As of the new year, my time inside Donovan is over.

Tuesday, December 30th, 2025 was my last day inside Donovan after over nine years of almost constant Tuesday presence (except for the occasional plane ride away from San Diego).  And this came with absolutely no external or obvious reason to stop bringing the transformative programming I’ve been offering for more than a decade.

Let me do my best to explain.

I stand for brilliance, and our continual growth to being and expressing that brilliance.

Our brilliance is our spirit, our essence, our light, our genius – whom we were always meant to be.  It is unique, indestructible and immutable.  Living in our brilliance means fulfilling our potential, being our greatness, offering our most meaningful contribution. In brilliance, we tap into the power of creation and transformation of ourselves and the world.  And each of us are constantly guided into greater alignment with it.

Sometimes, however, that brilliance – whom we’re meant to be – clashes with what we want or what we like or what we believe is right.

These moments invite us to see where our alignment truly lies.  They test whether we stand for what we say we do.

And that’s what I’ve been walking through over the past few weeks.

Because NOTHNG (except my brilliance) was pointing me to leave.  To be crystal clear,

• I adore my work inside Donovan; I mean A-D-O-R-E

• The staff appreciates it deeply, speaks of the changes they see in the residents and often bends over backwards to enable us to meet, even in difficult circumstances

• There is no external, logical or sensible reason to stop.  No move, no new project demanding Tuesdays…

• We had, just the previous week, started a new cohort on Alpha yard and talked about being the program that you join but never leave (“Once you’re in, you’re in.”  Remember that from last month’s newsletter?)

• On Echo yard, I’ve built stunning, trusting relationships, meeting weekly with many of the folks for over 3, 4 and even 6 years

• I have witnessed personal, family and community transformations for which words simply don’t exist

And yet, in late November, that undeniable whisper of brilliance delivered the gut punch that turned my life upside down.  I instantly knew it was truth: I was to leave Donovan by the end of the year.

I had a choice.

I could choose to ignore it and cling to what I know, I want and I LOVE…and makes sense.

Or I could trust that this guidance from my brilliance was opening a path to greater greatness – because that’s the only direction brilliance ever points – and do one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, what has felt like an enormous sacrifice. No exaggeration.

Because I stand for brilliance, I knew what was mine to do.

I didn’t like it (to use kind words) but I knew that I knew that it was truth and alignment.

Life offers us moments like this – moments that reveal how deeply we actually trust in what we claim to believe, and what still holds us back from being our fullest light.

We don’t leap because it makes sense; we leap because faith calls us forward.

I’ll tell you.  It sucks.  And it hurts.  And there’s been a ton of grief and mourning.

What is also true is that there is clarity, knowingness, peace, confidence, assurance, power and deep rest – beyond what I could have imagine.

We simply have to be willing to trust and have the courage to jump.

So, I jumped. With snotty tears and almost unbearable heartache.

And now, we get to see to where I fly.

You have a choice:  You can live from what makes sense, or from what is true.  When something deep inside you whispers – or shouts – that it’s time to move, to release, to trust…will you listen?  What might become possible if you trusted that your brilliance only ever leads you toward greater freedom?  Alignment doesn’t always feel good.  But it always leads us home.

PS:  Some of you astute folks will recognize the parallel with the "go to prison" message I received during my prayer and meditation in the summer of 2015, that called me into Donovan.  I didn't catch it until it was called out by a dear friend, whom I actually met at Donovan.

My very first time inside Donovan was ten years ago, on Saturday, December 5th, 2015.  Last week, I pulled out my 10-year-old journal and reread the entry from that day:

“I am filled with overflowing gratitude and deeply humbled by what I experienced today. … I also feel so small.  Not in the ‘unworthy’ sense.  But in the sense that this is so big, so important, so extraordinary, so universal, so majestic that I’m so small next to it.  I’m humbled in front of the possibilities. … I saw in that chapel today several men that seem ready for the outside world; honestly, even better equipped than most folks on the outside. Their smiles and presence radiated love and freedom.  I see in them my teachers because they seem to have found themselves, and in prison no less.”

