining phrases, and some writers used one word as a starting point to take their writing into a deeper exploration. In all cases, Danny and I recognized the willing enthusiasm that everyone brought to this collaboration with the MacLaren folks. They recognized an opportunity in the exchange.

Nick from Oregon State Penitentiary included this note with his piece:
Look Young Brothers at MacLaren, you’ll get through this. I’ve been where you are before, literally. I’ve already been locked up for over 15 years of this life, but by the grace of God I found hope and I’ve got 5 years clean and sober, just as long without violence too. Things will get better, and there is hope for you too, so I’ll remind you home is where you feel love. It’s not a place, so search for love keep searching and keep your head up! You’ll get through this, just keep doing the next right thing, as much as you can. Much love and respect to the Young Bro’s at MacLaren.

Oregon State Penitentiary editor Stressla Lynn Johnson wrote An Invitation:
I wrote a letter to my brother,
In black ink, a few words to make him think,
My thoughts soared high above the cloud,
Whispering words falling to the ground ...

Brother from Snake River Correctional Institution:
I wrote a letter to my brother in black ink.
I wrote the words that were in my heart. The words
of forgiveness for the things that he’d done.

Also from Snake River, David Jackson’s Black Ink:
I wrote a letter to my brother in Black Ink —
Just think, I never knew I had a brother until last week
— Black Ink —

To My Brother by Travis Carroll at Snake River:
You’ve transcended to a level much higher than Raven flies.
When I think of you today, a tear descends from the corner of my eye.

From Coffee Creek Correctional Institution, Sequoiah Vannorsdall-Resendez’s I Write to You:
I write to you, brother, so you can hear me once again. Never forget, never let go. The gray of the pencil is too easily missed.

And Oregon State Penitentiary editor Dustin Smith focused his pen with Snow Blind:
It’s the beauty of the light
From a distant star, refracting
In multitudes and
Blinding in its brilliance.

Our office overflows with the creative work submitted in service to our youth outreach project. PonyXpress writers are generating letters and notes of encouragement for young people living in institutions. Better than any of us, these writers embody the experience of feeling far from home, from safety, from themselves. They also understand that a handwritten note held in a pocket helps bring a loved one close, and even a note from a stranger provides the reassurance: Someone cares that I am in the world. We return to MacLaren this week with a collection of this writing, along with personalized notes addressed to participants.

During the coming months, we adjust the aperture bringing the theme “Near and Far” in and out of focus. As we travel around the state to visit our prisons, we will continue to record what we see. When we stop along the road, Danny tends to capture sweeping views, the big Oregon landscape in front of us, while I like to study the ground at our feet. At 65 miles an hour, we scan the sky together for birds of prey and look for the mountain goats clambering up the hills just outside of La Grande — every sighting a good omen. | TDS

The paper is white,
it invites me to write
a thought, an idea of
something new...
I wrote a letter to my brother,
In black ink, a few words to make him think,
My thoughts soared high above the cloud,
Whispering words falling to the ground ...
Looking at the Raven that flies very high,
I embraced a sweet tear that had escaped my eyes.
The paper is still white,
It invites me to write ... | SLJ

Snow is a contradiction;
A juxtaposition between
Beauty and ugliness/
Life and death/
The liberation of silence
And the bondage of noise.

It’s the absolute stillness of the world.
The quiet hush of the infinitesimal
Flakes softly touching down.
Each a unique crystalline lattice
Lasting only for a moment;
Nature’s perfect mandala
Blanketing the world.

It’s the warmth of blood
Rushing to rosy red cheeks
In the frigid air;
Reminding us of the life vigorously
Thrumming through our bodies.

It’s the beauty of the light
From a distant star, refracting
In multitudes and
Blinding in its brilliance.

It’s also the oppressive
Black and grey storm
Of the channel unattended.
The desolation of the late-night hour.
The pixelated blizzard
That signifies nothing.

It’s the scream of static,
Constant and piercing.
The weight of isolation,
Smothering in its heft.
The vast noise of disconnection
Blinding us to each other. | DS

I write to you, brother, so you can hear me once again. Never forget, never let go. The gray of the pencil is too easily missed. So, I write this as bold as it shows. I know you can heal me, but I no longer heal you. One should never be older than their older brother, but here we are, another year apart. I wonder if when the time comes, it will seem like no time has passed. I wonder what you have been doing with our time, as I always told you about mine. I write to you in black ink, in hopes you’ll do the same.
| SVR

A letter to my brother from the pen in black pen.

