THEY WOULD NOT KNOW

 

On May 30, 2020, the city of La Mesa was overrun by rioters who attacked local businesses, burned down buildings and attempted to invade the police station there. Thankfully, the line was held. On the anniversary of this occasion, I thought of writing some prose, however since I was not there, all I could think of was "I would not know." That sounds like a good enough theme to me. #ThankYouBlue

 

They would not know.

They would not know what really happened on May 30, 2020, in La Mesa, California.

The day the police station was met with a growing crowd of upset citizens … and others bringing fire and rage and more.

The day two banks burned to the ground, and a nearby strip-mall was thrashed and trashed.

The day that officers had to take a stand, not just for a building, but for law and order itself … and for lives.   

They would not know. Not really.

“They” being the public, the multitude of citizens, the onlookers of TV news, social media and the like.

They would not know.

Of the countless incidents throughout the years, the months, the days, the hours.

Of wounded children and abused elders.

Of the car wrecks and gun fights and gangs.

Of the numerous offenders up to no good, lying without a flinch. 

Of the mayhem met so often on what would be most people’s worst day.

They would not know this could be a day shared, every single day … by the men and women on the beat.

They would not know. They would not be there.

Unless they were involved, they wouldn’t even care.

They would not know. Not on a regular basis.

Of the calls about lost boys and girls, trafficked in the night.  

Of the rescues.

Of the sprint dashes towards the danger.

Of the homeless helped, of the property protected, of the businesses bolstered.

Of the guardianship. 

Of the support that happens every silent moment there exits the presence of the badge, the blue, the force.

We would not know.

We would not know about so much … not the deeper service, not the mayhem, not what officers went through on May 30, 2020 in La Mesa, California.

And we need to know … just that.

Mother, Oh Mother

Written for mothers and motherhood everywhere - an eternal presence to always be cherished.

We say "respect the father and the mother"

We say "women and children first"

But times have shown it torn asunder

Bruises, cuts, fists and hurts

Pushed beneath the iron clad armor

Pushed so far down, we cannot see

The loss of man's protective honor

The loss of the feminine identity

 

A forgotten essence, a bypassed beauty

A ripped-up dress, a torn shirt

Where has gone the splendor and the duty?

Mother, oh mother, you have been hurt

 

The divine mother lives merely within

Every woman, female and girl

Beyond the fighting and the sin

Lies the mother of the world

She cries here when the path is forgotten

She cries here when there is no food to be eaten

She cries here when the love is forsaken

She cries here when the children are beaten

 

A forgotten essence, a bypassed beauty

A ripped-up dress, a torn shirt

Where has gone the glory and the duty?

Mother, oh mother, you have been hurt

 

But die she does not, she will carry on

With hopes as strong as love can hold

With arms that know the eternity bond

Of a tale that will forever be told

 

A tale of resurgence and remembrance

A tale that tells of a comeback story

One that embraces a fierce independence

Of peace, of life, of the greatest glory

It's here – in silence – she prays and awaits

For a coast that is clear and a road that is safe

The destiny is known by the muses and the fates

The return of the feminine – we shall not wait

 

She’s here – on the path that is never forgotten

She’s here to ensure there’s enough food to be eaten

She’s here for all who have been forsaken

She here to care for the bruised and the beaten

 

Mother, oh Mother, you have been hurt

Though we say we respect you in many ways

The honorable will remember you foremost and first

And fight to protect you for the rest of our days

Your return assured, your presence celebrated

We construct a fortress to stop those who fear it

Embracing the transformation of the hating and hated

Leaving only your magnificent and brilliant spirit

The Mother and Child Reunion

 

(A real-life story of one of the most uplifting experiences of my entire life.) 

Since the experience illuminated my mind with that which transcends this material world, no success of the material world could match it.

The experience brings to mind a couple of quotes from the sacred text “A Course In Miracles:”

1. If you achieve the faintest glimmering of what love means today, you have advanced in distance without measure and in time beyond the count of years to your release.
2. The holiest place on earth is where an ancient hatred has become a present love.

Now, there was not “ancient hatred” with my mom, but there was definitely some upset, disappointment and anger that kept me from loving and even seeing my mother clearly.

The back story – growing up, I felt neglected, unimportant. No abuse really. Just a sense that my thoughts and emotions were meaningless. Not able to shake that belief in my little kid brain, I grew up distant and distrusting.  I was so distant I would go into my bedroom and close the door behind me every day, as if to say “leave me alone; you will never understand. You probably don’t love me anyway.” And I did this without even thinking that my mother would notice let alone care.

Fast forward – a decade to a time when I’m in my late 20s. I am living in San Diego, about 90 miles south from where I grew up.

