Prison is an enclosed space, closed to and isolated from the rest of the world. It does not take long to complete an inventory: corridor – bars – cell – door – corridor – bars – corridor – cell – exercise room. That’s it for the day, and so on. The repetition is relentless: for months, even years, you don’t put so much as your nose outside. All the days unfold in the same setting – the relatively comfortable cell, the corridor of my wing plus the corridor where I work. Ha! and a stairwell, too!

One day, I needed to go to the hospital for an examination. When I arrived in front of it – escorted and shackled, of course – I had a strange feeling, not of euphoria, but of a sort of ecstasy and a bit of drunkenness.

There was nothing special, however: I was just in front of a hospital, sitting in my wheelchair, waiting for a guard to push me into the building. But the weather was nice, a mum was helping her child, nurses were coming and going and life was unfolding quite normally, yet I did not feel the same as usual, the air did not have the same weight as it does in prison and everything around me was alive. And with this contrast, I observed that in prison we are all in suspense, constrained, but for all those years, I had never realised it. Everything is different outside.

This photo is very good… I did not know that such a place existed, so at the edge.
I can interpret from the image that this person prohibits access to this space and prevents people from enjoying it; this space which does not belong to him and that he does not even use to dream. But he does deprive others of dreams. How selfish! For someone deprived of freedom, space is sacred and essential for feeling alive and being able to open the mind.

Thus, a break during a maximum-security routine —even half an hour— is glorious.

I will give you an example: “El Chapo” Guzmán, also known as Joaquín Guzmán Loera, is a very dangerous Mexican drug trafficker because of his escapes, murders and international networks. He is held in a maximum-security prison in Manhattan (USA) on the 11th floor. Can you imagine the millions that this man would pay so that a ray of sunlight could hit his eyelids with his eyes closed? He remains in a cell with more than 25 cameras, with the lights always on, and with three guards who watch only him.

Some spaces cannot be bought, not with good behaviour or money. Space is a right and should be respected. I am against space terrorists.

This photo inspires me: the largeness, immensity, abundance. It gives me an enormous renewed sense of freedom. The boat is offshore, truly transporting us into open space. It is the ocean, the sea, America: what a symbol! Being that I am now free, this photo truly evokes in me a feeling of rediscovery - of space and of liberty.

How does one define space?¶

In the physical realm, it is area, in the mental one, it is an entire plane of existence.
I long to be the boat I see, to be encompassed by wide open spaces and surrounded by sea and sky, to soak in the pure freedom of being at the centre of my own horizon, to have perfect isolation. And yet, I already am.

For I feel and think I am that boat, stranded and alone without another soul to turn to as I scream with desperation into the winds. ‘Hello! Is anyone there?’ To hear only the murmuring of the waves as my reply – the doubts, worries and apprehensions which float to the surface of my mind in every unguarded moment – is to be cast adrift and struggle not to drown.
I miss the play of light and air on my skin an open park will bring, but so do I miss the closeness of my mind and a quietude of thought.

Space so often is thought of as freedom, but if the distance is too great, we risk being lost amongst the emptiness.
I do not see what you see – there is no boat, water, horizon or sky. There is only loneliness and an ideal. All else is just detail.

That sea, that sky
Between desire and fear
It is easy to understand desire, our fantasy, the ambition to designate spaces without limits, spaces not delimited by walls, bars and watchtowers.
But there is also fear
And this is more difficult to explain
Those fishermen in the photo - the ones inside the boat - might understand if they are indeed fishermen.
They remain close to the coast, perhaps fearing the depths of the ocean.
Thus, the desire for infinite space is also coupled with the need for safety, which gives us this minimal space - the cell that we have come to know so well.
A safe harbour from which one departs to travel
With the head, with the mind.

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Read the original version (in Italian)

Jaded from life in here
Someone asked dryly
Is this hell? Or will there be something worse?
Without missing the point, I replied
What do you want? To live or to die?
He stared at me with fear in his eyes, I added:
That is the end of both things
We see the limit and we realize the danger
An abyss appears which limits us.

When we get here, we must reflect
It appears that we could jump to the other side
Suddenly reality shows itself as it is
The other extreme is too far.
We must keep waiting without losing hope
Though that so-and-so pales more and more with each day
I have seen many people die in the condition in which you see me
Like you, I want to get to the other side.
But the truth is I don not know if I am going to make it

Some give me encouragement
But time is unforgiving.
Perhaps when I get there, death will have already reached me.
I will fight.
If I succeed - good - and if not, at least I will have tried.
Good luck.

