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My New Blog
Love is most weak when there is more doubt than there is trust, but love is most strong when you learn to trust even with all the doubt. Where is love there is life. Hate is easy. Love takes courage.
Well, I just got back from court and everything is going good, I know when you look and see my out date, it says something outrageous, but the truth is that I’ve been on an appeal for some time now and I won my case on appeal. I am awaiting resentencing on a lesser offense and I am looking at another year and a half at the most. So, I am humbled by my second chance and I’m preparing myself for the world. We need to spread more love and peace in our world and stop all the evil that lurks upon us. Life is too valuable and too full of opportunity. Live life to the fullest and be happy. Learn from mistakes and never make the same one twice.
Well, y’all take care out there and be safe.
Mornings with Michael
Christmas and New Year celebrations spark memories of our childhood that are forever vaulted in our minds. I was remembering one Christmas in Alabama when I was chosen to be a Shepherd in the church pageant. My mother bought me a brown striped robe and the play director dressed me in a brown beard and wig, then covered my head with a towel to give me that shepherd look. Of course, she has a shepherd’s staff that extend three feet above my head. I was a good shepherd. My friend Gail was the angel with her long light brown hair and wings hanging from her shoulders. She was covered with a white robe and a halo above her head. It seemed to glow.
Angels have remained an important part of my memories, even as I approach the adult plateau. A few years back, a friend in a small West Virginia town told me that she was driving down the main street when suddenly a voice from nowhere screamed in her ear, “Stop!”. She was so startled that she slammed on the brakes. Within seconds, a city garbage truck came barreling from a side street and crossed the main thoroughfare in front of her. The runaways trucks brakes had given way and the driver could not stop it. If she had not stopped, it would have crushed her compact car and her too. Wow! Maybe the voice of an angel?
I met an elderly coal miner in Mingo County, West Virginia who told me about being two miles underground when out of nowhere a loud voice said, “Run away as fast as you can!”. He turned and began to walk briskly toward the mine’s opening. Within minutes, he heard the cracking roof of that mine give away and it shook the ground under his feet. Rock dust quickly covered him as he hurried out…he was safe. The voice of an angel?
Maybe you can remember your guardian angel whispering to you…or you just knew he was watching over you... Do you have an angel story? I would love to hear it.
Struggle for Religious Freedom
For most of U.S. history, natives were not accorded the formal freedom of religious exercise. A right included in the first Amendment. The free exercise clause finally came to include natives in 1988 with the Indian Civil Rights Act, even though in 1978 Congress established the American Indian Religious Freedom Act, or AIRFA. These proposals ultimately failed in Congress. The amendment known as the Religious Freedom Restoration Act managed to succeed. Then in 2000, the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Person’s Act was established. Nevertheless, this act has the potential o also be ruled unconstitutional if the issue ever reaches the Supreme Court.
For centuries Natives experienced internal colonialism, forced assimilation, exploitation, discrimination, and cultural degradation. One of the steps ultimately required to achieve religious equality, will be the allowance and encouragement of Native religious practice and spiritual observance in prison.
Know your rights! Restrictions on a prisoner’s right to religious literature violates the first Amendment. Prison officials are not required to provide religious objects as long as inmates are free to purchase or obtain objects themselves. They cannot ban some objects and not others w/o justification. Prisoners have success with claims protecting religious dietary practices. Courts have ordered such diets be made available to inmates. Rejecting efforts by officials to charge inmates for religious diets. The religious and spiritual requirements of incarcerated natives are clearly not being met to a satisfactory degree.
The fact is Native America spands the continent from Alaska down to Mesoamerica. The word Mexican was originally Mexicano in Spanish. This was from the Aztec meaning half-breed or mixed blood. Mestiso is the word for half-breed in Spanish, from the Castillian. Chicano also comes from the Aztec Mexicano. When the Spaniards came to Native America, they carried their language with them. The culture that later became the Mexican culture was a product of intercultural marriages. The Spainiards intermixed with every nation of local natives – the Oaxaca, Yaqui, Navajo, Comanche, and many others such as the Aztec, Maya, Toltec and Olmec. The product of these mixes is the Mexican. Being Mexican is being par Spainiard and part Native. So a true Mexican will always be a mixed blood because that is what Mexican means. Tucson was still part of Mexico until 1914 , when it became part of he Gadsden Purchase. Look at Guatemala, Honduras, Columbia, the homelands of the indigenous populations. We didn’t draw the borders and stateliness, so the borders crossed us. The eagle of the North and the condor of the South. We will meet with our relatives because we are one, as the fingers of our hand.