You’ve transcended to a level much higher than Raven flies.
When I think of you today, a tear descends from the corner of my eye.
I strain to stifle the flood that may ensue
at the painful realization of this world without you.
All that is your essence I do miss.
A smile no parts my lips, as the tear drips.
So bittersweet to reminisce.
Deep in my heart and mind you still exist.

RIP my Brother Jeffrey Mansfield, from your brother with love. | TC

I wrote a letter to my brother in black ink.
I wrote the words that were in my heart. The words
of forgiveness for the things that he’d done.

How you were there for me.
How you also weren’t there for me.
My heart hurts, the pain inside.
When you wish death upon me.
When I committed my crime.
You showed me your pain
from the words you said.
The finger you pointed,
the communication that is
you never respond.
You fought me what I know
Good and Bad
So much inside.
I forgive you so
I Love you big brother
I always have
I’ll never give up on you
Until we meet again. | ANONYMOUS

I wrote a letter to my brother in Black Ink —
Just think, I never knew I had a brother until last week
— Black Ink —
Don’t blink too long. Next week I could write a song about
a brother I never knew — Black Ink — Thank you
now the secrets are revealed, past lies put to rest. Black
Ink — thank you — that’s one less lie to hide — Brother — this was written in blue,
Just for you — Black Ink — Thank you! | DJ

On this first new moon of spring 2026, my imagination overflows with the images Artemis II delivered. Ideas of human space travel have been circulating since the ancients turned their eyes to the heavens. Contemporary myths zip space warriors from planet to planet, disappearing into hyperspace to a galaxy far, far away. Our modern astronaut stories are so seamless that I was surprised to realize that Artemis was the first crewed trip to the moon since Apollo’s journey in 1972. Those first fuzzy images have been replaced by crystal clear, cinematographic scenes (including a jar of Nutella making a floating cameo.) The crew’s willingness to share themselves with us over ten days generated enthusiasm and goodwill that met the magnitude of the moment. On April 10, Danny and I held our breath as we witnessed the crew’s return. Sitting in my car, huddled over his phone, we watched the Orion craft hit the atmosphere at 25,000 mph and for 8.5 tense minutes we waited teary-eyed for the astronauts to splash down safely.

The return is the final stage of the hero’s journey and we gather to hear the story. In this case, our royal blue jump-suited astronauts gathered onstage 24-hours later to speak at a press conference. Each of these extraordinary humans made brief and poignant observations.

Commander Reid Wiseman recognized that no one understands what families go through, the sacrifices they make, he says, “Before you launch it feels like it is the greatest dream on earth, and when you are out there, you just want to get back to your family and friends. It’s a special thing to be a human and to be on the planet earth.”

Pilot Victor Glover expressed gratitude for the experience he had and the team with whom he shared it. This gratitude he felt was bigger than one body and it overflowed into love.

Mission Specialist Christina Koch defined crew, “A group that is in it all the time no matter what, that is stroking together every minute with the same purpose, that is willing to sacrifice silently for each other, that gives grace, that holds accountable. A crew has the same cares and the same needs, and a crew is inescapably, beautifully, dutifully linked. And so, when we saw tiny earth, people asked our crew what impressions we had. Honestly, what struck me was not tiny earth, but it was all the blackness around it. Earth was just this lifeboat hanging undisturbedly in the universe.” (She put her head down and took a long, emotion-filled pause.) “So, I may have not learned everything this journey has yet to teach me — I know I haven’t — but I do know that Planet Earth, you. Are. A. Crew.”

During Mission Specialist Jeremy Hansen’s summary, he mentioned the science — it was there and valuable — but what seemed particularly noteworthy to all of them were three human experiences: gratitude, joy (the “joy train"), and love. He asked his crew to join him. The four stood arms locked over shoulders, forming a bright blue field. “What you saw was a group of people who loved contributing, having meaningful contribution and extracting joy out of that. And what we have been hearing is that was something special for you to witness, and the reason I had them form up here with me, is because I would suggest to you that when you look up here, you are not looking at us, we are mirror reflecting you. If you like what you see, look a little deeper. This is you.”

