The Illusion of Rebellion and Adventure

Words on Serge Benhayon

It was a hot summer’s evening when I settled down for another night alone on the beach. Alongside me were the few possessions I owned. I had no pillow so I would use a book. The blanket I used to cover me had seriously outlived its shelf life; having been used all summer without a wash, it was smelly, manky and uncomfortable and no matter how hard I shook it, I could not seem to get all the sand out that had matted its way in.

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