There’s a place of ancient myth
in the north of New Zealand
where spirits of the departed
take their final leave from
our land of the living and
plunge into the breakers
where Tasman meets Pacific,
forming whirlpools and whitewash
to wish the travellers well on
their way to the Three Kings
and lands we dare not know.
A single tree, old as the sea,
stands guard on the rocky point,
its roots forming stairs for
the descending dead as
they head for one more swim.
It has never flowered,
watching somberly as salty
winds blow across the shore,
leaving no room for life,
save that ancient pohutukawa,
sprung from the rock itself.
You can feel the Maori ancestors
in this leaping-off place of spirits,
keeping careful watch over the
clashing seas which guard
the gateway to another world,
just glimpsed in the dancing spray
of waves born in different oceans,
come to meet their end here
and guide the lost souls back
to their final resting place
deep beneath the rolling waters.
Cosmic Heroism 