I have described this homecoming to three of our writing groups. And each time, I have looked at a sea of blue prison uniforms as I describe Reid Wiseman wanting to get home, heads nod in understanding. Most of the time, being in prison feels as far away as a trip to the moon.

In addition to being far home, folks in prison rely on a crew — to keep heads clear, maintain sobriety, navigate loneliness, and dark days. They have caused harm, seen unspeakable violence, have spent most of their lives far outside safe spaces. They have climbed in and out of remarkable danger and carry those wounds. They smiled when I mention the joy train, because even in prison you can find the joy. It comes in all forms, sometimes as simple as the sun on one’s face in the prison yard. And in prison, yes in even in prison, there exists extraordinary acts of love, service, and purpose … right alongside every day, laughing with the friends you love.

The writing group at Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution has broadened the circle of our youth outreach project. The men have been working on pieces about how to parent from long distance, including ways they attempt to make that distance draw near. A devoted dad who works hard to maintain his connection to his children, Luis Rodriguez wrote and recorded Miles Apart. The journalists from Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution’s newsletter The Echo interviewed folks during a PonyXpress event and they were asked to describe what made them feel near or far from their family. we have included some of their responses with Luis’s song.

We’re miles apart…
But when I close my eyes, I can feel you… in my arms.
We’re miles apart
But we share a laugh on the phone we’re… close at heart.
— Miles Apart, Luis Rodriguez

Like astronauts, prisoners experience “tiny earth” from a unique vantage point. Human experiences that superficially seem far apart share close connection points of gratitude, joy, and love. Indeed, Jeremy Hansen, we mirror one another. | TDS

LISTEN

EOCI contributers: Ian Lohrman, Chris Ainsworth, Phillip Luna, Luis Rodriguez, and Kurtis Thompson.

We’re miles apart … We’re miles apart …

“How good is dad from here?”
“You’ve been gone so many years”
I swear daily I hear
The devils whisper in my ear.

No, I can’t hold you when you’re scared.
No, I can’t turn the hands of time.
No, I can’t wipe away the tears.
When that first boy breaks your heart.

But I promise I’ll make a visit,
Every birthday and every Christmas.
I’ll always listen. It’s such a blessing
To be in your life …

We’re miles apart…
But when I close my eyes, I can feel you … in my arms.
We’re miles apart
But we share a laugh on the phone we’re … close at heart. | LR

listen

EOCI contributers:
Ian Lohrman, Chris Ainsworth, Phillip Luna, Luis Rodriguez, and Kurtis Thompson.

Friendship, Fellowship, & Brotherhood, the building blocks that transform a stranger to a member of the family. The bonds built stronger than a holiday card or obligatory meal. These become the strings to your heart that are proven time and time again. The late night of drinking to process the loss of another love, the silent consideration of pain that words do not define. These are the people who see the need and fill it, without you asking, these are the people who roof your mother’s house because you’re in jail. These brothers do not forget you, do not forsake you. The difference between friendship and brotherhood is the sacrifice, the need which your love binds. For my friends, I would dare much for my brothers, I would dare anything.
— Jacob William Harper-Leonard, Fraternal Love

Our fellow writer and friend Jacob William Harper-Leonard died April 2, 2026. An original member of the PonyXpress group at Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution in Pendleton, Jacob carried sunlight with him — even on the coldest evenings. Danny described his reading style as Linus-like (think of the recitation of the Christmas story from the Charlie Brown special.) Jacob was kind, enthusiastic about writing, gentle with his colleagues. The landscape of the Pacific Northwest filled him with the steady constitution of the farmer-loggers who came before him. In one of our last meetings, he told a story about building a split-log fence on his grandfather’s land. As he described the feeling of that work, he created pictures of a young man finding his way through the back-breaking effort.

There is a deceptive ease to Jacob’s writing voice, as if it all just flowed effortlessly from his pen. We know that the work of writing, like the labor of splitting wood requires practice and hard work. We have collected the writing published on the PonyXpress below. We are fortunate to have audio recordings attached to a few piece. Enjoy listening to Jacob’s distinctive voice.

