Guiding light, wise old sage,
Ages before has walked the path of night,
Has long since turned the page
On rage and fright
To flight.
Guiding light, harbor to all life,
Black to brown to white,
Engages those yet underaged
With hindsight, foresight,
And insight.
Guiding light, seeks no might
Over the finite height of youth.
Each stage of life
Will in good time age
Into the timeless flight of truth.
The young Native American guide stands assuredly, looking down the river as his people have for some 13,000 years. Ironically, he sees with the vision of an old soul, unencumbered with any new tools of the trade. The older colonial officer, new to these shores, holds his telescope, momentarily resting on a rock. His one-minded pursuit is the engine of a new breed of people.
Many an Indian guide led their new European neighbors across the American continent. And while millions of people native to these shores eventually lost their lives, those that survived did so with an ultimate faith in the returned balance and power of all nature’s creation. This, perhaps, has been their “guiding light”, that all peoples, young and old, will ultimately be guided by nature’s ways.
© 2024 · June-Marie