STILL SINGING, SOMEHOW An Odyssey of One Soul’s Karma Rob Rideout 1 Copyright©2010byRobertM.Rideout Allrights reserved No part of thisbookmay be reproduced orutilized inany way for resell or reprint unless written consent has been obtained from the author. All content within thisbookis theproperty ofRobert M. Rideoutand iscopyrighted © 2010 Thisbookwas printed and manufactured in theUnited States of America. 2 Acknowledgements Thisbookis dedicated to my beloved sonand Almighty God. Sincere thanks always to Mahavatar Babaji, Yogananda, Jesus, the NativeAmerican Church andall ofthe friends who haveshared thejourney. You are all songs inmy heart. Iespecially want to thank my special friend Karen Thiele forinspiration and Jan Treecraft forher timespent typing myoriginal manuscript. Thank you Tonyand Barb Harmon, for all theloveand support you’ve shownmethroughout my life. Special thanks goes out toDiana, Dave and Shannon and Archie andCarol for helping makemy dream cometrue onthehomefront. Also, Christian, Josephine, Judith,Boyd, Dan and Omarice and Mike andLesliemust be sincerely acknowledged, as well as Bonnie and Lyn for their lovinghearts. Isincerely bless Acharya Das too, for his help onthe computerand bringing thisbookto fruition. And Idefinitely can’t forget mymom; forsaying, “Rob,you should write abook.” Thanks Mom, Dad and Joyce foryour unseen help. Despite itall, I am stillsinging, somehow. 3 Prologue Thisbookwas inspired in prison. Iwanted my son, long estranged dueto divorce, to knowtheentire story; thewhyand thehowthat brought meto thisplace. In theprocess ofwriting, Idiscovered that Iwas really writing it formyself-to purge and forgive myself forthe lifeIcreated. Sadly, myown compulsionssabotaged much ofmy life, allowing meto wallowin self-absorption and self-pity. Through years oflaboring in rewrites, Ihave reviewed my life many times-maybetoo many. The result has been atremendous healing. My story is oneoffall and redemption,of heaven andhell. It’s about thepain oflossand thecop-out path I pursued for so long. If you’re looking forsomething better than what you’veseen onTVoralready read, you might ormight not find ithere. But remember, thetruth is always strangerthan fiction. Icouldn’thave thought this story upinmy wildest imagination. Hopefully, anybody suffering from alcoholismor anoveractiveego may find aray ofhope here. However, thisbookis without ahook; an inspirational memoirwhosetitlealonewill haveto suffice. My lifelong dream has always been to pursue alifestyle of truth, simplicity andlove. The road tothat goal hasn’t been easy, and I realizethat I paved it all myself. Ihad toloseeverything to gain a freedom Inever dreamed possible, but it was worth it, every step oftheway. Many names inthis journey have been changed to protect the innocent. 4 Prayer HeavenlyFather,DivineMother,Friend,Lord,BelovedGod-Jesus Christ,BhagavanKrishna,MahavatarBabaji,ParamahansaYogananda andsacredPeyote;Ihumblybowtoyouall. MayThyloveandlight shineforever,onthis,thesanctuaryofmydevotion,andMayIbeableto awakenThylovewithinmyownandwithinallheartsandbringthemto Thee.Amen LifePath Youwerebornonthelastdayofthelastsignofthezodiacwheeland asaresulthavetremendouspotentialforanall-or-nothingexistence.Itis notaneasyride,inmanyways,asyouwillbeforcedtoconfrontwho youreallyareandwhatyoureallywant.Therewillcomeatimewhen youwillbecalledupontomakeadrasticchange,andatthispointitis essentialthatyoufollowyourheart.Born onMarch 20,you are kind, unusual and liberated. You are naturally good at changing your life. You willmake avery wise sage in your latter years. 5 STILL SINGING, SOMEHOW “Before signing your pleabargain, is there anything you would liketosay?” asked the balding SuperiorCourt judge. “Yes, Your Honor,”I replied. Iwas the onlyone being convicted who even responded to thejudge’s rhetorical question. Sinceit was my lifeontheline, I decided that I may as well tellhim what was running through my head. God, this isall soheavy! My palms were sweaty, Iwas shaking andIsensed that thejudge knew I drank last night. Ihoped that Iwould learn the length ofmy prison sentence after speaking with thejudge. Mycourt appointed public defender hadn’t been ableto shed any light onthis subject over the past two anxiety-ridden months. He dryly stated thatIcould serve anywherefrom four monthsto fouryears