Two of his fellow writers submitted lovely tributes: Phillip Luna’s A Man with A Pen and Walter Thomas’s Jake.

I promise you that you want to read them. And so we open “Near and Far” our tenth issue of the PonyXpress with a gentle reminder to draw your friends near, especially the ones who seem far away. | TDS & DJW

JACOB WILLIAM HARPER-LEONARD PONYXPRESS COLLECTION

CONNECTIONS

FRATERNAL LOVE

KITH AND KIN

LINCOLN PARK

LOOKING

MAN OF THE HOUSE

PRODUCT OF MY ENVIRONMENT

THE NATURAL QUESTION

Jacob Harper-Leonard died on April 2. He was 41 years old.

I met Jacob about two years ago in a writing workshop called PonyXpress. He was a good writer, but a better orator. When Jacob would read his pieces aloud, he spoke with such emphasis and force that it elevated his writing beyond the sum of the nouns and verbs. It was as if his voice was its own literary device. Where I might hope to write a clever metaphor, Jacob could simply speak cleverness into his words.

I remember a line from one of the first pieces he read:
“I, a man alone with a pen.”

It carried such weight, as if this man could conquer anything if armed only with his pen. Even before he died, I thought this was one of the most memorable lines I had heard in our workshop.

Jacob died of a heart attack, from what I am told. The prison we both live in was shut down for a brief period while an ambulance and medical staff responded. I didn’t live on the same unit as Jacob, but from what I gathered, his passing was instantaneous. It has emotionally impacted a lot of people.

Shortly after I met Jacob at the writing workshop, he was hired as a reporter for our prison newsletter, where I am the editor. Jacob was a co-worker for a short time and he covered several meaningful stories while we worked together. When I edited his work, I could not help but hear the words in his baritone voice with its heavy timbre. It made the writing wonderful to work with.

“I, a man alone with a pen.”

In June 2025, shortly after Jacob left his job and we were no longer co-workers, he attended a family visiting event with his mom. These family events are twice yearly barbeques for incarcerated people and their loved ones. I was covering the event for our newsletter.

Jacob’s mom wore a yellow shirt with the image of a bee and a flower on it. I don’t know why I remember that.

Her name was Jackie, and when I met her I took the chance to talk about all the great work he had done and the stories he had written.

Somebody did this for me once, when I was young – my boss bragged about my work when he met my parents by happenstance. There was something about the compliment going directly to my parents that was uniquely satisfying and filled me with pride. It’s a feeling that’s always stuck with me, and whenever I have the chance I try to pay it forward.

But now, I find it difficult to think of Jacob’s mom in her yellow-bee shirt. I feel my own grief, but imagining his mom’s pain is too much. Who will tell her about her son? Who will comfort her in her grief?

I think it’s heart breaking, but that’s an inaccurate use of words. Hearts are made of tissue, not bone. It’s not a break, it’s a wound. It’s a deep cut that bleeds out, shredded tissue smashed to a pulp that can never be healed the way a break can.

In prison, there is no grief counseling. There are no grief support groups. Memorial services don’t exist. So I bottle up my emotions, push them down and pour my thoughts into my work, into my routine, into my everyday tasks. I think a lot of other people cope in the same way.

Jacob passed away in the afternoon, but by 5:15 p.m. prison operations were back to normal. The dinner meal service ran on time. Recreation yards continued. Night classes for the prison’s college students went on as usual. I’m one of the college students. The day Jacob died I had a sociology quiz.

It’s shocking when someone passes unexpectedly, and I find myself compartmentalizing and categorizing what I knew about him as a way to process the moment. I remembered that Jacob was an avid musician and I had seen him perform at many concerts and open mic nights.

Six month ago, in November 2025, Jacob participated in a concert with the PonyXpress team at our facility. It is common for our writing workshops to have a little music because one of the workshop’s founders, Danny Wilson, is a musician in his own right.

Jacob can play bass and joined Danny on stage to perform Johnny Cash covers. They rehearsed only briefly before the concert. Tracy Schlapp, the other PonyXpress founder, arranged for the writers to read their work in between sets. It was a unique event and I attended in an official capacity, taking photos for our newsletter. That month, Jacob and Danny made the front page.

