Pain That Stings Deep
Back then
He searched for
God by daring waves
To toss him from his board
And crash him against the cliffs.
Into rocky foam alone in the North Shore surf
Of Laniākea, Immense Heaven of
salvation.
Back then he
thought his nightmares
Came because
he was a sinner
And not from
the jolts of war.
He had heard that some spiritual people
Held prayer vigils at the Sacred Falls.
In his Sunday best beach shorts
And half-buttoned shirt
He started down the road—
His surfboard left with a friend.
An afternoon rain fell as he walked
Through warm mud; not hard to do
For a Vietnam vet, ‘til he came to a circle of souls
Whose peace embraced him below
The roar of water seeking the ocean.
The roar of water that rushed down the cliffs
The roar that drowned out the pain of shrapnel
And memories of death embedded within his skin.
Back before then lingered a trauma
From deep in a jungle in Nam
Alone with the gun he refused to use
He met one from the other side.
Deep in a jungle in Nam; both frozen in fear,
Both paused to accept their end
When the other suddenly turned
And disappeared into the labyrinth of vines
He told me of being face to face
With the enemy, yet neither went for a gun
Face to face with the enemy who was someone’s son.
He told me that story many times,
I am still unsure if I heard it right,
Of him facing death in day’s dark night
When Light took over his soul on that day
With spiritual people at Sacred Falls
And told him that the thief in the night
Had emerged in the Day.
The thief in the night
Emerged in the Day, to wash away all fears,
To wipe away all tears, including his.
Surfboard, guitar, and daily meds curbed the pain.
He wrote songs of the Báb, Bahá’u’lláh, and Mulla Husayn.
With a sash of Gift of Prayers to share with anyone he
might face:
Comrade souls searching for their Sacred Falls and
redeeming grace,
In his Sunday best beach shorts and half-buttoned shirt
He searched for wounded souls along paths of mud
Comrades in pain with lives blurred by hurt
On the shores of Laniākea, Immense Heaven of the Best
Beloved
I still wonder if I heard him right
About facing a Viet Cong foe in a dark jungle in Nam
Each deciding to leave their guns unused.
Rather than allow the guilt of blood to abuse their
souls.
There was a power in his songs that I liked,
If only he could have sung in tune.
I asked him for a notated copy of a song he wrote
Thinking I could find someone who could sing.
I still search for one to sing his song and strum along.
Remembering Charles Casimer Jess Jr.
U.S. Marine Corps Vietnam War veteran awarded
three Purple Hearts
and member of the Bahá’í Faith,
passed away on May 27,
2015, 69 years old.
-
C. S. Cholas
Honolulu, Feb 2006