I returned the next day – meeting, among others, a guy who had stabbed seven people during his incarceration in addition to those killed prior – and was hooked.  If those who have committed some heinous crimes can become these human beings of love, free despite the barbed wire, then I wanted a part of this real, contagious and sacred transformation. And I wanted to share it with the world.

You know what came next:  We organized TEDxDonovanCorrectional in 2017, 2018 and 2019.  As we approached the first TEDx event, one organizing Core Team member wanted quadruple confirmation that we weren’t going to leave immediately after the event – a clear expression of past abandonment trauma.

Without realizing it at the time, my commitment to this man – and all who came after him – became the blueprint for our circles’ culture: once someone is in, they’re in; they’re never out.  They may get transferred or released. They may even choose to no longer attend our weekly circles.  But they’re still in.  Like Keith, highlighted in last month’s newsletter.

This commitment has created something rare inside Donovan – and rare anywhere.

With unconditional commitment comes safety. With safety comes trust. And with trust, people are no longer participants and become stewards. With true co-ownership of the space, people devote years, even decades, to it.

And our circles’ stewards have.

Of the folks who have been admitted into our circles,

• 53 people attended weekly for over 12 consecutive months

• 32 attended weekly for over 2 consecutive years

• 13 attended weekly for over 3 consecutive years

• 5 attended weekly for over 5 consecutive years

Three folks have even attended for 75 consecutive months; that’s over 6 years!

Through this commitment, prison residents come to know that they belong, no matter what; that they are supported through thick and thin; that they are allowed to show up in their muck and receive the help to grow further into their brilliance.

What I didn’t fully grasp ten years ago is that this work isn’t really about programs, or circles, or even transformation. It’s about belonging.  First in themselves and, from there, in the space.

Most of us don’t rise to our highest potential because we don’t feel safe enough to fail, to stumble, to show the parts of ourselves that still need care. We perform. We protect. We keep one foot out the door, just in case.

But when people know they are not disposable, not temporary, not conditional, something profound happens. They stop proving themselves and start becoming themselves.

You have a choice: Where in your life are you still keeping score instead of keeping faith? Where are you showing up conditionally – for others or for yourself?  What might become possible if you decided, truly decided, that once someone is in… they’re in?

I first met Keith on paper, through his application to our very first TEDx organizing Core Team.  It was sparse, tentative, almost apologetic. And yet, between the lines, there was a spark.  Something was aching to ignite.  So, Keith joined our original TEDx Core Team in December 2016.

Quickly, I sensed that Keith was living at a fraction of his potential.  I told him, “There’s a bright, powerful light within you.  I can’t wait for the day you tap into it.” He couldn’t believe that then.  Not yet.

At our first TEDx event, Keith was a strong Emcee…and yet, he held back his highest power and brilliance. He was a beautiful servant leader at our second TEDx event…and yet, still holding back.  He hadn’t yet met himself – the man beneath the performance, the brilliance beneath the survival strategies.

He also held himself back when it was time to transfer to a lower-security yard, considered by many to be the most rewarding yard of the entire CDCR prison system.  At first, he rejected the opportunity.  Thankfully, he changed his mind at the last minute.

On that new yard, he explored other programs, stepped into opportunities, and kept doing the deep, unglamorous work of transformation.

Then, UC Irvine launched its bachelor’s degree in sociology at Donovan.  Keith was accepted into the second cohort and graduated this past June 18th.  In the graduation pamphlet, he wrote in his bio, “I not only obtained a bachelor’s degree. I found [Keith] in the process.”

Eight years in the making and the man had done it indeed!

Not just the degree, but the discovery of who he is.  The degree was the container. The true achievement was his identity – realizing his worth beyond performance.  From this knowing came confidence, worthiness, power, clarity, etc.  It emerged when he learned to trust the person he already was.

