Run
Two sliced pieces of olive Bread from Bread Bar on El Segundo Boulevard. One reddish-green jalapeño from a three pound bag purchased from the 99 cent store on Grand Avenue. Pieces of organic garlic. Olive oil from TJs. Two formed hash browns from Trader Joes. Pegrino-Romano Parmeson cheese. Four Ethiopian scoops of Chemex ground coffee. Boiled Berkey water in a BonaVita electric boiler I bought in Orange County for twenty-five dollars off Craigslist just as the pandemic began.
Filtered Alana’s Ethiopian coffee with a brown Chemex filter. Drank from a hand-crafted two dolphins affixed to a violently abstract ocean surf scene made in Seaside, Florida. The swirling and mixing frozen in a glazed mug. There’s even a thumb rest and wide handle to assist in steering the mug to the proper tilt angle. Ate the breakfast in a dull, purple and navy blue glazed clay bowl made by a Korean woman I’ve never met. She signed it, “Sue Joon 2016″ on the unfinished bottom. The kitchen pottery was left inside a cabinet by one of the roommates who once passed through the revolving Western doors of Apartment 1 in Playa del Rey. The verse I briefly read for breakfast was Zephaniah 3:17 “The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exalt over you with loud singing.”
Phone battery charged at 92 percent before leaving a couple of minutes after 11 am. Queued Josh Garrels’ new album on Band Camp “Peace To All Who Enter Here.” After making sure my four doors were locked I left through the white plastic fence and headed down sloping Manchester Avenue and went left on Pershing Blvd. At this hour the shade covers the east side of the street where two or three RVs park next to a huge apartment building complex. The air is fresh and cool. My American Apparel black jogging pants and black Raised to Life t-shirt were light and comfortable. I hit the silver signal button on Manitoba and crossed over to the sunny side of the street. Houses are decorated with evergreens and tropical plants. The landscaping is beautiful. Looking left while crossing over Waterfront Street I entered the paved trail lined with bushy fragrant sagebrush I picked off some ends. Deeply inhale. The scent is invigorating and not off-putting like plumes of legalized and harvested cannabis.
Way fewer planes take off from the westward runway just south behind the security fence guarding one of the few last large swaths of arid wild lands. Surfridge had been decimated by the eminent domain clause to expand LAX’s operations. Now it’s a Blue Butterfly Sanctuary. Elusive coyotes, rattlesnakes, and other critters roaming the hilly dune as permanent residents.. The paved trail rising along the outskirts of the Blue Butterfly Sanctuary is dotted with green doggy stations. Each post has a small elevated garbage can and green rolls of doggy bags. Trader Joe’s produce bags are still the best.
Sandy ground landscaped with desert plants cover the earth like beautiful sandbox toys. Dog owners keep pulling up the white plastic parameter line intended to keep the growth of the plants safe. People are building and destroying all long the surf ridge. Wind around the corner and just across the street is where John 3:16 is etched into the concrete corner, but it is numerically off. It may have been a child who did it. Continuing down the trail toward Vista Del Mar where cars are constantly parking the opposite way of traffic to gander at the ocean scenery. Downward slope. Decompress.
One time I saw a rookie female cop in an older model LAPD car announcing how tickets will be issued if they didn’t immediately move their vehicles. Engines turned over. Great Basin Fence Lizards layout on the edges of the pathway. They scurry away into the arid plant wonderland with their tails intact. Chalked runner’s encouraging comments appear for runners. Where do your encouragements come from? The epiphany flew into my soul by seeking and searching for the answer to the question I had asked over and over. The significance of the these coastlands is understanding a verse in Psalm 42. Twelve says, “Let them give glory to the Lord, and declare his praise in the coastlands.”
Descending down the sandy embankment with a cracked and sloping salt and pepper asphalt pathway, the thousands of reddish-green finger succulent plants decorate the barrier together. Rust has chewed up the handrails and cement patches display gang slang written with a sharp and sweeping font. The smooth concrete path west of the service road, has sandy sections with patchy green grass, palm trees, and a building with baby blue and white checkered outdoor showers. More bicyclists, runners and some walkers than previously allowed according to the Los Angeles County COVID-19 restrictions can be seen. No longer empty.
The waves’ white wash is soapy bright white now with brilliant blues painted behind it all the way to the Pacific horizon. Footsteps send me to Dockweiler Beach over rising pitches and descending grades to the right and to the left. There are no cement fire pits with red writing set out every hundred feet for the beach-goers now. The RV Park’s parking lot spaces are all filled with plugged in RVs, but there is not a soul in sight around them except for a security guard. Winding up a slope to the Dockweiler Youth Center on a flat run to the hang glider rental space and down a slope around a prison wall like structure for the Scattergood generating station next to the Grand Avenue slope from Main Street in El Segundo.
