soul journey

Photo by Enric Cruz López from Pexels

The water recedes,

from the stone and pebble beach,

back into the strait.

On Gabriola Island, I lived for several months, in a few locations, the most charming, sheltered in a small structure, with a bunk bed, and wood stove, three thousand miles away from Philadelphia. I felt secure, and as isolated as Thoreau at Walden, so far from everything that I had known in my life. A new chapter began on that island, as my life unfolded in an unexpected way.

The wings of the Shechinah, next took me to find shelter in Sedona, Arizona, where I lay my head down on the red rocks of the desert. Initially sleeping at first in the early days, in my car in Oak Creek Canyon, a tent on Schnebly Hill, and only my street clothes and a leather jacket, with my back up against a brick wall, while my knees were pulled up towards my chest all night for two weeks, as the cool November moon cast its glow upon my place of refuge, hidden amongst the shadows of a church building.

From the States to Canada and back again, only to be redirected, to a city on the edge of the Colorado plateau; miles from home, where familiarity had faded into oblivion. Now, a pilgrim on the earth, like Abraham, who knew that his true home was only with G-d alone. Wherever I may be called eventually to roam next, perhaps, even being uprooted again from this place near the San Francisco Peaks, I will heed the call, going in faith to where I am called.

All Aboard


All Aboard

I watched pensively for the right moment to take a photo –

the gateway to all trains, so much more profound than it seems.

When their train arrives at its designated gate,

passengers, lined up near the kiosk, in the Great Hall,

march single file, behind an Amtrak employee,

carrying a numbered placard on a pole, raised high like an ensign.

The procession, in all stateliness, speaks of a grand affair,

as if they are walking towards a greater destination.


I am patiently waiting for train #30 at 6:40 p.m.,

watching the time on my electronic device,

to make sure I can start moving closer to the place,

where I know the line will form for my train.

I was unable to get a seat on one of the

long wooden benches, closer to the kiosk,

where the official time, and news briefs

move across the digital screen.

Growing anxious for some unknown reason,

I get up to check the time on the kiosk –

panic, immediately sets in, for I had forgotten

to set my own digital clock ahead by one hour,

upon arriving in Chicago Union Station.

Too late, my intended procession already left;

and, the gate was closed. Destiny awaits.

Floating Images

Pastel fluffy clouds,

as I drive westward in flight;

eagle captures sight.

If painted by an Ukiyoe artist,

the sky would appear to be closer,

to my recollection, than any words

that I may have to offer.

As if lifted upon eagle’s wings,

spring breeze soars through open windows.

My car slows down upon arrival;

the San Franciso Peaks tower majestically,

over this blessed day, replete with snowcaps.

Never before, have I had this sense of freedom; having left everything behind me, the new horizon seems endless. I digress, for this is but a moment in time, captured by the pen; yet, the actuality lives on. Having received a perpetual blessing, it seemed at the time; now, I realize that while memories like this never seem to fade, time continues to take its toll on my life. Still, nearby the peaks, sheltering in place, daily blessings are renewed like the cycle of the sunset and sunrise.