for thisaggravated DUI felony that had gotten meto thepresent karmic moment ofmy pitifullife. “Whateversentence you impose,Your Honor, Iseeit as the will ofGod. I am avery sick man who only wants toget well. Iaccept mypunishment wholeheartedly.” The judge replied, “Thank you, Mr. Rideout. I’llsoon be sentencing you to prison in theArizonaDepartment ofCorrections. Ihave seen afew men really change forthebetter in prison. Good luck in county jail untilyour sentencing.” Good God, howhad all of thishappened to me? Howhad I let alcohol take methislow? Ihad fiveyears ofcollege undermy belt, traveled to nineteen countries, been blessed byholy men in India, hadtwo marriages plus a child and,quiteliterally, withstoodthe trials ofJob. Ironically, Iwas notscared out of my wits.I was way past that and ready to accept my sentence with open arm-praying that Icould reallychange inwardly. Iwanted to process andcorrect themany mistakes and wrong choices that had resulted inthis incarceration. Isawthat I mustuse thisappointed timecreatively, tolook within and reflect upon what had putmehere: 6 abandonment issues and alcoholism, dysfunctional upbringing and rebellion,heartbreaks and my misleading hasty ego. After decades ofspiritual searching and study, maybe prison was just what I needed to awaken from theillusionI falsely created and called “my life.” Maybe Iwould somehow find theinnerpeace necessary tobe ableto forgive myselffor all ofthepain that I hadinflicted uponmyson, ex-wives,and loved ones. After signing myplea bargain (which was some variation of guilty as charged) I was immediately handcuffed andseated, still wearing thenew Christmasshirt given to mebymy dear friend Lyn.Isat uncomfortably in thejury box,alone andbewildered, andwatched while others’lives went to hell. After a fewhours, my wrists aching, I was escorted out theback doorofthe courtroom andtaken overto thecounty jail. “Am Ibeing booked again?” Iasked theguard. “Yeah… and here is your new orange outfit, completewith Yavapai Countyjail stenciled onthe back. Plus, you’llget anew identitybracelet foryour left wrist, withyour own number and pictureonit.” “Myface willchange overtime, but thisnumber will never change,”I replied. “I am nowa convicted felon, likeit ornot!How longdoyou think I’llserve?” “Idon’t know, Buddy, Ijust don’t know.” Thismad house…. I’m nowdoing my timein GolfPod. All ofthepods here have such classy names, with approximately forty-five inmates perpod.This is where I’llstay, untilI’mfinally shipped off to prison. Thismad houseis packed! Wehave about sixty inmates overcrowded inhere, with fifteen more onfloormats. Isoon found my space under thestairs and scored avery beat uppaperback tobegin reading immediately. This would bethe first ofmany more books tocome. Now Ican begin to 7 mentally relax and“rest in God.” Iknowthis sounds strange, butfinallythelong awaited process ofincarceration has begun forme, upand running. This isit…well, thebeginning anyway. All thefear and anxiety ofthepast few neurotic monthsis behind menow. It feels likeit’s sunkorswim in this present jailenvironment. Talk about being pushed into the unknown!Just walking into thisroom, with all thesenew weird faces checking meout, makes oneabit nervous. I’m learning toadapt quickly, however, as whenI traveled inforeign countries. I’m basically staying to myself, untilI can figure out all thenewrules and politics here. And there are heavy politics here, believeme! Every dayis alearning experience in one wayor another. IknowIwon’t besentenced to prison, Arizona Department ofCorrections (ADC), foranother monthand that alonekeeps meguessing. How longwillI dohard time? Why can’t they justtell menow? Legal wheels movesooslow! Everybody here has advice andopinions. Everybody! And someofit reallyscares me. Thankfully, there are always many jailhouselawyers to help figurethings out. And everybody here has many things tofigure out. Oh yeah. After afew days, Ifinally moved out from underthe stairs intoa room with two otherinmates upstairs. However, I’m still onthefloorwhilethey’re onbunks.