THE GUARDIAN OF THE NORTHERN GATE

This poem was inspired by the author’s attendance at the recent Conference of the North in Whitehorse, entitled: “Encircling Light, Expectant Silence.”
by Ron MacFarlane

They came ...

This rag-tag band of gypsy-eyed and dry-mouthed seekers of soul,
     Hope-thirsting for northern gold –
Not for the hardened sunlight locked in quartzite veins within the earth,
     But for the golden effulgence that bridges the Great Divide between Worlds.

From the Four Facings they came ...

Sore-bruised from the fierce march of city-ization,
     And bent-weary from the weight of world wisdom.

I know these long-travellers from ancient times ...

When oceans of ice flowed down from the Axis;
     When mighty Aztlan sank deep beneath the dark waters
I provided them green haven, these carriers of outer fire,
     And I survived them on the meat of my beasts.

Urged on by the Iron Spirit of Our Age, they have returned ...

The one who leads them new is familiar to me:
     He sounds from the shining heart of Shamballa;
Sadly, few recognize his spirit
     When he present moves amongst them.

They speak of “crossing over” and of “the guardian” ...

This is not strange to me, for I am Beringia,
     The Guardian of the Northern Gate;
I serve Borealis, the Great Spirit of the North;
     In times past, I bridged the old lands of the East and the new lands of the West.

In times yet unborn ...

I will spirit-ferry the old and the new rounds
     That come before the Great Wrath;
In those bright and terrible days,
     Will I see again these walkers-on-the-earth?

Will they carry anew the inner fire and the inner gold?
Will they then find in my tundra-land of outer diamond,
     The Philosopher’s Stone within themselves?

Will they come again ...?