Every time I visit my friend in prison I am fascinated by the people who work there.
Who are these men and women making a living by driving every day to a building that houses so much pain? How is someone capable of working for a system that kills men like human refuse?
How do they manage to silence their humaneness? Who's hiding behind those uniforms that give them an illusion of power? Who are they, those guards who often make us visitors feel like we too should be punished?
They must be unaware that the prison system they work for is a reflection of their own inner world — their own prison of fears, frustrations, anger. Without feeling their souls of light, these guards project their unresolved issues onto those behind the bars.
When confronted with a disagreeable guard, I try to see the wounded child under the armor. I send light from my heart to theirs. And I try to understand why this person appeared on my radar screen. Everything is energy! What vibration within me is reflected by this guard? Am I in some way abusing power against someone? Against myself? Or is this simply an invitation to stay in my heart?
Master St-Germain teaches that every challenging encounter is a chance to release aspects of our own smaller selves that still resonate with that heaviness. 

And of course, I  also want to honor the countless guards who spread human warmth inside that cold world
— who understand that being locked up is the sentence, and that humiliation was never part of the deal.