For a moment I existed within the presence and warmth of God – as though I had been safely tucked back in to the womb of life. The warm breeze washed over me on the freeway, stuck in traffic from San Diego to Los Angeles with the top down.
There were no worries, no causes for alarm, and nothing whatever to stop me from dreaming. I tried to look away, much like when I dreamt deep and hard during any day; waking to the real world that surrounds us all, perhaps leaving us wanting for one more second with our eyes closed.
I attempted to turn from the coastal portrait to my left when it became overwhelming, but my eyes were drawn to it, as though my future, past, and present were held within its gentle grasp…
When I saw the canyon coming, my heart sank slightly and my mind began to race; eyes catching different points of past interest…Tonner Canyon tucked Diamond Bar away in a nice little package and was where many a midnight race or deal went down due to the many concealed nooks and crannies along its road.
The city of Diamond Bar was nice enough, heavy with trees and high end homes, but it held something that not everyone carried with them; for me it held a past I barely understood at times. Memories came and went through the mind like shadows without an object with which to be cast.
I was left only to scratch my head.
As I pulled off the 57 freeway, I had to stop at a light, which sits adjacent to the gas station we used regularly for liquor purchasing, as under aged drinkers and where we chronically and unapologetically stole cigarettes and other small items while the others distracted the clerks.
I shook my head and drove up Diamond Bar Blvd heading north when the light turned green and as I rounded the corner, the feeling of returning to the scene of the crime flooded my system. Not the crimes I was charged with finally, but the other ones; the ones I cannot even count any longer.
The store names have all changed now; bought and sold through the years and I have no idea how many times.
I made my way to the high school that I almost graduated from; Diamond Bar High sat atop Pathfinder Road or Drive, and it overlooked the freeway and a stadium for its football team that was dug into the bowl at the base of a large hill.
I remembered the Friday night games when I would look up into the stands from the field and see full stadium seats; the rush of adrenaline, the butterflies in the stomach, and the feeling that until that first hit came you were going to explode…
The memories flooded me as I pulled the Mustang into a teacher’s parking stall for a brief attempt at some photos. I remembered however, that I was also given a trespassing notice upon expulsion that at the time did not expire. I decided not to tempt fate, as my golf game later involved two police officers, one of which worked the area covering the high school.
Instead I took one picture of the sign on the front lawn, identifying it as Diamond Bar High School and left it at that. Not to mention I did not feel right about wandering around a high school with camera in tow taking random photographs while there were students milling about.
It may have been nice to bump into an old coach or two and slap them in their ear holes for the constant slapping they did to us, but the high road will suffice as I lay down tonight because chances are that would not have gone overly well.
It was no time for a showdown and honestly, once the thought entered my mind it passed quickly enough and I was on my way for a top down drive through the old haunts.
When I hit Diamond Bar Blvd and Clear Creek Canyon Drive the images from the infamous night twenty years ago came rushing through my brain like a mountain river. It was directly up the road and off on a side pathway…
I saw the trucks driving up the hill towards the four or five of us, as we sat drinking and the rush of people quickly advancing at us, then the blood, and finally me coming too at the local fire station being checked for a concussion.
The rumors of the murder continued long after I was gone apparently.
It was a heavy trip to remember, but by the grace of God I have had a lot of time to process those days and let it go to Him whatever needs to be for me in its regard.
Gathering my thoughts at the stop light the cars raced by honking and hollering at me for not moving immediately when the light turned green, I smiled at the passerby’s and pulled off slowly.
I understood why people stayed in the area, the weather was perfect nearly all of the time, but for some reason there was something Californians needed that Canada could teach them…patience and some manners.
Driving on the freeway in traffic is like watching the rat race crash and bang right before your eyes in a vivid, living metaphor; everybody trying to go faster than the other people because the prize only comes to those who cause others to be late or not get there at all.
It is ridiculous and absurd to me; I laughed constantly as I drove the freeways because it really makes no sense to my brain – the how’s and whys of it, I understand, but the actual performance just doesn’t fit in to my thinking.
There is nothing worth the speed with which people try and move when everything around them says slow down; and when there is no traffic, the freeway becomes an autobahn where the speed limit is not even a suggestion so much as a long passed concept that no one bought in to.
I thought ten miles an hour over the speed limit would suffice until grandma in the BMW raced up my back side shaking her fists at me for going far too slowly. I nearly wet myself laughing when she passed me giving the stink eye and a finger in my direction.