This is the shift from performance to identity.  From doing to being.

From “I hope I’m enough” to “I know who I am.”

When we operate from the first, we chase achievement and improvement but remain subtly imprisoned — always seeking the next proof.  From the second, we uncover who we were all along, beneath the noise, expectations and self-limiting stories.

Recently, Keith went to his first Parole Board hearing.  The week before, he admitted he was nervous.  I reminded him: he now knows who he is.  To trust this and think, speak and act from this grounded knowing.

And sure enough, the Parole Board saw his bright, powerful light.  They found him suitable for release – on his first hearing!  It wasn’t the polished answers or the completed programs.  It was the quiet, powerful alignment of a man who now recognizes the strength, wisdom and brilliance that were there all along.

Now, in his final weeks inside, Keith has come full circle.  He’s seeing the light in others, encouraging them to uncover it and helping them trust what is already within them.

You have a choice: You can chase the next title, degree or milestone, grasping for the feeling of being enough (and still miss the deeper discovery of who you are). Or, you can commit – as Keith did – to the slower, quieter, transformational work of becoming you. The kind that leads to true freedom, wherever you are.  What would happen if you shifted from proving yourself to being yourself?

PS:  I almost forgot to mention that, when I met Keith nine years ago, he was LWOP – with a sentence of Life WithOut the possibility of Parole.  Over the years, as he’s grown to know himself and trust himself, the system has thankfully recognized that our society is not served by keeping him behind bars for the rest of his life.

Bonus insight – Seeing the Light in Others
I hear in this story another powerful insight worth highlighting.

When I first met Keith, he not only couldn’t see his brilliance, he rejected that what I saw could exist.  And yet, I regularly reminded him of the bright, powerful light I saw in him.  Over time, he opened himself up to the possibility.  With more time and lots of love, he started seeing it too.  With even more time, he started to trust it.  And today, you can’t shake him off of it (because the Parole Board tried as it's their job to do).  

This is what leadership looks like — holding up a mirror until someone recognizes their own light.

Lately, life has felt like a roller coaster.  In these times, I turn to the prison residents for inspiration, because I’ve watched so many of them move through the yo-yo of hope and despair … and do so with remarkable steadiness.

Take just one person’s story as an example.

He has a life sentence.  And, despite having no incentive, he started working on his rehabilitation over seven years ago.

A few years ago, new legislation opened the door for people in certain circumstances – including his – to have a chance to go before the Parole Board. He still had years to wait, but the possibility was there. A small light of hope.

He didn’t dare to believe in this possibility until he was called into his pre-Board consultation (held 5 years out), confirming that this opportunity really did exist for him.

Then, after this consultation, another law was passed — one that closed that same door.  Overnight, his path to freedom vanished.

Months later, the powers-that-be reversed course again: the new law, they decided, didn’t apply to his case after all. The door was open once more.

Shut.  Open.  Shut.  Open.  Shut.  Open again.

Despair.  Cautious hope.  Belief.  Despair.  Hope.

This kind of yo-yo journey isn’t rare inside prison. The rules change. Interpretations shift. Lives are upended – not because of something they did or didn’t do, but because the system moved.

And yet, what strikes me most is not the fairness or unfairness of it all. It was the residents’ steadiness through it.

While devastated, the above resident didn’t crumble when the law shifted. He didn’t disengage or give up. He kept showing up in our circles, mentoring others, running powerful programs of change, doing the internal work he’s been doing for years. He didn’t let his identity depend on external news — good or bad.  He didn’t let the circumstances define his worth.  He trusted that God and the universe work for him and not against him, even when all the evidence pointed to the contrary.

That’s rare strength.

Most of us — myself included — can get thrown off balance by a single unexpected email, a changing work directive or an unclear future.  Much less, the death of a loved one or the loss of a job.  But real freedom — inside or outside prison — comes when we find our value within and can remain steadfast regardless of circumstances. 

This man with a life sentence shows me – and hopefully you too now – what it truly means to be free.

