we are here
rowing in gently near to the shore
and even now you can see
the peaks, mountains and the valleys
and the giant pines and willow
and the embracing peace, the pervasive quiet...
you see a lone figure there, enjoying a walk;
there is a little village there of huts
whose humble folk will serve you in all ways
though you will never meet them...
the guardians in the longhouse
there past the peaks
will see to all your needs
and you shall not want anything in creature comforts...
you shall be on land shortly and you will be escorted to the longhouse
and the guardians there will see to your walks
and to ensure the villagers do not meet you...
the guardians will speak of these things
and arrange these things...
yes, I know of that matter...and I can speak of it...
they will provide you with paper and ink and brushes...
but all you produce will be stored in the library there in the longhouse...
you may peruse, but you may not bring the works away...
even your works...all you create is no longer yours...
I hear you are not to leave the longhouse compounds unattended...
the guardians will speak to you of these matters...
there will be solitude
there will be respect
they will look to your every need
but as you know
none of your kind brought here
ever returns...
so then I wish you days of gentleness
and peace and quiet to your last days here...
we are come very near
and between the rocks there we shall stop and you shall disembark...