The country’s economy is falling apart and still the individuals struggle individually to regain whatever is crumbling; we all know that it is going to take a collective effort by a collective hand to restore any semblance of balance to the system…once it fully eats itself.
However, it was a beautiful day; the sun shining brightly, sky clear and blue, and I was heading to play golf with two of my oldest friends.
I had no real complaints about things.
I had seen Jeff last year in Palm Springs, but had not seen Victor for twenty years, since before my expulsion and subsequent illegal deportation. I could barely remember Victor’s face it had been so long, but when Jeff and I saw him walking towards the driving range we both knew it was him.
When we shook hands and hugged it was like the three of us were taken back in a time capsule to the 12th grade; it did not hurt that Victor had the mind of a computer and could recall some of the most obscure references from our days together growing up.
It baffled both Jeff and I, but brought up so many good memories for me that had been buried deep beneath the rubble of the hard ones, I appreciated every one. The three of us laughed so much my head ached by the days end and we all golfed like three one armed men with no hips, which only caused more laughter.
That would have been a perfect note to end the holiday with, but such was not to be. I was fortunate to have still more blessings provided to me.
I had been connected through a mutual friend to a lady I may not have ever had any contact with otherwise; God works the miracles, I try to follow the path as it gets laid out in front of me.
She was a splendid tour guide, full of wisdom and not only a great message, but a true strength and faith through her experiences. We were able to laugh nearly the entire time we were driving around together and visiting different areas of mutual interest.
I won’t say too much beyond expressing my deep gratitude for her kindness and willingness to take a relative stranger around Los Angeles… and for being a complete chicken on Wednesday night, giving me full permission to cluck every time I think of her.
We went to the same high school, but more than likely we said only two words to one another the entire time; we hung around different circles and lived different, albeit hauntingly similar lives.
Thank you Jeff, Victor, and Christine for sharing your time with me and helping me to remember the lighter side of my youth because for the longest time it somehow escaped me.
Thank you God for putting these wonderful people in my life.
So now I sit in a hotel room in Jean, Nevada. It is dark because I had an author’s nap; i.e. I slept for over three hours and was disoriented for another hour and a half after that. The day is gone, and I am one step closer to returning to Calgary and my quiet life.
Although the quiet is relatively close to being turned over due to a necessary risk upcoming in my career path. I prayed and prayed and heard the whispers and watched for the signs coming from others and the silence and it is approaching, I can feel it. Like the dawn which will precipitate my departure from the warmer climate; it is exciting and somewhat ominous. I accept that for what it is and know without question that God will always be present.
This trip has been amazing.
The time has been well spent in almost every direction; it is the first time in a long while I felt as though there were no wasted moments, even in the three plus hour naps. Eventually refreshed, I return to one of those things I love at the core of me.
The machine.
The written word, which hums from my fingertips like electricity through power lines, gives me a sense of accomplishment, wholeness, connection to God and his purpose for me. It is much like facing men and women, walking with them as they recover or being present to help God take the burden from survivors and freely give whatever strength someone like me could give to another human being.
The drive this afternoon from L.A. to Jean was quiet, the mind rested like a newborn baby on its first full night’s sleep. The quiet was deafening in moments and I was forced to laugh out loud at drivers being absurd, talk to the desert for being so miraculous and expansive, and make strange noises to my reflection in the mirror for someone to talk too.
I drove down a side road for a few miles knowing that with every rotation of the tires, I came closer to the source. Knowing that the desert only grew expansive, the deeper I went… until I found myself staring into absolution, nothingness full of life and death, full of wonder.
I rested on a rock and knew that the universe would right itself; I hoped that we as people will find a way and figure out that the rat race is bullshit and we will see that unity is the only way to recover. We will know life everlasting through our connection to one another. We will know instinctively that the way out is through helping and serving one another, not ourselves.
We will be able to reap the rewards of service despite our selfishness in moments until it slips away until it becomes a thing of the past…
Perhaps one day, future generations will ask, “What was selfishness?”
And then I stood and stretched, thanking God for the opportunity to be there and to be here in general… I thanked Him for my parents who so generously give their love and made it possible for me to fly down. And I thanked God for Tash, who made everything else possible and worked tirelessly on my itinerary and little things at every stop along the way.
And to all of the friends, who kept me company and gave me smiles every time we chatted and I thought of them back home.