As I think about Jacob and who he was as a person, I realize that I didn’t know him very well. I know some of his tenets: a writer, a musician, a person of faith, a son. But I have a very incomplete understanding of what shaped him and the depth of each tenet. I feel regret for not having known him better, when death feels so final to me. I didn’t have a meaningful connection with him in the way I could have, and this is a painful thought now that the chance has passed. Our relationship is sealed as it was in the moment of his death.

I recall his words in a different light now, wishing I could go back and respond to them. He said, “I, a man alone with a pen.”

And his voice was so forceful and emphatic that I could never forget the words. But I regret that I never told him how good this piece of writing was. I regret that I never connected with him as a good friend, which would have been easy when we had so much in common.

Prisons are factionalized places, full of imagined boundaries.

I wish that I could go back to when I first met him in our writing workshop. I wish that I could relive this moment, changing the trajectory of our relationship.

In my imagination, this relived moment goes as so:

Jacob says, “I, a man alone with a pen.”

And I place a hand on his shoulder and have the courage to say, “No, man. You’re not alone.” | PL

READ: THE ECHO | EOCI NEWSLETTER | NOVEMBER 2025

The Echo Nov

1.62MB ∙ PDF file

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My buddy Jake wasn’t your typical Jake, my buddy Jake wasn’t a snake, my buddy Jake was great.

I use to call him my favorite ginger or my hillbilly twin.

My buddy Jake was often misunderstood with a very unique way of looking at life.
The more I think about my buddy Jake I realize we were similar in a lot of ways. A few weeks ago I asked Jake if he had wrote his letter too his younger self. He replied it’s hard to write to that little shit of a kid.

My buddy Jake wasn’t perfect nor did he intend to be. My buddy Jake was genuine and always himself an unapologetic country boy from Oregon my buddy Jake.

May you rest in peace my ginger friend. | WT

You are stronger than you know. I only burden your ears with that cliché because when it gets hard, you must know, it is possible to get out of the pit. The difficulties you face will make the beginning of the story that you write for yourself. The time of letting others write your story in exchange for temporary comfort has ended.
— Mitchell Adair, Snake River Correctional Institution

Recently, we’ve spent time inside a couple of youth facilities, having been charged with delivering some of the content of the Letters to a Younger Self project. Last week, we visited a couple of groups in Tillamook and one at MacLaren. It’s a bit intimidating. Tracy likes to say she has no problem going into a maximum-security prison, but standing in front of a bunch of teenagers is scary. To be clear, the Oregon Youth Authority (OYA) houses youth up to age twenty-five, so there were quite a few over eighteen. The lifers and other men with long sentences in our groups (many of whom spent time at MacLaren) see themselves in these kids.

Earlier this week, we went back to the minimum side at Coffee Creek Correctional Facility, the women’s prison. I played a solo concert in the chow hall, and we used the time to gauge interest in starting the writing workshop again. We talked with them about what we had been doing with youth and where we have gone. We learned that some of the women also spent time in OYA facilities. Lifers or not, they also see the connection from where they were, to where they are now and have the same impulses to try to help in any way they can to steer the younger generations away from the inside of an adult prison.

The Letters to a Younger Self project has picked up steam and keeps showing us additional directions to go with it. Frankly, we didn’t have much of an idea of how it would go. We had hoped for, but didn’t expect the kind of responses we received from some of the youth. Yes, absolutely, we had some kids who showed their disinterest and may have even answered some of our questions or questions from our writers at OSP with all the smart ass-ery that you expect of a 16-year-old trying to rebel from authority. But we also had serious deep thinkers who are already on their own path towards turning things around for themselves. They wrote serious comments and questions back to our writers at OSP, connected deeply with some of the excerpts of the letters, and asked for additional guidance that we took back to all our writing groups to answer.

At OSP, the ground zero of the project, receiving questions from the youth turned their enthusiasm and sense of purpose to another level. This week’s workshop was filled with a brainstorming session into the “what’s next” for the project, including some delusions of grandeur anticipating a nationwide roll out. Big thinkers. Big hearts. There has always been purpose in the lives of the people we know in our prisons. We were surprised to learn early on how much help groups from the inside give to others outside the walls. We shouldn’t be surprised at this point that helping youth any way they can to avoid ever meeting them inside a prison would be so important. There was a lot of enthusiasm, determination, and caring inside that classroom for something outside of themselves.