The middle passage¶

My four-dimensional continuum is a cell.
In this space, my four dimensions, without forewarning, precipitate into a
two-dimensional spectrum of despair and suffering.
It is a fascinating cyclic evolution. In this space, anguish exists. Ubiquitously. Biting like the lash of a whip. Making this pain my ship.
In a vast ocean of distress and bemoaning; yes, this space is the next frontier… indeed.

How far do we dare send the human conscience? Can we build a spaceship, place this conscience aboard, then send it past the planet Mercy?
Where the moons of compassion, love, and kindness do not orbit.
To a planet devoid of two parts humanity and one part opportunity. To a planet where an omnivorous, parasitic, airborne virus exists. This creature being incapable of recognising human suffering in any capacity.

Are there other dimensions in space? Can we bend space as they say we can bend time? If so, shall I pray and ask my ancestors for enlightenment and wisdom? Their four-dimensional continua were also cells. The cells
inside their bodies that determined the colour of their skin and the texture of their hair. Those cells that gave them a tiny ship and a vast ocean to traverse.

How infinite was that space? Yet, unlike mine, their four-dimensional continua became one-dimensional continua, as they were shackled face to face.
The origin of time and space is the Middle Passage. Each of us with our own tiny ship.

The first day of your arrest, alone, in your cell, you feel insignificant before the immense solitude that surrounds you. You think that everything is lost, that you have lost everything… but that is only the beginning.
It will take more than 700 moons before you understand that life has not robbed you of what you had. Life has freed you of the things that were not of use to you and that you were incapable of leaving in their place. Life has given you a little more freedom, because freedom is in the mind, not the body. And now, you can finally fly high.

Because there are no barriers, no bars on windows to keep you from leaving the prison of your life and travelling close to your loved ones. It will take time for you to begin to understand that life is very short, and suffering is just a waste of time. You will have to spend hours, many hours, endless hours in solitude to understand that, quite on the contrary to what you thought, life is now.

It does not matter where you are, it does not matter which prison you find yourself in, life goes on, life is every time you breathe.

So do not put off what you can do now for when you get out, because today also counts, today is also life, today you decide what you want to do. Make no excuses. Do not think that prison has clipped your wings. There is something that you can continue to do: love. Love without measure, without limits, without borders. Love the inconceivable. Love until you become the same love, and this will make you feel more alive, more fulfilled, more humble, more grateful… And then you will see that the weight of guilt disappears, because there is nothing that love cannot achieve.

You cannot find peace if your heart lives in war.
You cannot find love if you keep living in hate.
You cannot find outside that which you do not have inside.

In my opinion, spaces are what is, or maybe the most used method in prison to inflict torture on inmates. It limits our movements and our time, because I see time as a form of space too. Spaces in prison put us in a box and claim to lead us to feel repentance for having ‘broken’ the law.

However, we can transform this small physical space to liberating potential and create our own niche. Hence, we can send a message about prison restriction to the human race.
Space is like a cage where animals are locked up.

Irony has it, as I receive this image, I find myself in the center of yet another lockdown.

My already restricted space further limited, trapped inside of an 8x9 cell, cooped up with another man, the one thing we do not have is space. We are forced to eat, sleep and defecate in half a room. When my cellmate inhales, I exhale, so neither of us breathe too deeply; every sound, each movement rising tensions, stealing even more space from us both. No space means no room.

There are no unfathomable depths to prison. When we think of deep, we imagine six feet. Looking out into the world from my prison cell correlates with this very boat drifting along an empty sea, in the middle of nowhere. No one to hear the cries. No one to see the suffering. Although we on this side have little space to move around at will, those on the outside confine us more by establishing a greater distance.

My perception of space is we have none. Thus, I am given too much. The system robs us all of space. The free world hands it over without a thought. Losing a loved one inside a space small enough to suffocate. My cell welcoming the wish to be left alone. The vast space between the self and the outside world ignites the idea of welcoming all. My dreams travel not.

The walls too tight, the ceiling too low, difficult to see the horizon when concrete atop concrete kissed by steel clouds your vision.

I wish I had enough space to “feel” something other than pain. I wish I had a hint of space to “touch” something other than this hardened reality. On this side of the wall, space breeds distance, distance births separation, and separation places us apart from even ourselves. So, I need not to be in the belly of the Pacific to feel alone, to despise space, or to have a view of just how troubling it is for those of us who live inside of prison.

Prison comes with plenty: hatred, oppression, racism, steel, concrete, barbed wires… but space is not on the list.

This is the Sublime. The vastness that engulfs us and leaves room for nothing else. The space of a moment of doubt, between fear and serenity. Letting yourself be taken over by the immeasurable and surrendering your mind to nothingness. It must be dizzyingly intoxicating to feel so alive.