By the grace of God we go.
Thank you,
David Wayne Lewry
There were no worries, no causes for alarm, and nothing whatever to stop me from dreaming. I tried to look away, much like when I dreamt deep and hard during any day; waking to the real world that surrounds us all, perhaps leaving us wanting for one more second with our eyes closed.
I attempted to turn from the coastal portrait to my left when it became overwhelming, but my eyes were drawn to it, as though my future, past, and present were held within its gentle grasp…
When I saw the canyon coming, my heart sank slightly and my mind began to race; eyes catching different points of past interest…Tonner Canyon tucked Diamond Bar away in a nice little package and was where many a midnight race or deal went down due to the many concealed nooks and crannies along its road.
The city of Diamond Bar was nice enough, heavy with trees and high end homes, but it held something that not everyone carried with them; for me it held a past I barely understood at times. Memories came and went through the mind like shadows without an object with which to be cast.
I was left only to scratch my head.
As I pulled off the 57 freeway, I had to stop at a light, which sits adjacent to the gas station we used regularly for liquor purchasing, as under aged drinkers and where we chronically and unapologetically stole cigarettes and other small items while the others distracted the clerks.
I shook my head and drove up Diamond Bar Blvd heading north when the light turned green and as I rounded the corner, the feeling of returning to the scene of the crime flooded my system. Not the crimes I was charged with finally, but the other ones; the ones I cannot even count any longer.
The store names have all changed now; bought and sold through the years and I have no idea how many times.
I made my way to the high school that I almost graduated from; Diamond Bar High sat atop Pathfinder Road or Drive, and it overlooked the freeway and a stadium for its football team that was dug into the bowl at the base of a large hill.
I remembered the Friday night games when I would look up into the stands from the field and see full stadium seats; the rush of adrenaline, the butterflies in the stomach, and the feeling that until that first hit came you were going to explode…
The memories flooded me as I pulled the Mustang into a teacher’s parking stall for a brief attempt at some photos. I remembered however, that I was also given a trespassing notice upon expulsion that at the time did not expire. I decided not to tempt fate, as my golf game later involved two police officers, one of which worked the area covering the high school.
Instead I took one picture of the sign on the front lawn, identifying it as Diamond Bar High School and left it at that. Not to mention I did not feel right about wandering around a high school with camera in tow taking random photographs while there were students milling about.
It may have been nice to bump into an old coach or two and slap them in their ear holes for the constant slapping they did to us, but the high road will suffice as I lay down tonight because chances are that would not have gone overly well.
It was no time for a showdown and honestly, once the thought entered my mind it passed quickly enough and I was on my way for a top down drive through the old haunts.
When I hit Diamond Bar Blvd and Clear Creek Canyon Drive the images from the infamous night twenty years ago came rushing through my brain like a mountain river. It was directly up the road and off on a side pathway…
I saw the trucks driving up the hill towards the four or five of us, as we sat drinking and the rush of people quickly advancing at us, then the blood, and finally me coming too at the local fire station being checked for a concussion.
The rumors of the murder continued long after I was gone apparently.
It was a heavy trip to remember, but by the grace of God I have had a lot of time to process those days and let it go to Him whatever needs to be for me in its regard.
Gathering my thoughts at the stop light the cars raced by honking and hollering at me for not moving immediately when the light turned green, I smiled at the passerby’s and pulled off slowly.
I understood why people stayed in the area, the weather was perfect nearly all of the time, but for some reason there was something Californians needed that Canada could teach them…patience and some manners.
Driving on the freeway in traffic is like watching the rat race crash and bang right before your eyes in a vivid, living metaphor; everybody trying to go faster than the other people because the prize only comes to those who cause others to be late or not get there at all.
It is ridiculous and absurd to me; I laughed constantly as I drove the freeways because it really makes no sense to my brain – the how’s and whys of it, I understand, but the actual performance just doesn’t fit in to my thinking.
There is nothing worth the speed with which people try and move when everything around them says slow down; and when there is no traffic, the freeway becomes an autobahn where the speed limit is not even a suggestion so much as a long passed concept that no one bought in to.
I thought ten miles an hour over the speed limit would suffice until grandma in the BMW raced up my back side shaking her fists at me for going far too slowly. I nearly wet myself laughing when she passed me giving the stink eye and a finger in my direction.
