The Back Story: I was was living in Oregon. I met a rather intriguing woman who lived in Washington (state). She was talented, engaging, and intelligent. She was also very suspicious by nature.

It turns out that she and some friends had escaped from a communal-living, mind-controlling, and basically weird cult. They moved, stealthily, a few times - until they were hundreds of miles away from the cult (physically). Philosophically and emotionally they had grown to where they were worlds away - but had to lay low because the cult's head a*hole took it personally when someone checked out. Even worse, my new friends did the books (accounting) and some of the business management for the cult. They knew where the skeletons were kept. Their paranoia was well founded.

In late autumn I visited her for a few days. That visit helped break through her general distrust for humanity. She actually laughed again, after years of repression. And ... well, you'll see...

I had to leave early because one of those legendary Pacific Northwest storms was closing in fast. News reports indicated that I couldn't go south via the direct route because of landslides and flooding. To get to Oregon I had to go through Seattle and then south on the interstate. Getting to Seattle required a ride on one of the Washington State Ferries. The storm, with gale-force winds and a wind chill below zero (F), didn't affect the ferry. If anything, it made the ride almost magical. It certainly was inspiring. That's where the poem begins: on the ferry. Note: I made it home OK.

The Gift That Warmed

Winter's chill gripped the night,
A frigid blast cut to the bone,
Ice crackled underfoot,
Storm loomed o'head.
Yet I felt strangely warm.

Was it warm winter wear?
Wool Watchcap and down parka?
Thermal socks and longjohns?
Heavy sweater and gloves?

Or was it the glow in my heart?
A gift you gave to me.
It wasn't just your meals and your songs,
Your friends and your wine and your body in the night.

It was your way of saying,
Things you've never shared,
In these tumultuous times of your life.
When you gave me your trust.

Labels: cult, northwest, paranoia, poetry, storm, trust