Because life will jerk you around. 

You have a choice:  When the rules change, when your plans fall apart, when what was promised or what you’ve worked towards for months or years is suddenly taken away, will you crumble?  Or will you stay peacefully rooted in who you are, even as the storm howls around you, and show up with steadiness and presence?  One is destructive.  The other is liberating.

PS:  This yo-yoing of despair and hope is so common among the Donovan folks that, just last Tuesday, one circle member found out that his commutation (opening the way to his release) had been refused.  Another learned that a law that favors his early release is being repealed.

Below is Jennifer Brown’s response to Mason’s question: “What is poetry? How do we know if a poem is a poem?” (All bold, italics and links are hers.)

Thank you Jennifer for your generosity of heart and spirit that truly transformed a man. He no longer sees himself the same way. It’s amazing what a seemingly “short” gesture can do to transform the human spirit.

What is poetry? Why do people keep asking? 

Because it’s a good question and the answer keeps changing. And it’s a question that poets ask, all the time, not just “regular people” (whatever that means). 

Here’s a curious poem that’s actually titled, “Because You Asked about the Line Between Prose and Poetry,” which I like very much, but doesn’t really answer the question your Donovan guys are asking. 

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned to pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.

There came a moment that you couldn’t tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.

This poem “looks like” a poem to us (readers of English) because it’s got line breaks, it’s got white space around it on the page, and even if you removed the line breaks, and turned it into a paragraph, it has what I call ‘sound strategies’ – rhyme (tell and fell), assonance (the “a” sound in aslant and random), and alliteration (the “f” in feeding and freezing – which is also an example of assonance, the “ee” sounds). (Look up those terms on AAP’s glossary page, or the much larger glossary put together by the Poetry Foundation.) 

Here's what it looks like as a “paragraph” 

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle, that while you watched turned to pieces of snow, riding a gradient invisible from silver aslant to random, white, and slow. There came a moment that you couldn’t tell. And then they clearly flew instead of fell.

A prose poem, which is a type of poem (not a type of prose), might have other “poetic traits” or strategies. Here’s what the Poetry Foundation says (including links to a couple of examples). 

A prose composition that, while not broken into verse lines, demonstrates other traits such as symbols, metaphors, and other figures of speech common to poetry. See Amy Lowell’s “Bath,” “Metals Metals” by Russell Edson, “Information” by David Ignatow, and Harryette Mullen’s “[Kills bugs dead.]”

So maybe breaking something into lines makes it a poem? That’s a very common strategy and something people can easily see. But if you say a poem out loud, can you tell where the lines break? Is that a good rule?

Amy Lowell’s looks a lot like prose (it’s even broken down into paragraphs) but since she called it a prose poem (or maybe just a poem), I believe her. Even if you change the paragraph width on the page, you get the same feeling (emotional and sensual/physical – those sound strategies), I think. If you read it out loud, you don’t get as much help from the poet (because there are no line breaks/much less white space around the poem) but you can hear all kinds of things; rhyme (again) but also the repeated “L” sounds, the repeated “ir or er” sounds. That’s done deliberately and that’s part of what makes a poem a poem. 

Bath

By Amy Lowell

The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus in the air.
       The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the water into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright light.
       Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, dance, and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir of my finger sets them whirring, reeling. I move a foot and the planes of light in the water jar. I lie back and laugh, and let the green-white water, the sun-flawed beryl water, flow over me. The day is almost too bright to bear, the green water covers me from the too bright day. I will lie here awhile and play with the water and the sun spots. The sky is blue and high. A crow flaps by the window, and there is a whiff of tulips and narcissus in the air.

When I get asked this question when I’m teaching, I invite my students to think about other types of art they are familiar with. A dance is built with a body; you move your arms, your head, your feet. Anyone can dance, but not everyone has studied the waltz or practiced breakdancing moves. You get dance competitions with deliberate choreography and people dance in a particular style (tango, rhumba, salsa).  A painting is built with paper and paint (oil or watercolor) or maybe with other materials. Anyone can paint, but not everyone studies the craft of painting, or knows the difference between chiaroscuro or atmospheric perspective (certainly not me). 

