Irfan
..on the way to Pirtleville Prison

I've been reading a little lately....a book by Karen Armstrong titled, The Battle for God which according to that link can be bought for just one cent! Amazing.

I used to appreciate her work alot more than I do now but all the same, the book has some engaging insights into the historical events that have led to the current revolution in Islam. Ms. Armstrong has always had a fondness for us Shia even if it is the case that she discusses things from a decidedly outsider POV. She is the closest a non muslim person can come to actual understanding of Shia logic and practice. It is her discussion about the knowledge of Irfan which the late and great Grand Ayatollah Ruyollah Khomeini possessed and utilized to formulate what is now known as the Shia Revival that led me to want to read a bit more about this mystical doctrine.

I realized that I could tell the computer a thing or two about Irfan myself. Maybe not what real scholar could say but all the same, I wanted to document a few of the mystical things that I've seen over the past few weeks.

I was on my way to my duty station in Douglas and passed by a bus on its way to the state penitentiary which is just outside of old Pirtleville. I've heard that out there, they do not give the inmates shoes because without shoes, the prison is a virtual Alcatraz. The desert cannot be crossed in shoes let alone with bare feet. In fact, one of my professional associates who is the head of what we call "Jail Medical" for Cochise County told me that he cared for an undocumented Mexican who had given up on his journey across this no-man's land called the Sonora Desert because his feet became so swollen and infected inside of his shoes that he opted to be caught instead of continue with his group. Ed told me that the man arrived the first day to have his feet soaked and dressed, and he was so p0lite and so thankful only to return the next day in leg irons and multiple guards all with stun guns aimed at his person. Turned out that the man was a known Cartel member and had lots of human blood on his hands. His feet did get better and more than likely he was on the bus that I saw just about a month ago on the road to Pirtleville and Perdition. He had tried to walk right into the country alongside the indigenous and the pious. What incredible audacity!

Why was I so alarmed however, at this bus? I'll tell you why. Because it was a Dick Cheney, Inc. bus. Lanny, my good old friend and correspondent would truly appreciate the horror I sensed when I saw Wackenhut painted in big broad letters across the sides of the bus. Wackenhut! The folks that brought us the Union Carbide Bhopal disaster. You can read a bit about it in a sanitized version here: http://www.corpwatch.org/article.php?id=14325

Now...how on earth did I find myself in the company of such folks as those who build and maintain penitentiaries!

The etymology of the word is as follows:

(c.1421, "place of punishment for offenses against the church," from M.L. penitentiaria, from fem. of penitentiarius (adj.) "of penance," from L. pænitentia "penitence". Meaning "house of correction" first found 1806 (originally an asylum for prostitutes). Slang shortening pen is attested from 1884.)

..from the word "penitence": c.1200, from O.Fr. penitence (11c.), from L. pænitentia "repentance," from pænitentum (nom. pænitens) "penitent," prp. of pænitere "cause or feel regret," probably originally "is not enough, is unsatisfactory," from pæne "nearby, almost." Penitent (adj.) is attested from c.1375; as a noun meaning "one who is doing penance," it is attested from 1412.

I have found many things during my morning stints in the County Jail. I have discovered a whole world that I never knew existed. A world full of those seeking penance from those whose record isn't all that great either. Is it any wonder that there is recidivism?

I have also been discovered by a few of the people there. Just yesterday, an old man approached the jail building as I stood outside having a smoke. He looked at me and I at him and he said, "Now that is certainly a God-Given smile you have! You ought to take it down to the department store and sell it!" I was utterly charmed and then, I realized...he knew me. He somehow told me the truth because perhaps I needed to hear something about the way my face might appear to others. I am very certain that what goes through my head on a daily basis would shock and surprise others if they actually could read my mind. I try to guard myself carefully because what I know might certainly alarm them...or maybe not.

I returned to the building and unlocked the first door, called on my radio for door fifteen to be opened from the control center. The sound of those doors and locks ought to be enough penance for anyone but apparently it isn't. I gathered my medicines together, about a hundred or so little plastic bags filled mostly with antipsychotics, antidepressents and muscle relaxants and went to the control room to ask where I should begin. One of the younger guards who I like very much because of his kind and quiet attitude offered to do the central pods first. That would be the women and those men who need protection from the general population. Mostly sex offenders and two very old men in that pod. As for the women....well. What in the name of Allah are women doing in jail! Especially the little old one!

I finished those pods pretty quick and left the special handling meds for the guard to distribute. It is just too much trouble for them to escort me into the area with padded cells where they keep prisoners who might harm themselves or those who have most definitely harmed others like the two Koreans. These guys are wanted for a triple murder (an ex wife and her children) and arson by the California officials. These guys are also martial arts experts and apparently took down twenty Border Patrol officers before finally being handcuffed and taken to jail. They are so dangerous that when they move them within the facility, they have to have permission to do so from the Commander and they must be accompanied by specially trained SWAT teams.

So I went off to the North pods through door one and door two, calling for control to open them as I approached. The female officer there greeted me. She is also one of my favorites. I don't know why but I think it is her God-Given smile.

She told me to do North Adam first. I picked up my bag labeled NA, removed the paper clip in order to leave it outside of the maximum security pod so that it couldn't be turned into a weapon if it happened to fall from my hands in there and be left behind. I saw Rodriguez who was already looking at me through the window. Clearly these guys find anything and everything an exciting break in the monotony of their days in jail. I told him through the window, "Salaam wa alaikum!"

The guard asked me, "What did you say to him?" I told her that I was a muslim and that fellow had noticed the half gold coin I wear around my neck (upon which is inscribed There is only one Allah) and when he found out I was muslim, he greeted me in the traditional manner. So now I greet him each day with a Salaam wa alaikum!

I expected her demeanor to change but it didn't. Her face looked up and she said her cousin had married a man from Saudi Arabia several years ago. None of her family had heard from her since 9/11. I said, "Oh that is terrible. Sometimes the men in the Gulf and their families can cut Western women off from their families."

But she told me something extraordinary. She said that her cousin was a girl who was in and out of detention facilities, involved in crime and drugs. When she met the Arab man however and married him, her life changed. There was no more detention and no more drugs. She said, "So what if we don't hear from her. She's in good hands and if she hadn't gone there, she'd be here."

Meaning she'd be in jail. Like young Pilar Torres. Like the old woman who has to swallow ten pills for thyroid, for blood pressure, for the usual old lady ailments. Like Dizzy D who belongs in a mental institution, not in the Special Handling unit with two murderous Koreans. Like old Mr. Russel who swallows his two Lithiums each day and greets me with, "Hello Margaret. How are you today?" He insisted on calling me that from the very first day and made me remember his name not by telling me to do so, but by showing me how important each person actually is and actually saying so.

Peace starts between individuals. Irfan....well......I'll leave that for another day. Unless of course you realize that within this story there are secrets and between the lines there are signs for those who possess the ability to look beyond the material and into the spooky world of the unseen.

And heh...Dick Cheney, Inc. in charge of penance! I find that so amusing and I'm sure Lanny would agree. I find it even more insane that most people wouldn't have noticed that Wackenhut logo on the side of a dusty old Bluebird headed out towards Pirtleville. But I sure would. There are no accidents you know.