Only a twenty-minute ferry ride
from Nanaimo, British Columbia,
across the bay to Gabriola Island
– my place of refuge for two months,
2,000 miles away from my former home.
There, amidst the solace of my retreat,
from the challenges of a wayward life,
I sheltered, during the winter,
while my soul had time to rest,
in safety, solitude, and quietude.
—– —– —– —–
Outside the perimeter of Gabriola,
the borders of the world could not infringe
upon my sense of time and place,
far away from the confusion of my past,
in expectation of a new life on the horizon.
And, the tides upon the beach,
watched with the silent eyes
of a New Age refugee,
rolled quietly upon the sands of time,
like my thoughts, amidst the ebb and flow
of my memories, some real, others not –
yet, unknown to me at the time,
that my personal past had been usurped
by a dark web of uncertainty,
spun by the weaver of sheker (falsity),
whose spell had now been broken.
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