People get confused with poetry, because a poem is built with words, whether it’s written or spoken orally. And we feel an “ownership” of words and language that we don’t generally feel for oil paints or musical instruments.  Words belong to each of us with a kind of funny democracy, language is intimate and personal to each of us, yet completely universal and public (unless you are code switching). And, of course, anyone can write a poem, even if you’ve not studied poetry or understand the difference between a quatrain or personification. 

Another point of confusion happens because all types of written “art” (literature, comic books, movie scripts) and even non-art writing (emails, text messages and personal letters) use the same types of “techniques” or tricks as poetry. Novelists use metaphors (love is a nightmare) and similes (my lover smells like a dream). Text messages are full of connotation (the implied or suggested meaning connected with a word - that's essentially what emojis are). In fact, over and over when we speak and write we use all these tricks. You don’t have to know the formal term for synecdoche to understand that “all hands on deck” really means all the people on deck, or everyone on the team, or all people working together. 

Ultimately, each reader of (or listener to) “a work made up of words” decides for himself or herself if something is a poem. I’m a teacher of poetry, and a poet, so I like to believe people when they say they’ve written a poem. I want to be generous. However, that doesn’t mean I have to like it or even agree with them that what they’ve written is a good poem.

The last thing I’ll say is this. A bunch of words on a page that express the feelings of the writer or document her observations of the world are more likely to be received as a poem (rather than prose) if the writer has tried to make a poem. If the writer wants to make her poem better, or more recognizable as a poem to a wider audience, that takes work and practice. That’s the craft of poetry. Just like learning the dance steps to the tango is different than jumping up and down in a mosh pit at a concert. What’s the difference between (illegal) graffiti and street art? Is it in the intention of the artist or the way the “work” is received by viewers? 

Keep asking the questions. Art is (in my view) an essential human activity. Keep being human. Write if you want to, read poetry if you want to learn more about its history as an art form, or what is meant by poetic craft; look online and figure out what people are talking about. Don’t be afraid. And if you are brave enough to share your work, don’t worry about what other people think you’re doing. Very few people write poetry that rhymes these days, although many do, especially in the "newer" forms like spoken word. What about song lyrics?  Everyone who writes a poem sets out to write poetry, regardless of whether they take the next step of calling themselves poets. Have fun!

Thank you Jennifer!

Do you remember last year, when a Brilliance Inside circle member gave the graduation speech for the inaugural class of UC Irvine’s “south campus” inside Donovan?  Well, on June 18th, Cohort 2 graduated — and we celebrated TWO of our circle members: one who’s been with us for over 2.5 years, and another who was part of our very first TEDx Core Team and even emceed our first TEDx event. (If you were there, you know exactly who I’m talking about!)

Alongside the gifts of celebrating their hard work and meeting their families, one thing struck me the most:

Of the 15 graduates, seven earned magna or summa cum laude honors. That means nearly 50% of the cohort graduated among the top 6% of UC Irvine’s entire 2025 class. Our circle member's achievement was so notable that he wore four honor cords — and his name is now engraved on a plaque on the UCI campus.

It’s easy to dismiss this stunning result with a quick, “Well, maybe the professors go easy on these ‘poor,’ ‘disadvantaged’ folks.” But here’s the truth:

1. UC Irvine uses the same admission criteria for Donovan students as for any other third-year transfer student

2. The professors confirm — with a knowing chuckle — that they do not make it easier

3. Those of us who go inside regularly know that something deeper is at work here

So, what creates results like this?

When they applied, these graduates understood the unique and valuable opportunity they were being granted.  For many of us, college at 18 is just the next step on a track someone else laid out. We may appreciate the experience, but we don’t always treasure it as wildly rare or priceless.

The Donovan folks do.

