Meeting Swithun: Guardian of the Threshold and the World Within

In the stillness of the inner cave, I walked toward a breathtaking rose quartz pillar and embraced it. It felt like the mighty trunk of the Tree of Life—cool and strong beneath my hands, yet humming with a quiet warmth. I pressed my right ear against the stone and listened. Deep within its heart, I heard the life-force of the earth rising, like sap surging through the veins of a great maple—sweet, slow, and ancient.

I waited there, breathing into the hush of stone and shadow. Then, behind my left shoulder, came the sound of rustling—a whisper like wind in the willows. Drawn by its beauty, I followed the sound until I saw an archway carved into the rock, as if memory itself had shaped it.

Above the arch, a single word shimmered like dew at dawn:

RESURGAM.

I shall rise again.

I stretched out my arms, touching both columns of the arch, and to my right, I heard a gentle voice—soft and kind—calling my name.

And then… he came.

An old man stepped forward, his robe a cascade of silvery grey, soft as moonlight on water. Beneath it, a rough, shaggy garment swung about his knees, as if he had walked between worlds for a thousand years. His eyes—oh, his eyes!—twinkled like dragonfly wings skimming a still pond, blue and bright with ancient knowing.

In his right arm, he cradled a red squirrel, its tail flickering like a living flame. With his left hand, he reached for mine. The moment our palms met, I felt a knowing beyond knowing—connection in its purest essence, older than time and deeper than space.

Swithun.

I knew him before I knew his name: the keeper of the threshold, the whisperer of hidden truths, the guide who teaches that true knowledge is to Know WITH-UN.

Who has met this threshold keeper? Who truly Knows Swithun? The clue lies ever deeper…

The One who Knows with Un.

He spoke no words at first. Only smiled, and led me through the arch into a circle of light. Beneath our feet lay stone paving worn smooth by countless ages. At its center stood a sundial, a sentinel of time, and on its bronze plate rested an egg the color of dawn—a phoenix egg, glowing with the promise of fire.

Swithun turned his eyes to mine and nodded, as if to say: Call the Sun.

I did, though no sound passed my lips. And from the egg, the shell split—not with the brittle crack of endings, but with the music of beginnings. Out burst a blaze of crimson and gold. Feathers like molten rubies unfurled, and a cry rang through the circle—bright as the trumpets of morning:

The Phoenix had risen.

Its wings were fire, its beak a blade of sun. Flames leapt skyward, licking the blue like ribbons of gold. For a heartbeat, I feared they would consume me—but Swithun raised his hand, and the fire gentled into a soft, embered glow, pulsing like a heart at rest.

I wept then. Not from fear, but from awe.

The Phoenix bent low and placed a gift upon my chest: a marble, small as a tear yet heavy as eternity. It sank into my heart and shimmered there like a secret star, liquid with light. And then I understood:

This marble is the egg eternal. Wherever I walk, the Phoenix walks within me. Its cleansing fire will flow through my arms, my hands, my tears. When others ache, they may drink from this flame—if they choose. I do not give; I do not take. I am the Keeper of the Light, the Holder of Time and Space.

And with this gift, the Phoenix whispered:

“Just Be. Be true to yourself.”

I longed to embrace that royal bird of fire. Swithun raised his hand again, softening the flames so they would not scorch me. When I wrapped my arms around the Phoenix, my heart broke open like the egg itself. I sobbed into its feathers, giving thanks for a blessing too vast for words.

“Will I see you again?” I asked.

The answer came like sunlight rippling across water:

The egg waits at the sundial. Call, and I will come.

And so it was done.

Swithun placed the squirrel into my arms. Its fur was warm as a living flame. I held it close, felt the small heartbeat of life within, and then returned it to him, knowing all things return in their time.

Before I turned to leave, Swithun’s voice rose in a melody that seemed older than stone. The song spilled through the silence and settled in my soul:

Deep within your soul lies the voice of inner calm,

Constantly vibrating, to keep you safe from harm.

Deep within your soul lies the voice of inner calm,

Singing, ever singing, to keep you safe from harm.

Listen to the voice within us all,

A song once hidden will emerge and enthrall.

The truth revealed is the hidden call:

ALL IS LOVE and LOVE IS ALL.

And as I crossed the threshold back to waking, I carried the song with me—bright as a flame in a hidden marble, glowing in the secret chamber of my heart.

Commentary: The Threshold, the Guide, and the Fire of Becoming

Every great journey begins at a threshold. Myth calls it the liminal space—the doorway between what was and what will be. Here, the threshold was marked by the arch of RESURGAM, which means I shall rise again. It is the call of the soul to remember its own immortality.

Swithun, the guardian of the threshold, appears as an ancient guide—a figure rooted in both the human and the eternal. His robe of moonlight speaks of wisdom. The shaggy undergarment hints at earth’s rawness, the primal truths beneath refinement. The red squirrel he cradles? Quickness, adaptability, and the storing of hidden treasures for the winter of the soul.

The Phoenix—the bird of fire—has burned and risen in countless myths across cultures. Here, it offers its egg not as an external token, but as a marble placed within the heart. This is the alchemy of renewal, the secret that when we embrace our true essence, we do not fear the flames, for they do not destroy us—they reveal us.

And the whisper, “Just Be”—that is the law of sovereignty. You do not have to strive to deserve your essence. You already hold the egg of eternity. The threshold is not out there; it is inside you.

Reflective Practice: The Egg of Fire

1. Find a quiet space. Place your hands gently on your heart.

2. Close your eyes and imagine the marble glowing in your chest—small as a pearl, yet luminous like a star.

3. Whisper softly:

   “I am the Keeper of the Light. I carry the Phoenix within.”

4. If you feel tension or pain in your body, imagine moving the marble there, letting its fire cleanse and renew.

5. Sit in silence for a few breaths. Ask the Phoenix within:

   
   

   “What must I burn away to rise?”

   
   

   Listen without forcing an answer.

When you are ready, open your eyes slowly. Perhaps write what arose. Perhaps carry only the silence.