The psychological process of demonizing our ancestors and their traditions is similar to what we see constantly at work in holy wars. Gospels teaching that God will not protect other children of the world unless they convert. Crystal clear “Divine” commands for he subjugation of different cultures including women and children. Wouldn’t a creator be a giver of life to all people regardless of race? Religions teach law and morality claimed as coming from an all-powerful entity yet written by man. We’ve reached a point in consciousness to understand these scriptures have a dangerous subtext that has been ignored at the peril of many people and cultures. The individuals who believe that he only road to heaven is to put all intellectual thinking and heretical roots in the garbage can are just maiming future generations. We have to come to terms with outdated spiritual arrogance, especially when it demands patriarchal dogma and tends to sever cultural inheritance. Even the most exalted and high minded doctrines seem mostly anchored in extortion and dependency. We received these so called Holy Books by those who dictate through spiritual conquest and enforce “God’s Plan”. Many hold tight onto foreign religion for no other reason than cultural extermination left them spiritually blinded. The problem is many do not read these books but claim them only as a matter of they desperately need something to believe in.
I was blinded by civilization to the point of urban, at least that’s what they called me when I was still watching Kermit. Guess I’m ambassador to a new type of warrior. I’ll take it and run with it. Plus I’m Heyoka, now look what I done with it. Comes with his Blackstone. If you sing one for me, better make it the flag song, and don’t get the words wrong. Sing it in my language, ‘cause I would be anguished, if you said land of the free and home of the braves. Indigenous holocaust and home of the slaves. Immortal technique, gangster rap made me do it. Honest NDN’Z is the truest. I’m on the warpath, this pen is my coup-stick. It’s funny ‘cause I’m stupid, off the poison they gave me. Alcoholic baby, that’s what it raised me, now I’m crazy. In a sacred way, it’s been a long hard road, straight to the grave. Till my casket drops but I’m in it today. Buried alive and brokenhearted. Here letters are like flowers, dearly departed. Death by a thousand cuts. Internally bleeding, I still give it to the people, I sacrifice it freely. Tell my baby I love her. Give thanks to her Mother. Somebody tell my cousin you don’t do that to a brother. One foot in the spirit world, see you when you get here. Or on the contrary, family first, at least that’s what they tell me. I believe in such virtue. I suffer with dignity. For all my relatives, I couldn’t do this without you.
Hello everyone! By the time y’all read this blog, I hope y’all have an open mind and a caring bone in y’alls bodies because I’m in need of a friend. There’s a lot more to me than what’s addressed in my 250-word profile. So, please don’t judge me before actually getting to know me. Now, as y’all know, I’m doing time in a state where I don’t know too many. After spending 3 ½ years getting to know people in one jail. I was moved to another. I’m in a very stressed and lonely situation. I’m housed in a cell where I spend most of my day locked in. I hope y’all can be understanding and write me. I’m looking for a long-term friendship, I’m tired of getting email messages, just to write back and have my letter returned to me or not get a response at all. I’m flexible, so tell me what y’all are looking for and we can go from there. I’m not here to bash anyone, but all the young women 18-25 of age seem to not understand why they are writing me on here. I need a woman that understands and knows why she’s reaching out to me. I’m looking for a woman older than 25 but younger than 70. I won’t mind if you’re younger, as long this is what y’all want! Don’t engage in writing me just to respond letting me know that you have a man/boyfriend and can’t write me anymore.
So, my PTSD issues were bothering me last night. There was a cold front and the winds kicked up pretty good during the night. On the roof of the building are ventilation fans that are controlled in the guard picket. When they aren’t on, they slam shut. Since the winds picked up, they kept slamming shut all night long. Being that this place is all steel and concrete, the air and sound reverberated frequently throughout the night and it drove me bananas. I slept like crap. It’s strange though, that I felt some comfort in the thought of being in the midst of combat. That is until I realized that I wasn’t; I was awake in prison. My spine went rigid, hairs on my neck stood up, my jaw clenched, my vision sharpened, and I jolted up ready to react. The thumping and sudden rush of air is unnerving, and I sit in the darkness wondering how it is that I came to be here. Am I crazy? Am I scared? The confusion is so uncomfortable and I hate that the fog is clearing as I begin to understand what is taking place. Reality sets in and here I am. This is my life. I can’t wait to leave this place.
My case was a high profile case that garnished a lot of local media attention where majority of the reporting was misleading and untrue.
I was in an intimate relationship with a friend who was planning a divorce. She didn’t want to raise her twin daughters around a “Meth Head” who REFUSED to get clean for his family….the drugs ruled his life.
Eventually, his paranoia led him to murder his wife and unborn children. Unfortunately, I was wrongfully convicted for his evil needs. In 2009 he committed suicide, while I’m left fighting for the truth and justice for her family and myself.
Forensic evidence excludes me and new evidence was discovered that the prosecutor withheld and suppressed that also excludes me – fingerprints found at the scene, time of death reports showing that evidence was “planted” to secure my wrongful conviction. My case was the “Perfect Storm”, the culmination of my adolescence and individuals who use me for favors and job advancements instead of the pursuit of justice. My situation is not that far from the documentary series “Making a Murderer”. The same underhanded police tactics were used in my case to secure my wrongful conviction.
I’m trying to draft a book about my case….the corruption involved and my crusade for justice. I’d like to find someone who can help me….are you willing to help me tell this story and get the truth out there? If you are, PLEASE write me today!