My church was having a special service for those couples that wished to take part in a “Recommitment Ceremony.” Though this may have been intended for married couples to recommit their vows to each other, there were a few of us who took it out of the box. I thought that I had been distant with my mother over the past few years, so I would invite her to this service where we could recommit to a loving parent-child relationship.

I didn’t know what magic would come of this.

The ceremony was pretty simple at first. All of us sitting in chairs watching on as our minister gave a brief talk at the podium. She spoke of the power of commitment and dedication to something higher. My mom and I observed as we sat next to each other. And then the minister asked us all to face our partners, or spouses or relatives with whom we wanted to recommit at a deeper level. The minister had us turn our chairs towards each other.

That’s all it took.

All that was needed was that initial movement, that micro motion, to face towards each other.  As we re-positioned our chairs to face head-on, the tears came.

My mother instantly started crying. And she said, “If you ever thought that we didn’t love you, that would break my heart.”

I recall saying, with tears streaming down my cheeks, “I didn’t know.”

In hindsight, I guess that’s how it is for all misunderstandings with loved ones, when we go into a bleak place, making up in our minds what is true for others, when the truth can actually be something wonderful, beautiful and beyond measure.

I walked away from that re-commitment ceremony so light, so free, so unburdened, and with a newfound view of my mother, and a past that was dimmed previously with pain.

Such a joy. Such a journey without distance. Such a victory.

One more quote from the Course:

“Let us together, then, be glad to give some time to God today, and understand there is no better use for time than this.”

THAT OLD HOUSE ON CAMBAY LANE

Written for all that exists within a childhood home - the memories, the experiences, the love.  Picture above of the kids of Cambay who made front lawns a place to play. Picture below the kids of Cambay today.

 

The old home

Where we came from

The front lawn

Leaves, snow, red-light, green-light, hide and seek

Dear Lord, don’t let me wake from this sleep

 

The old home

All the folks are there

For the moment, they are still out in the back

Around the side, in the den, in their favorite chair

Memories that - locked away - I will always keep

Don’t let me wake, dear Lord, from this sleep

 

The old home

Voices call us from down the hall,

Call us for dinner; call us out of hiding

Call us back to a family that once and forever cared

The kind of care that the truth could never really dare

But these memories - like old molasses - drip, ooze and seep 

Dear Lord, don’t let me wake from this sleep

 

Don’t wake me to a world where voices stop their call

When careless eyes don’t show any feeling at all

Where family members pass to old age and beyond

Where magic elves in the front yard lose their magic wand

Where hide-and-seek leaves us lost in a grownup confusion

Where we’re left with despair, denial and delusion

 

Let me sleep for now – with the folks in the old home of yesterday

That’s the haven where I wish to– in childlike eyes - forever stay

 

The old home

Where we came from

The front lawn

Leaves, snow, red-light, green-light, hide and seek

Dear Lord, don't let me wake from this sleep

IT'S GREAT TO BE ALIVE

Written for my dad - born February 28, 1928 and passed March 15, 2021 - far left, who put up with this motley crew and loved them in his own certain way, with memories that could fill a piece of prose, found below.

And so the sentiments are clear; the affirmation set

Knowing what we put out there is what we will ultimately get

Recalling glimmers of visuals out of the murky haze

Holding close to heart all of our previous nights and days

Dreams of the past and future, memories of a life

“The universe is perfect – it’s great to be alive”

Coming into focus, names of yore from so far back

George Coulton, George Hutchings, Norm Zauchin, Jerry Kanack

Ricky Smith, Dick Sullivan, John Tyson, Marc Reymont

Friends and family – what more could anyone really want?

 

History: born in Detroit, father James and mother Mary

Sisters Amy and Barbara, later came the military

A reluctant student of economics, still you passed the test

Then came the unlikely insurance – it even took you out west

But first came destiny, God’s good grace, fortune and luck

All from a stapler in a drawer … it was stuck

A vacation, the same weekend, taken together

A marriage – July 31, 1954 – that would last forever

1959 Redondo, 1962 Cambay Lane – following the road traveled less

Mary Lynn, Jimmy, Kathy, Emily, Monique, Emmett, Grace and Tess

Christmas mornings – waking up to half-eaten cookies on the hearth

Lawrence Welk, Hee Haw, Mary Tyler Moore, Carol Burnett and Bob Newhart

Slurpees, Jack in the Box balloons, McDonalds, Cocos, Carrows

Skinny Buffet, Apple Appeal, Jon’s, Tijuana Tacos, Sambos

Japanese Dear Park, Santa’s Village, Mt. Wilson, Jungleland

Sea World, Knott’s Berry Farm, Magic Mountain, Wild Animal Park, Disneyland

 

All the places, every summer, in and out of traffic, where we’ve been

Familiar stories told over and over ... and over again

Meditation in the 70s, circle star one thousand and three … relax

Farmers Insurance, claims and fraud, each and every photostat

Coming home with boxes, angry at the ringing phone while “on call”

