Prison guards

Every time I visit my friend on death row, I am fascinated by the people who work there.
Who are these men and women making a (meager) 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 run away from 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?
Those whose eyes never smile?
They must all be unaware that the prison system they work for is a reflection of their own inner world — t
hey live inside the prison of their fears, frustrations, and anger. Without any notion of their souls of light, these guards identify with their smaller selves and project their unresolved issues onto those over whom they have power.
When confronted with a disagreeable guard, I'm no longer impressed, 
because I see the wounded child under the armor. I mostly succeed in sending light from my heart to theirs. And I try to understand why this person appeared on my radar screen. Everything is energy, every situation holds a message. What vibration within me is reflected by this guard? Am I in some way abusing power against someone else? Against myself? Or is this simply an invitation to always stay in my heart? Master St-Germain teaches us that every challenging encounter is a chance to release aspects of our own energy pattern that still resonate with that heaviness. 

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