A desolate stretch of beach. The pathway runs alongside it with a fence affixed with barbed wire running along the top. A guy in his forties rolling by on a bike turned back at me and said, “I like your shirt.” It made me feel good. I wondered when he actually saw it first. Further down past the sea blue lifeguard station with the red Toyota truck parked alongside it there is a stretch of heavy weight rocks piled up along the asphalt runway to protect the Chevron plant from unruly seas. Thick walls with embedded rocks and wave formations adorn the outside with jagged metal teeth lining the top of each quarter inch on the top. Guard the black gold refinements. Everything here is powerful in its own right like the Pacific Ocean kept at its drawn line. I looked for a vertical flat boulder with a smooth flat boulder so I could have a nice view of the crashing waves and sparkling sunlight. LAPD rode by on bikes in groups of four. All wore black face masks.
Crouching down on the big boulder in a squat position I was excited to find what I looked for along the row. Then as I rested my back against the boulder my cellular phone instantaneously slid out of my pocket with my headphones holding it for a second as the weight pulled on my ear canals until the connector was released. The cellular phone fell into the dark cavern of rocks like a fish that escaped the sharp cruelness of a hook. It hit once and then went further down to an unknown location. After a few choice words I cancelled the plans I had to go to Utah on Sunday because I would have to figure out how to get a new cellular phone to replace the one hiding deep within the stacked boulders. As if they could stand up to the Pacific Ocean. Angrily, I watched the waves crash and stretch out for awhile. Then I made sure my apartment key was still in my pocket. My black Crocs and Nike ankle socks slipped off and were put on a section of the gigantic rock near me. I looked around to see who could help. I saw a lifeguard tower and the red Toyota rescue truck below the pronounced outline of the Santa Monica mountain range. I asked God to send someone to help me. Standing up and sitting down several times to keep my legs from falling asleep. The LAPD bike patrol never rode by again.
Uncomfortably moving the smaller rocks nestled between the boulders were like moving fifty pound dumbbells with a few fingers. The smallest rocks I lifted up and put on the boulder was like items from a suspect the police put on the hood of their squad car. Caution: sharp objects. A stick, brittle rocks. My right hand had a bright red cut on just below my index knuckle. The rocks removed layers of skin as my hand bumped into the bigger boulders.. A few other scratches came from oscillating the rocks out of their hiding spots. I removed quite a few. I looked around to see if anyone noticed what I was doing. Not one person. I stood up and looked around at the sunny day.
White cirrus clouds sailed overhead. The sea blue lifeguard tower with the red Toyota rescue truck kept vigilant below the pronounced outline of the Santa Monica mountain range. I crouched down on the other side of the gigantic rock seeing how large the girth really was and how my strength fainted before it as I tried to make it budge out of the way. My thoughts were how the LA County Beach and Harbor guys would send some heavy construction vehicles over to tie ropes around the giant rocks to lift them out of the way while hoping not to crush the phone screen. I couldn’t see down in the dark shadows. So I used my single apartment key as a reflector of the sun to shine the brilliant light down into the dark crevices.
It lit up those areas without any obstructions. I could see the sand layer, but not a phone in site. I tried the other side to use the sun as a flashlight with my apartment key. No sign of the phone. I picked up the last granite looking heavy rock and twisted it to see if I could lift it out. It was too heavy this time unlike another one of similar size and weight. Could the phone have bounced over there to that side opposite of the left side? No I don’t think so. So I looked on the other side again and was slightly confused on where the phone bounced to after it left my pocket. Maybe the lifeguard can help?
As a marker, I left my socks and shoes on the flat rock boulder protecting the Chevron Plant. As I walked toward the Pacific Ocean over the sand, each step got hotter and hotter so I picked up my pace toward the water where it was cooler on the soles of my feet. I looked at the sea blue lifeguard tower with the front of the red Toyota rescue truck facing me. I walked by a fisherman who took notice of me. There was a couple I walked alongside until I passed them. Closer to the rock jetty a guy was doing odd movements with his legs as a workout. A black woman was laying out in her bikini. A white woman was further up the sand propped up with her elbows holding her body up and looking at the scenery with the metallic refinery towers behind her.
Next to where the jetty began, between a few rocks my feet sunk below the sand hitting a rock as I got near the sea blue lifeguard tower number 61. I looked inside and on the sloping run bridge to see if I could find the lifeguard on duty. I said, “Excuse me, I was wondering if you think the LAPD or the factory people could help me retrieve my cellular phone I dropped between the rocks?” The lifeguard replied, “The LAPD will laugh at you. I can give you some tools like wretches, hammers, and those posts over there to help you fish it out.” I skeptically thought like I can do that with that wooden post? He got on his radio and talked to his co-workers. He said, “Hold on.” He looked down the coastline at the slew of beach goers populating the area in the hazy distance of El Porto. Then he said to me I can help you for a little bit. “Can you do me a favor and run to the spot where it’s at?” I said, “It’s just before that beige building there on the left.”
I took off running! These instructions weren’t expected. This is my chance. I was alive and thinking about how he asked me to run and not walk! I took his order and I felt alive. I could run. I could breathe. I breathed out. Optimism building movement. Energy was being used to propel forward like runners on pavement. I didn’t look back.