In fact, the caring and concern is directed in all directions, unsurprisingly back towards Bridgeworks Oregon. It has happened more than once, and again this week, that one or more in our group expressed concern for our burnout (really specifically Tracy, they like her more) because they understand the massive undertaking this is, not just the letters project, but all the workshops, running this website, writing grants, etc. Honestly, it seems a bit strange to be cared for by people who we know have a much harder life day in and day out, but that’s just how they are.

Next week we will have a new theme, again based around input from our folks in the workshops. You’ll hear a song by one of our men at Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution in Pendleton that he wrote about parenting from prison. It starts us down our new theme of Near and Far. Luis sings about being too far from his kids. We really love some of the writing we are getting on the theme and think you will also.

By the way, the things that the 16-year-old wrote that were only meant to provoke us – we took those to our group at OSP (we don’t share names and keep all of it anonymous) along with all the other writings from the MacLaren session. That 16-year-old is going to be getting some writing back, words of encouragement and hope, from men who recognize their younger selves in his attitude. | DJW

Mitchell,

There is, no doubt, numerous questions you’re hoping will be answered in this letter from your future self. I will not, however, be answering them because you will generate anything to justify or glorify the degeneracy your current path is leading to. Instead, I am going to give you a couple of pieces of advice from wisdom enriched through the pain and suffering that your current mindset will induce.

A difficult to accept, but veritably important lesson to understand is this: Nobody is going to save you. Nobody and nothing is going to satisfy the void. Trust that counting on someone or something to make you happy will only drive you further into suffering. I’m aware the whole world appears to be crashing down around you and it has been for years. You are falling with nothing to fall onto; there is no bottom, just abyss. Ropes appearing to promise salvation from the hopeless pit of your life and mind metamorphose to snakes or snap when you grasp them. This only deepens the despair of that pit. Nobody is going to save you and thing that it is everyone’s job to help you to give you “a place to belong” is digging that pit deeper, darker, and colder. If you want to get out of the pit, you must get yourself out.

You are stronger than you know. I only burden your ears with that cliché because when it gets hard, you must know, it is possible to get out of the pit. The difficulties you face will make the beginning of the story that you write for yourself. The time of letting others write your story in exchange for temporary comfort has ended. Do not pity yourself or wallow. Do not let the pain and suffering supply you with excuses to remain stagnant. Drinking, drugs, adrenaline, romance, or devil-may-car attitude is not excused by the abuse you suffer. All it ever is/was and all it ever should be is stuff that happened to you. None of it makes you anything. It doesn’t make you weak, or dumb, or worthless, useless, or hopeless. Only you can make you. So please, find a counselor. Tell them what you are going through. Do the work to climb out of the pit and make the choice to fine true happiness that is sourced from the radiance inside you.

Sincerely,
Your true self

Listening forever from insects and life
stirring in the lack of light

Direction is what is sought with no
clear answers — just hints of what
may be possible.

A glimpse of the moon here and there
provides some sense of hope.
“Buddha” Visith Toby Phandanouvong, Space Between

I just turned the last page of The Jailhouse Lawyer by and Sophie Cull, a harrowing account of Duncan’s fight to free himself from Louisiana State Prison in Angola. An innocent man sentenced to life in prison at age 19, Duncan turned to the prison’s law library to do for himself what the New Orleans public defense system did not, carve a legal path to his release. There is a particular genius to the self taught as they move through the world honing their skills of observation, study, imitation, and finally mastery. During twenty-eight and a half years inside, Duncan learns the intricate puzzle of the law; he teaches others; he advocates for himself and provides legal counsel for his fellow prisoners. Secure in the knowledge of his innocence, Duncan moves with determination to find the key to his freedom. As I read, I found myself turning to the back dust jacket to reassure myself. Spoiler alert: Calvin lives and works as an exonerated man today.

The last few months we have been looking back with our writers to the time before they were incarcerated. They conjure a new space — one filled with the possibility of taking a different route, selecting different friends, making different choices. Stories exist in the space between ignorance and knowledge. If I knew how this would have turned out … The space between the right and wrong seems particularly murky at times. You only know what you know.

