Love Letter to the Tenderloin

Love Letter to the Tenderloin
©2025 Karla Johnston, InnerConstellation.com
March 15, 2025

We step onto the San Francisco streets, our bellies full from dinner at Mel’s Kitchen on Van Ness. I consciously begin walking-meditation, as if my life depends on it. We’re going to a place many have deserted. I breathe long and full, calming my heartbeat, lightly thrumming in my ears.  

 “We have just entered the Tenderloin,” says my fellow night minister and guide, as we begin to cross the street.

“Watch out, now, watch out,”
softly speaks a man, under his breath.
He steps around us,
extending his arm across our chests,
blocking us
from entering the crosswalk.
Red sweatshirt barricade.
We now view his back,
feel the skin and bones touch,
as he physically breaks our momentum.
Startled, we stop.
Arm of the man, drops,
as his other hand
pulls out a pistol
and slides it behind his leg.
His finger extends alongside the metallic barrel
12 inches, maybe 18 away.

My companion and I barely miss a step,
turn, and walk down the side street
as yelling breaks out
between the gun wielder and a much larger man.
Realizing we are in the line of fire,
we cross over,
we cross over.

Gratitude floods over me. Thank you, thank you for stopping us, warning us, blocking us. Was it the jackets, identifying us as night ministers? Was it the walking, the breathing?

Dear gun-wielding man and his “enemy,”
Dear emergency operator receiving our call,
Dear dealers and users, in open-air,
Dear families holding their children’s hands,
Dear ones in a stupor, or in raging psychosis,
Dear Charlie’s Bar and the Drag Queen Show,
Dear police precinct on the edge of the abyss.
How do you get by, day by day, by day,
knowing you have been abandoned
to utter mayhem?  

Heart shocked at the sights, a growing light—left to one’s own devices is not the answer, this is not the answer.

Dear Tenderloin, violence of body, violence of mind, violence of heart. Is being present with these conditions true care? Is putting one’s own life at risk wise compassion? Is bearing witness to this unfolding crisis humane?    

Harm Reduction? Housing first? Treatment first?

Humanity first—my only answer.

Dear Tenderloin, what if your streets are home to my son, my daughter, my loved one, as it’s been, as it is? What is then your greatest need?

If I were you, Dear Tenderloin, and you were me (as we are), safety would be necessity. Safety for myself and others, safety for the land and all inhabitants. Before anything else could be done to heal, I would call out for safety.    
 
“Watch out, now, watch out.”
My body
stops your body,
keeps you from harm,
even at my own hand.

 

Four Days at Folsom Prison

Sometimes my work takes me into correctional spaces. Last week I worked at Folsom Prison. I'm still digesting the eye-opening experiences, which will inform my mindfulness offerings at my local Juvenile Treatment Center. 

Upon return, I gave myself a full day to rest, eat well, and hold it all. More than 24 hours will be needed for integration, but this is my start. I keep returning to three things. First, an alarming 35% of correctional staff at Folsom Prison self-report suffering from PTSD. The average street cop reports 10-15% so this 35% is huge. Repeated exposure to known individuals in desperate situations and the worker’s responsibility for these individuals seem to increase the likelihood of trauma. It’s not a random, once-and-done person who is suffering or being a cause of suffering, it’s a person who is seen daily, hourly, and minute by minute. Another factor is the exposure to serious events that are witnessed inside a prison: riots, suicides, attacks on inmates and officers, psychotic episodes, and tremendous levels of despair.

Secondly, California is serving as a model for prison reform, adopting prison protocols in Norway. The Norway Model seems like steps in the right direction. It encourages tight security in immediate proximity, a strong focus on building rapport and care of inmates in one’s charge, growing a community of respect, dignity, and ethical values, and self-reflection resulting in constant measurement of effective action. There are probably many more points, but these are what I gathered through my involvement with staff training. I found the transformative move towards rehabilitation and care very refreshing. There’s even a focus on allowing cats, iPads for calling friends and family, and other means of connection.

Thirdly, I remembered that recognizing our simple humanity will save us (my words). While being involved in these reform trainings, I had the unique opportunity to be a fly on the wall, literally a person at the front of the room, viewing the 40 or so participants. I saw their expressions, their eyes, and their body language mirror the tragedies analyzed in camera footage. The pain of the inmate and the subsequent pain of the correctional staff were very closely mirrored and demonstrated.