“Oh, this ispriceless,”I thought. Thank God Ihaven’t lost mysense ofhumor. It’s one step upthisinstitutional ladder at a time. Every day, after breakfast is passed through a slot in our door, along with adisposablerazor to bereturned, we’re let outof ourrooms to shower andcongregate- only to findanother ten ormore newcons asleep onthedayroom floor. They booked in whilewe slept. Many willbond out quickly, paying any amount ofmoney to doso today. Many will return laterfor longerstays. Werecently had a DOC SWAT team dressed out inblack combat gear conduct a practice onus forprison uprisings; complete with loaded paint guns, faceshields and kneepads. They looked likethey were out oftheTVevening news or possiblytheMideast crisis. 8 “Everybody get onthe floorright now! Hey you, longhair, get down!” Wewere forced at gunpoint to lieonourfaces against thecold dirty cement floor, and latermarched outside- tobe lined upagainst a wall, executionstyle, for an hour. Someinmates laughed ormade rudecomments. “I’m calling my lawyer,”threatened oneinmate. He was quickly handcuffed andsent to thehole, not tobe seen again. A bookcart comes bybi-weekly, andIscramble for anyreading material. “Haveyou read LonesomeDove?Here itis. Grab it quickly!”shouted another inmateto me. “Thanks. I’ve always wanted to read it.” Luckily, Ihave found somegreat thick books so far, perfect for prison reading. Downtimeis basically atimewarp. As Iadjust, Isee that time nowseems to go faster inside, than onthe outs.Cool. Mostof mytimeis spent onmy bunk, flat out, trying to relax onall levels. Thelights are always onhere and thegreen, cracked plasticmattress is very thin and hard. There is nopillow. Everybody who knows claims that prison is waybetterthan anycounty jail. I’llbe finding outthe validityofthis claim in duetime. But for now, it’s timetolieback down andremember howitall began for me, with that “damn beat”of theBeatles. That“damn beat”just…. Musichas always been my first love, long before I ever hada girlfriend. Mymom loved musicintensely too, especially the Beatles. To quoteMom, “that damn beat just drives mecrazy!” But that “damn beat” that my motherspoke of, would ultimately lead meinto alifestyle of bars and drunks, pot andparties, heartaches andheartbreaks; all laced with travel and relationships. Playing musicprofessionally would put meinenabling environments for thecreation ofavery self-indulgent lifestyle. 9 Thislifestyle andmindset would persist formany decades to come andtake mefurther intoto theillusionof theego. For me, itall began on February 7,1964when theBeatles arrived, attacking our American TVs on Ed Sullivan’sSunday night variety show.This had to beone ofthespiritual high noon’s ofthe20th century. No crime was committedin New York Cityduring that onehour. WhenI sawa pictureofRingo’s drum set, taken from behind in Lifemagazine, I knewI’dfinally found my destiny: to play music and follow that “damn beat” wherever it would take me. Thiswas my parents’worst fear. My momwould repeatedly say, “Oh God, Rob.” That would actually becomeher mantra. And like itor not,I would hear that mantra many timesin my life. Mydrummingcareer began onan upside-down tin garbagecan, using paintbrushes for sticks.Soon, Ihad anold woodensnare drum and a cheap Japanese cymbal that got beat beyond recognition.WhenIscored my first real job inthe Malibu’s,I’d progressed to afull set ofoyster blueLudwigdrums. Iseemed to knowhowto play instinctively. Iknewwhere thebeat was and howto get there. Imust havebeen born with rhythm. Mom paid fordrum lessons but only onesufficed, as Icould play everything already. Cool!Sonow Iwas actually making money onweekends, playing fordances after footballgames. And thetimes, they were a changing, as cheerleaders were quicklystarting to noticemusicians overthe jocks. Yes! In 1964,mostbands mainly played instrumentals. With theadvent oftheBritish musical invasion,vocals were becoming very popular, as were costumes. Being raised in Bellingham, we were exposedto such bands as Paul Revere and theRaiders and Seattle’s TheFabulous Wailers, Don andtheGood Times, The Viceroys andTheSonics,to name afew. Wewanted to belike them!Istudied each drummer intensely, learning toimitate somethingfrom theirstyle, as these bands played weekly in our county. So,with loveand fascination forthe Civil War, TheRebels was created. Our fivemothers hemmed us gray woolen uniforms right outof theConfederacy. Withour knee-high vinyl boots and Rebel forage caps from a Seattlecostumeshop,we were equipped formusical warfare and armed with plenty ofnew cover tunes. 10