Ryan Poffenberger writes: Now, that you are of age to know between right and wrong. Your internal voice speaks to you through your spirit to make a conscious, righteous choice. As a young person, it’s your decision as to which life direction you decide to pursue.

Jimmy Kashi writes: After fifteen years into my forty-one sentence, I realized that I could have helped us reached all our goals if I never made the choice to drink, do drugs, and make poor decisions. I regret many of the choice that I’ve made as a young person, but I know that I can make better decisions moving forward.

Geoff Seymour writes: Sometimes things are gonna be really good, just go with them. Things always find a way to work themselves out even when they feel like they are not gonna. Listen to your dad when he says the path he took and the same his father took is not the right way to go. Trust him.

Walter Thomas writes: If I could talk to the younger me, I’d tell him to stay in school and everything that glitters ain’t gold. Those so-called friends you got won’t last.

Travis Asbill writes: A strange word when you can’t hold on to nothing precious because your hands are required to remain clenched — tight fisted.
It’s better to want for naught and go without than to thrust for life in the midst of drought.

Carolyn Stickley writes: If only I could go back in time, I would be a better person — or at least my own person. I wouldn’t get married before I was 30 and I would travel and explore with money I had earned summers in high school.

Phillip Luna writes: You are not the type of person that jumps off a rock into a body of water. When you enter the river, in fact, it is done by dipping in a toe, then testing an ankle, and then, perhaps experimenting with a knee. Each step requires its moment of acclimation, sometimes followed by a retreat and reassessment.

Hannah Brophy writes of another space between, the knowing and not knowing when she discovers a lump in her breast: My maternal grandmother had two radical mastectomies. I wasn’t married, and my imagination took a dark turn as I visualized lopping off one breast which would either qualify me for spinsterhood or becoming an Amazon warrior. For the only time in my life, I regretted not choosing archery for my PE requirements.

In the most laborious of Herculean efforts, Duncan builds a compelling case, making friends and advocates dedicated to work alongside him. And yes, this story and this man are exceptional! And at the same time, I find the stories in our writing workshops equally compelling. I admire our writers’ efforts to construct a life inside filled with meaning and purpose. In the letters to a younger self, there is an excavation that happens as our writers find something that they thought they lost. We readers are left with the bittersweet discovery. As Buddha gently reminds us, to glimpse of the moon (even through prison bars) brings hope. | TDS

Listening forever from insects and life
stirring in the lack of light

Direction is what is sought with no
clear answers — just hints of what
may be possible.

A glimpse of the moon here and there
provides some sense of hope. | VTP

If I could talk to the younger me, I’d tell him to stay in school and everything that glitters ain’t gold. Those so-called friends you got won’t last. Don’t smoke cigarettes. Wait to be intimate. When they say “I love you” they don’t always mean it. Please watch out for granny. She got what they call “the sugar.” Beware, she might go blind. Life is like a movie that you can’t rewind! Put down that gun, don’t pull the trigger, nor drink up your sorrows. Life will get better, just focus on tomorrow. Appreciate life and try not to complain. Always weed out the real from the fakes. Your mom loves you even though she’s never there when you need her. You have to contain your pride. Don’t take a bride. And always listen to that little voice inside — he can’t wait to shine. | WT

Confucius said: “Be dutiful at home, brotherly in public; be discreet and trustworthy, love all people and draw year to humanity. If you have extra energy as you do that, then study literature.” This is from The Essential Confucius translated by Thomas Cleary.

Today our world is broken, negative with so many wars and discord. To survive one might think about a kind of literature. I would keep a daily journal given my handwritten text and power and charm. The pages could be used to fill paper lifeboats of life surviving.

If only I could go back in time, I would be a better person — or at least my own person. I wouldn’t get married before I was 30 and I would travel and explore with money I had earned summers in high school. I would behave like a modern-day hobo moving from city to city working for room and board: waitress, catering, typist, farmer (to name a few temporary vocations.) Adopt a new word like “effing” and use it to say “no effing way.” I would not settle for the expected life and style. I emphasize the word “settle” and I would find my special personality. | CS

Dearest Young Jimmy,
I hope that this letter finds you in good health and spirits. I want to write and let you know that you come from good parents, Aihoto, Peter, Keski Miki, Junior, and Akiko — all of them are our family, even if we experienced our parents differently.

