Setting Prisoners Free

BACK THEN: My Own Hopelessness As a teenager, I fell into a dark place. A very dark place! I felt no hope; there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Hopelessness and despair had consumed me, and so much so, I was convinced that death was the only way out!  Obviously, I never made that fatal step and never made a suicidal attempt. What I did do daily is this; I would play with razor blades on my wrists and beg to God that I’d slip or that He would just end it all for me.  Every Sunday evening, I went to church at the time. I went because my parents forced me too, not because I wanted too. In my own passive-aggressive resistance, I arrived late and left early, justifying myself to be consumed with all the depressing, judgmental and angry thoughts that circled throughout my whole being!  Hope could not be found, so I returned home and  played 2 Metallica song s “ One"  and  "To live is to die"  over and over and over again at full volume until the rest

I write this lamenting over a friend of mine. We'll call him Malachi.   I write this lamenting over the prejudices and inequality of the "war on drugs" I write this lamenting over the cruel and racist policies of mass incarceration.   I write this lamenting over those experiencing homelessness and their struggles to escape its vicious grip.   I write this as another illustration of what I detailed in my recent post:  It's Political: The Punishments Do Not Fit the Crimes! Malachi was homeless, actively seeking an apartment. He's around 60 years old, has congestive heart failure and a few other ailments. I've known him for over 15 years now and most people view him as this happy gentle giant who is always friendly and kind. Last week I got a call from someone I network with; he was looking for Malachi because his name had finally "come up" on the housing database which means he's eligible for subsidized housing, immediately. I was overj