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