Life After Death: The Shocking True Story of a Innocent Man on Death Row

fact that good things are coming. Good things are always coming; sometimes we just forget it.
    P.S. Wednesday, February 10. That’s the night that love is in the air for Charlie Brown, on ABC.
    In a way I’m thankful for all the physical pain and suffering I’ve had to endure in here because it has forced me to keep learning and moving forward. If I didn’t have pain, I’d probably take the day off. And that day could become a week. And that week could turn into months. But as it is I know I have two choices—practice every single day without fail, or hurt so bad that life is a misery. So I keep reminding myself that the pain is a gift from the Divine, and that I should be thankful for it.
    Today the guards made me bleed again. They chained my feet so tight I could barely move. I bleed through my socks—last month it was my left ankle, today it was the right. When I wash the soap burns like fire, but I have to keep my ankles clean because I don’t have any alcohol or peroxide—nothing to kill bacteria or infections. And this place is filthy.
    I can’t remember what it’s like to walk as a human being anymore. My cell is so small that I can only take two steps. Anytime I’m brought out—however briefly or infrequently—I have chains on my hands and feet as well as guards hanging on me. It’s been well over sixteen years since I’ve actually walked anywhere. Sometimes I still can’t wrap my mind around that. I’m working on my seventeenth year now. There are times when I’ve thought, “Surely someone is going to put a stop to this. Surely someone is going to do something.” But no one ever does. Time just rolls on. It’s insanity. I am truly amazed at what they’ve been allowed to get away with, and for how long—especially Burnett and the Arkansas Supreme Court. If Burnett gets that senate seat, I really do fear how many people he’ll be able to hurt. If he’s engaged in this much corruption as a judge, the thought of what he could do as a senator is horrifying.
    Ah, well . . . does no good to dwell on it. Either I waste my energy by focusing on things I cannot change, or I conserve my energy and apply it to the small things I can change. That’s what the I Ching calls “the taming power of the small.” Every great victory is made up of many smaller victories.
    Someone sent me a letter that had one of the best quotes I’ve ever read. It said “What is to give light must endure burning.” It’s by a writer named Viktor Frankl. I’ve been turning that quote over and over in my head. The truth of it is absolutely awe-inspiring. In the end, I believe it’s why we all suffer. It’s the meaning we all look for behind the tragedies in our lives. The pain deepens us, burns away our impurities and petty selfishness. It makes us capable of empathy and sympathy. It makes us capable of love. The pain is the fire that allows us to rise from the ashes of what we were, and more fully realize what we can become. When you can step back and see the beauty of the process, it’s amazing beyond words.
    All my life I’ve heard people say, “Why would God allow this to happen?” I think it’s because while we can see only the tragedy, God sees only the beauty. While we see misery, Divinity sees us lurching and shambling one step closer to the light. I truly do believe that one day we’ll shine as brightly as the archangels themselves.
    To the person who sent me that quote—thank you. I stuck it up so that my eyes will travel over it several times a day. It’s something I’ll never forget.
    Just about every time I do an interview they ask me what I miss most. When they do, a hundred things flash through my mind—the memories giving me that free-fall feeling in the pit of my stomach. I miss the rain. I miss standing beneath the sky and looking up at the moon and stars. I miss the wind. I miss cats and dogs. I miss wearing real clothes, having a real toothbrush, using a real pen, drinking iced tea, eating ice cream, and going for walks.
    I’m tempted to say the thing I miss most is fruit. I haven’t had a piece of fresh fruit in about eight years, and before that I only got it once a year. The prison used to give everyone two apples and two oranges on Christmas, but then they stopped, said it was a “threat to security,” along with tea bags and dental floss. So I haven’t had any in nearly a decade now. They prevent scurvy by giving everyone a cup of watered-down orange juice for