Mostly as a consequence of their own choices, they didn’t have access to this kind of education in their teens.  For example, our circle member put it simply: “Seventh grade marked my first incarceration and the end of my formal education.”  Now, in their late 20s, 30s, 40s and even 50s and 60s, the Donovan students fully grasp the value of this mind-expansion and self-discovery.  And they will not let what once slipped through their fingers slip away again.

Knowing this value creates determination and motivation that are inspirational.  The students dive in with all that they are and their results at graduation are simply the natural consequence of that focus and fortitude.

I see this same dynamic in our circles too. Some come to our spaces because it feels good — while others come because they see it as a vehicle for radical transformation. 

These two groups experience our circle differently and, therefore, they are transformed differently. The first feels better. The second discovers far more than comfort – they discover themselves.  They find true freedom.

You have a choice:  Where, in your life, are you going through the motions?  What gifts are you undervaluing and overlooking – your health, your spouse, your kids, your work?  You can keep coasting and miss out on what’s hidden right in front of you.  Or…. You can embrace everyday life for the “unique and valuable opportunity” it really is.  Trust that even the most mundane moments can hide priceless gifts — if you bring your whole self to them.  You might just find yourself wearing your own version of four honor cords.

Here are a few press articles and podcasts about this graduation you may enjoy:

• UC Irvine’s press release: “94 percent of UC Irvine in-prison bachelor’s program graduates earn honors”

• UC Irvine’s Flickr account with more photos

• NBC UC Irvine’s “Against All Odds” 9-minute podcast - “How UCI Professors Help Inmates Find Hope Through Education”

• San Diego channel 7 news: “Serving Time, Earning Degrees”

• Fox News San Diego: “Rewriting Futures: Incarcerated students graduate from UC Irvine program”

All photos pulled from UC Irvine press release and taken by Steve Zylius

Not long ago, a friend found this note in her mailbox:

Hi Neighbor!

Your down-the-street neighbor Stella (age 5 ½) will be out in our driveway at [street address] Avenue on Wednesday [date] at about 5:30pm selling her artwork for 25 cents apiece.  You’re getting this $1 bill and accompanying quarter, because we’d love for you to come by and support her and her efforts.  Please keep the $1 as my attempt to bribe you into coming by, and use the quarter to pay for one of her creations.  While the quality of the artwork is perfect for a 5-6 year old (better, really…but…you’ll see :-) ), Stella’s drive and passion surpass my own.  And that’s saying something.

So please, come spend some (our) money, support our [neighborhood] community and meet the budding artist behind the work.  Hope to see you there!

Stella’s dad

At the sidewalk “gallery opening,” my friend joined several other neighbors in admiring Stella’s artwork and showering her with praise for her commitment to show up and follow through.

Just imagine how 5 ½-year-old Stella must have felt.

I suspect she felt truly seen – not just for what she made but for who she is.  She received the confidence that comes from being loved in the act of expressing herself.  She experienced worthiness, from her parents and the neighbors.

These moments — of being affirmed in our essence, not just our output — are foundational. They allow us to build trust in ourselves, to grow and to stand in our brilliance. Experiences like these teach us something essential:

• Our greatest value isn’t in what we do, but in who we are

• And it’s the power of who we are that fuels the quality and strength of what we do — not the other way around

Similarly, this weekend, another friend posted a request for help to create an experience for her 11-year-old daughter and friend to learn a powerful lesson about investing and trading into their own futures.

As we come off Father’s Day weekend, I give a huge “hats off” to these parents – and to all of you – who truly see their kids (and the other important people in your lives) for whom they are created to be and support them in experiencing this value and power for themselves.

You have a choice: You can tell someone they are valuable.  Or you can create an experience in which they feel it firsthand.  The second is always more powerful…and more lasting.  Choose to uplift someone – young or not-so-young – into the truth of who they already are. Support them in an experience that allows them to feel, deep in their being, the light and power they bring to the world.  And then, watch them grow in confidence, self-worth and innate power.