The country’s economy is falling apart and still the individuals struggle individually to regain whatever is crumbling; we all know that it is going to take a collective effort by a collective hand to restore any semblance of balance to the system…once it fully eats itself.
However, it was a beautiful day; the sun shining brightly, sky clear and blue, and I was heading to play golf with two of my oldest friends.
I had no real complaints about things.
I had seen Jeff last year in Palm Springs, but had not seen Victor for twenty years, since before my expulsion and subsequent illegal deportation. I could barely remember Victor’s face it had been so long, but when Jeff and I saw him walking towards the driving range we both knew it was him.
When we shook hands and hugged it was like the three of us were taken back in a time capsule to the 12th grade; it did not hurt that Victor had the mind of a computer and could recall some of the most obscure references from our days together growing up.
It baffled both Jeff and I, but brought up so many good memories for me that had been buried deep beneath the rubble of the hard ones, I appreciated every one. The three of us laughed so much my head ached by the days end and we all golfed like three one armed men with no hips, which only caused more laughter.
That would have been a perfect note to end the holiday with, but such was not to be. I was fortunate to have still more blessings provided to me.
I had been connected through a mutual friend to a lady I may not have ever had any contact with otherwise; God works the miracles, I try to follow the path as it gets laid out in front of me.
She was a splendid tour guide, full of wisdom and not only a great message, but a true strength and faith through her experiences. We were able to laugh nearly the entire time we were driving around together and visiting different areas of mutual interest.
I won’t say too much beyond expressing my deep gratitude for her kindness and willingness to take a relative stranger around Los Angeles… and for being a complete chicken on Wednesday night, giving me full permission to cluck every time I think of her.
We went to the same high school, but more than likely we said only two words to one another the entire time; we hung around different circles and lived different, albeit hauntingly similar lives.
Thank you Jeff, Victor, and Christine for sharing your time with me and helping me to remember the lighter side of my youth because for the longest time it somehow escaped me.
Thank you God for putting these wonderful people in my life.
So now I sit in a hotel room in Jean, Nevada. It is dark because I had an author’s nap; i.e. I slept for over three hours and was disoriented for another hour and a half after that. The day is gone, and I am one step closer to returning to Calgary and my quiet life.
Although the quiet is relatively close to being turned over due to a necessary risk upcoming in my career path. I prayed and prayed and heard the whispers and watched for the signs coming from others and the silence and it is approaching, I can feel it. Like the dawn which will precipitate my departure from the warmer climate; it is exciting and somewhat ominous. I accept that for what it is and know without question that God will always be present.
This trip has been amazing.
The time has been well spent in almost every direction; it is the first time in a long while I felt as though there were no wasted moments, even in the three plus hour naps. Eventually refreshed, I return to one of those things I love at the core of me.
The machine.
The written word, which hums from my fingertips like electricity through power lines, gives me a sense of accomplishment, wholeness, connection to God and his purpose for me. It is much like facing men and women, walking with them as they recover or being present to help God take the burden from survivors and freely give whatever strength someone like me could give to another human being.
The drive this afternoon from L.A. to Jean was quiet, the mind rested like a newborn baby on its first full night’s sleep. The quiet was deafening in moments and I was forced to laugh out loud at drivers being absurd, talk to the desert for being so miraculous and expansive, and make strange noises to my reflection in the mirror for someone to talk too.
I drove down a side road for a few miles knowing that with every rotation of the tires, I came closer to the source. Knowing that the desert only grew expansive, the deeper I went… until I found myself staring into absolution, nothingness full of life and death, full of wonder.
I rested on a rock and knew that the universe would right itself; I hoped that we as people will find a way and figure out that the rat race is bullshit and we will see that unity is the only way to recover. We will know life everlasting through our connection to one another. We will know instinctively that the way out is through helping and serving one another, not ourselves.
We will be able to reap the rewards of service despite our selfishness in moments until it slips away until it becomes a thing of the past…
Perhaps one day, future generations will ask, “What was selfishness?”
And then I stood and stretched, thanking God for the opportunity to be there and to be here in general… I thanked Him for my parents who so generously give their love and made it possible for me to fly down. And I thanked God for Tash, who made everything else possible and worked tirelessly on my itinerary and little things at every stop along the way.
And to all of the friends, who kept me company and gave me smiles every time we chatted and I thought of them back home.
By the grace of God we go.
Thank you,
David Wayne Lewry