The war games at Camp Pendleton have been very active this week, driving the dog a little nuts pretty much all day.  There are loud noises that sound like what I imagine mortar fire to be and bombs in general.  There are helicopters circling occasionally.  They are way out there in the hills of Camp Pendleton but it has sounded very close and it is relentless, all day until even 11 p.m. at night.  Yesterday I honestly looked out the window and thought it was thunder.

Since living here in San Clemente, I have not been particularly bothered by the war games.  It is somehow grounding.  When I first felt a bit of annoyance about it, it very quickly occurred to me that in many parts of the world, these are not games.  There are men and women and children and babies who live with this noise, these threats to life and limb.  It is not an exercise for them. It does not end at midnight. It is a horrible fact of their circumstances.  So experiencing this on a daily basis, even though I am decidedly safe, somehow connects me to them.  I think about them.  I pray for them.  I hold them in my spiritual arms.

A few weeks back we were at a local wine and cheese bar with a woman who grew up here and who recently moved back because she missed it so terribly.  We got to talking about the war games, and I understood when she said she didn’t mind the war games noise.  She explained it better than I ever could.

She said, “We live here in paradise, it would be easy to forget the real world.” San Clemente is so beautiful, it is hard to describe.  The weather is what I consider to be perfect – not pure blue sky and sunshine every day, but something a little different every day, differences that only the ocean can provide.  So some days there is blue sky and warm, some days there is warm and overcast, some days it is a little cool with blue skies.  No matter, I am always refreshed and comfortable here. Going about one’s daily business, the ocean often comes into full view.  It is impossible to take it for granted, it is that spectacular.

She said. “The sounds of the war games keeps us in the real world.”  Whereas someone in a more remote enclave of beautiful southern California might begin to think that is the real world, we have a regular reminder that there is a world out there that is not perfect, that is the very opposite of stunningly beautiful every day,  is terrifying and bloody every day.

She said, “That is why, I think,  people in San Clemente are so down to earth and at peace with each other.”  There are wealthy people here to be sure, and there are beach bums, and indeed everyone seems to have a sense of peace with each other.  She believes, and I tend to agree with her, that the war games keep up aware of our humanity, of how blessed we are to all be living here, not just in San Clemente, but in a country where bombs falling from the sky is not a daily occurrence.  It keeps what is important in this life front and center for us.  It keeps us grateful and mindful and hopeful that someday there will not only be no more war games, but no more war.

Tonight, though, the mindfulness is especially keen.  I wonder if our war games are heating up because of Syria.   I know that the war games over the hill are being “fought” by young men, some still in their teens.  I wonder if they are afraid.  I wonder if they wish they could go home to their mothers. I wonder if they cry under the stars.  I wonder if they will go and not return.

So I am grateful that as the noise puts me to sleep, that I will keep them close to my heart and in my prayers – not just them, but all who are wrapped up in this crazy game we call life on earth that inherently encompasses birth and death, love and hate, war and peace.