Concerned over sniper fire at the front door and protecting us all

JFK, Coast to Coast, Art Bell and mystic Dollee

Doing the picks, bags of scratch offs, the winning lottery

Prairie Home Companion, Celtic Thunder, cassette tapes, ON TV

Bowling balls, bags, leagues, tournaments and trophies

The carwash donuts, Black Panther fireworks, the “Family Pack”

Ragamuffin, Cosworth, Nicky, Rags, Fidrych, and Lucy the cat 

Dan Meade over for football, the Miracle on Manchester game

The Rams always losing to the Vikings in bad weather – so lame

 

Long drives in the car, everyone asleep but me in the back seat

The habit you had of cleaning your ears with a car key

Cooking chicken noodle soup all the way to the end

Super Bowl VII, in 1967 and 1973 the trips to Michigan

Since I was sick, you took me to a store to get sherbet and some pop

Once got me a Dodger t-shirt after collecting those Pepsi soda tops

The amazing homerun by Kirk Gibson – man, what a shock

A call from Bete, those late night metaphysical talks

Each memory – a gift from a surreal world, so sublime

Tears when Mary Lynn left home that very first time

Yes visions of the past, present and future, memories of a life

Remembering always: the universe is perfect … it’s great to be alive

SENDING AN ANGEL TO MY DAD

 

Written for my father, James Arthur Ellis ... February 28, 1928 - March 15, 2021. Safe and peaceful travels.

 

What can you do when there’s nothing you can do?

Where can you be when it seems you can’t come through?

What can be accomplished when you’re supposed to let it go?

What is there to know when there is no way to know?

What can be done when you give it up to the glory on high?

What can you trust so that you and family can get by?

When the love is bigger than any actions that can be taken?

When mortal time and space makes existence seem forsaken

What is there for me to do, when feeling downcast and sad?

Perhaps simply … sending an angel to my dad

 

Yesterday in hospital bed, he laid in wait

Vitals were good, but other signs not so great

The morning came, and the text gave harsh news

Now there was something I knew I had to do

Get on the wet and rainy road, as fast I could

Crystal clear, taking action, hoping for the good

As I drove, I still questioned what I could truly bring

Like the drummer boy, I didn’t think I had anything

But focused on my mission, I brought what I had

Perhaps just a prayer and … sending an angel to my dad

 

Sending an angel 

Standing tall as we must

Summoning the faith

Surrounding ourselves in trust

 

Arriving at the hospital, it was a surreal scene

Something you see on TV or movie screen

Nurses, hospital room, hospital bed

My father prone … and my sister gently touching his head

Memories, concerns and tears arrive in times of life and death

With my eyes closed, I barley noticed his last breath

What can one do in moments when there is nothing left to do?

When the immensity of love is all that can come through

Perhaps just be, stay calm, and remain in the presence

Rekindling what exists in the still eternal essence

Peace would come in knowing there would be nothing left to add

Just this poem and … sending an angel to my dad

Sending an angel to my dad

 

The Lives You Do Not Know

 I wrote this for my wife for Valentines Day. She provides yoga online to people she has never met. How unconditional is that giving? Lovely. 

 

As they zoom on in with only a name
You’re simply glad that they came
You do not make their acquaintance – after or before
Yet, you lead them through the proverbial door
You guide them to their balanced health
Their physical well-being, their body’s wealth
Allowing their stress to simply and gently melt
Into a serenity and a peace gently felt
And since they may come and they may go
These are the lives you do not know

But these are the lives you will touch with love
When daily existence comes to push and shove
Your light and your care go across airwaves
The aches and the pains, your guidance saves
It’s not about notoriety, riches or monetary gain
It’s nothing you need to really explain
It’s about the growth you have experienced over time
It’s about the gifts you’ve received, conscious and sublime
It’s about not needing to know the receiver or sender
It’s about the proverbial door we all need to enter

These are the lives you do not know
The ones you reach in hopes they’ll grow
These are the lives you want to improve
So bodies relax, stretch, expand and move
From sukhasana to savasana, you reveal the way
With printouts of itinerary for each of the days
With microphone hookup so they can hear what you say
From namaste to namaste to namaste
Meeting your own divinity in effortless flow
Which may be one of the lives you do not know

So as they zoom on in with a name and blank screen
Spirit will know what’s happening behind the scenes
Spirit will know what this all really means
And in time we’ll know, through what we have seen
Gifts are given and received – all at once, by all who share
By those who go for their goals … those who dare
By those who dream a dream including everyone
Knowing God has a plan and God’s will shall be done
Into the mystery, into the void you now willingly go
All for the sake of the lives you do not know
The lives you do not know

James Anthony Ellis is a writer found at www.LegacyProductions.org.