Faith is the prayer of words unsaid,
The tear that falls upon the bed.
Faith is the hope of one "Amen",
The will that trusts and tries again.
Faith is the day made fresh and new
When evening draught absorbs the dew.
Faith is the thought that lifts to bless
The One beyond the arms' caress.
Faith is the sky that leaves its gray
To welcome in a sunny day.
Faith, in a moment, dares the thing
The heart petitions God to bring.
Over the months, I kept on sending Boss a daily supply of tobacco, always wrapped in a page of BEING PEACE. One page at a time he came to like Thich Nhat Han. Every now and then, Boss even tried his best to meditate, but he was never able to stay awake early in the morning.
After eighteen months Bosshog is released from the grip of San Quentin and from the dependence on me for tobacco and BEING PEACE. Before he walked off the tier, he stood in front of my cell and together we recited what had become Boss's mantra whenever he was about to blow his top:
"Man, man ... If we are peaceful, if we are happy, we can smile, and everyone in our family, our entire society, will benefit from our peace."