As I neared the spot I went back up the hot sand and the souls of my feet were on glowing coals of fire. I wondered if my flesh was burning to a third degree. All of a sudden the truck was next to me as I hopped on to some flat rocks to make the scalding pain stop temporarily. Finally, I made my way towards the flat topped boulder marked with my shoes and socks. I couldn’t see it at first so I had to go back into the fiery sand. There it is as I pointed to the black shoes. He pulled up next to the spot and he brought his neon walkie-talkie and pulled the large wooden post with a sign on it out of the truck bed. I was thinking to myself what’s that for? How is it going to work? I told him how the phone slipped out of my left pocket and fell down and I heard it hit a second time so I think it’s down this cavern. I saw his hand with a silver wedding ring on his index finger flat upon the boulder where I once sat down. I thought he’s a married and responsible man. He’s an excellent swimmer and watchman for the El Porto/El Segundo territory.
He looked down there on the left side cavern with his face toward it and said, “Siri? Siri?, Siri?” Wow, I thought really? Is this happening? He is a genius. I said, “Siri?” Copying his lead. No response from Siri. I didn’t even think to call upon technology to help! He put the wooden post down the hole and then looked on the right side of the boulder down in the cavern where I shined my apartment key. He looked at me and asked, “Can you hold my feet?” I replied, “Sure!” It was totally normal. So I grabbed and gripped his ankles with my strongest hold. His head and arms all disappeared down into the cavern. I looked for a second at his big sandy feet. There were no warts like mine. It was something I was ashamed about growing up in high school. The laser treatment sliced my flesh and removed the mountain range of warts on my right toe. The scar is still there.
He shuffled around and then said can you hold me feet again? I said, “Yes!” So I squatted in a firm position and held onto his ankles with a grip mountain climbers would applaud. When he stopped I almost slipped and I let go. He didn’t say anything and his back was toward me. When he turned around he was holding a cellular phone and asked, “Is this your phone?” I enthusiastically replied, “Yes!” I was utterly shocked. We got down to his red Toyota rescue truck and took a photograph together. He went back up to retrieve his neon walkie-talkie. I asked what his name is and he said Derrick. I said, “God bless you Derrick!” I said, “I’m going to leave the rocks now.”
As I climbed the rocks barefoot and got to the side of the asphalt pathway in front of the Chevron plant walls I picked off the raisin paste-like oil tar off my feet. I followed the commands of what Derrick said exactly. During those moments the lifeguard on duty became the Christ figure to me. The black oil tar stuck to my thumb and fingers. Derrick told me I’d have to use tools to get the phone out. I thought about it. I thought about how he told me to run to where the phone was lost. I thought about how he told me to hold onto his feet so he wouldn’t hurt his head or neck. The feet of Jesus had railroad tire spikes driven through both of his feet during his Roman executed crucifixion. My memory flashed back to hold Derrick’s feet and then to the feet of Jesus at the skull of Golgotha. It was powerful and unexpectedly humbling.
As I walked alongside the thick Chevron plant walls I watched Derrick steadily travel on the sand back to his assigned post at the sea blue lifeguard tower. He was a lifeguard and performed a maneuver outside his normal job description, but it was utterly amazing how the Lord used him to help me out of a difficult situation I wouldn’t have been able to handle alone. He was the answer to my personal prayer. When I was asked to hold onto the feet of a friendly lifeguard it showed me how I need to be in the place of worship and humility at the feet of Jesus.
Derrick told me to go…run…so I ran as fast as I could. This reminds me so intimately about John documenting Jesus healing the man born blind, ““Go,” he told him, “wash in the Pool of Siloam” (this word means “Sent”). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.” The resurrected Lord Jesus Christ saw all of this happen from his seat of honor at the right hand of God beaming righteousness and glory. The fact remains how initially I called upon God to help me and not technology. The difficult situation made me “Turn my eyes Upon Jesus” in a way I had never thought would happen as I left my apartment in Playa del Rey, or the Beach of the King! Believe.
Walking beside the fortress like walls topped with steel spear points, concrete shaped like clay before the kiln softened my heart; no longer hardened. One velvet forrest green Nike Dunks in front of the other took me by the Notice No Trespassing posted signs over the flat blacktop worn with foot traffic, salt air, and sun. Wind sends sand everywhere so it’s broomed to the side with the most, the beach side. A wavy curb in constant formation with footsteps, tire tread and sunbathers. No drones are allowed to fly around the smoke stacks. The fence topped with two pronged rust razor wire has privacy inserts to keep their business private.
Soon approaching the El Segundo blue lifeguard building it has a set of metal showers and sinks farther down. They always make me think of prison in public. A couple of lumps on the sink’s ledge inspired me to use it as a Fast Orange with the water to fully remove the raisin paste-like oil stuck on my thumb and fingers. There was no citrus orange smell, but it made the golden hour evening even more special than it already was by seeing the Lord turn worry into worship, “Exalt The Lord Our God.” The lifeguard tower and the red Toyota rescue truck below the pronounced outline of the Santa Monica mountain range has become an altar declaring, “Lord, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations. Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the whole world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.”