I ask myself now—What do I do with this knowledge? How do I  practice with this experience? What is mine to do? Coming out of the Folsom Prison experience I know one thing—community is vital, connection is vital. With suffering of such tremendous magnitude, it’s impossible to go it alone. Going it alone will be our demise—PTSD numbers will climb, and suicide, substance abuse, and all coping strategies that keep us in isolation, will skyrocket. Community is one response, it’s one answer, I know it with absolute certainty.  

Another practice I come back to is deep looking. On my drive home from Folsom each night, I passed Bridal Veil Falls. With recent rains, the waterfall flowed over the cliff face with enough magnitude to spray everything below. Each evening I stopped, stood in front of that powerful force of life, and soaked it into my whole being, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. At bedtime, as I closed my eyes, I returned—not to images of the day, but to that clear, ever-flowing source. A blessing arose as I slipped off to sleep, riding my in-breath and my out-breath,

“May the refreshing and healing qualities of life
sustain all beings everywhere.”

I’m reminded of my teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh’s words of wisdom, straight from the heart of  embodied social action: 

 

Continue practicing until you see yourself in the most cruel and inhumane political leader, in the most devastatingly tortured prisoner, in the wealthiest man, and in the child starving, all skin and bones. Practice until you recognize your presence in everyone else on the bus, in the subway, in the concentration camp, working in the fields, in a leaf, in a caterpillar, in a dewdrop, in a ray of sunshine. Meditate until you see yourself in a speck of dust and in the most distant galaxy.

- Thich Nhat Hanh

May the refreshing and healing source of life that flows inside and around us nourish us, sustain us, comfort us and continually guide us in the right direction....

Finding Beauty

This week, I visited the Juvenile Treatment Center for work. As I waited for the security screening, I noticed a woman looking tense. She picked up brochures, read for a few seconds, then moved on to the next one. She eventually began to read the inmate's Bill of Rights poster hanging on the wall, her arms tightly wrapped around her body as she leaned in, anxiety etching her face, searching and searching, endlessly. She was trying to hold it together.

Finally, she walked into the bathroom. Just then, an officer brought a young girl, maybe 14 or 15 years old, into the receiving area. I smiled at them in greeting, but the girl didn't notice—her eyes downcast, her face hardened. She seemed to deflate as she looked around. 

"Where's your mom?" asked the officer, "They said she was out here."

I spoke up, "I believe her mom might be in the bathroom."

A few minutes later, the woman returned. Her face dropped to expressionless, as cold and closed as the prison door her daughter had just passed through. She was all business and asked the officer, "What about the charges?" He calmly and officially explained the next steps.

When questions were exhausted the officer turned to go. In what seemed to be a timed instant, the mother and daughter latched onto one another as everything fell away, replaced with sobs and murmurings. They stayed like that for a few seconds before breaking apart, and the stoic masks slid back on. My mind held a kind of blessing, I whispered as they left—"may this soft center lead the way from here.” Mother walked briskly and daughter followed, her head down, unaware of the sun breaking through the clouds above her, unaware of her newfound freedom.

I was struck by the moment I had just dropped in on. Not long ago, seeing such an interaction would have struck a deep place of sadness, a place of memory. Now, however, when I go through security and walk through the maze of halls and doors, hope fills me. I look forward to witnessing the masks fall away on the faces of the teens I visit. Such moments stretch out and lengthen. In those moments we practice mindfulness—consciously touching our central core, our deep roots, the inexhaustible sources of compassion, peace, and forgiveness. We practice allowing these central tenets to lead us out of hardships.

Finding beauty in difficult moments has become a practice of mine. Find beauty and stretch it out. Last night at dinner, I sat with a man who has schizophrenia. Some days, he is unapproachable, unconsolable, and combative, but other days, he is wildly engaging. When I walked into the dining room, he tapped the chair beside him, "Sit!" he commanded joyfully.

I first met this man over 20 years ago at a NAMI meeting for families with loved ones with mental illness. He was there, blue eyes sparkling, as that was a happy day. He pumped my hand and beamed a beatific smile. I still remember the moment. 

Last night, he asked me my name, even though I had told him more times than I could remember. As I opened my mouth to speak, he said, "Karla. Karla with a K, Karla." 

"You got it!" I encouraged.

His next question was like a Zen Koan, "What did you look like when you were younger?"  

"I looked like this, only younger," I answered.

He laughed freely, "I remember!" 

"What did you look like when you were younger?" I asked.

He nodded and sweetly said, "You know...you know." 

A moment of connection. I live for these; they are my heart's work. 

In uncomfortable times, connection is even more precious, it is an absolute necessity if we are to get through this precious life smiling. May we all be guided by our soft, forgiving, loving, peaceful, and compassionate centers. Thank you for the open-hearted care you give—it’s what our loved ones and our world need most.