It was my hope that you would follow through on your boyhood goals of being a marine biologist and fulfilling the “American Dream” by the age of thirty.

I am sorry to say the choices I made at the age of twelve set me on a crash course to a life of drug addiction until I decided to get sober in prison at forty-three. The choices I made had many unintended consequences and hurt too many people. The worst consequences of my poor choices: I took someone’s life.

I live with the fact that I created difficult relationships with the people that I love most in the world. My mother struggles with the fact that I’m doing forty-one years in prison. My daughter, who was twenty-two months old when I came to prison needed to be adopted. Now, my family relationships are monitored by the Department of Corrections.

After fifteen years into my forty-one sentence, I realized that I could have helped us reached all our goals if I never made the choice to drink, do drugs, and make poor decisions. I regret many of the choice that I’ve made as a young person, but I know that I can make better decisions moving forward.

We have natural leadership abilities; we can command a room and hold attention. We are fair. Most of the people we’ll encounter will respect us, just as we respect them.

You will experience some difficult things in life. My advice is to vocalize how you feel and people will understand and respect you for it. Your passion for cooking will be the way you share love in the world. Our new goal is to become a small business owner of a food truck when we get out of prison.

We have worked to regain the relationship with our daughter Charlotte who loves us but can’t find the words or the way to have a conversation about what it is like to have father who committed a murder and left her to figure out life on her own. We continue to do what we can from prison and accept the relationship that we have.

I want you to know that everything that you are going to experience in life will make you who you are. Life is not going to be easy but it is filled with hope and wonder. You just have to make it through the difficult stuff to get to the positive parts of our life. In the end, we’ll be able to say that we made it the best that we could.

With all love and respect,
Jimmy K.

READ: LETTER TO MY DAUGHTER

listen

What would I tell my younger self? I’ve tried to figure out how to do this. But then it clicked: What would you tell Cameon. He is a spitting image of me. He is my son — through and through. So, I would say first, “I love you and everything is alright and gonna be alright.”

Sometimes things are gonna be really good, just go with them. Things always find a way to work themselves out even when they feel like they are not gonna. Listen to your Dad when he says the path he took and the same his father took is not the right way to go. Trust him. He’s trying to save you and everyone around you a lot of pain and heartache. It’s OK to get mad, but it’s not OK to hurt other, just cause you are hurting. I know it’s hard to trust and get close to anyone cause every time you do, they are gone. But it’s really important to find your voice and expression that is positive. Don’t let outside people or influences shape you or your outlook of yourself in a negative way. Know that you are special in a good way. And you can achieve anything you want to be. And you don’t have to follow the negative role models, you idolize, blaze your own way. Create your own destiny. Shape your own image. You will experience a few agonizing pains in your life. Don’t let them destroy you make something positive from them. But most importantly, I would end just know that I’m proud of you and I love you and you can count on this no matter what.

***

I was like ten and my brother just took his life. My mom was living in Townsend, Mountana., heading over to Helena to do some shopping and she looked at me and told me she wanted to talk to me about some “Big B Choices.” It excited me and I was like “Yea, Mom.” She asked me how I felt about moving to Florida with Steve and the boys. At first I was excited, I mean, what little boy doesn’t want to leave some hole in the wall tiny town and move to Florida? Almost halfway to Helena, it started to not sit right and I didn’t like it, cause I had already lost a sister, and a brother. I didn’t want to lose more. Up until then Mom and I were finally bonding again. I didn’t want to lose her but I didn’t know how to tell her so I shut down. We went to Sarasota and 2 ½ years later I was in juvenile prison until I was eighteen.

It’s important to find your voice and yourself expression that is positive. Don’t let outside people or influences shape you or your outlook in negative ways. Just know that you are special in a good way and you can achieve anything you want. You don’t have to follow the negative role models you idolize. Blaze your own way. Create and shape your own destiny and image. You will experience a few crippling, life shattering and agonizing pains in your life. Don’t let them destroy you. Make something positive from them. And when you have your kids, make something different than what you got in your life. Your kids are your arrows. Most importantly, Geoff, I love you and I am proud of you. | GS