Every city has its gates, which need not be of stone. Nor need soldiersbe upon...

Every city has its gates, which need not be of stone. Nor need soldiers
be upon them or watchers before them. At first, when cities were jewels in a
dark and mysterious world, they tended to be round and they had protective
walls. To enter, one had to pass through gates, the reward for which was
shelter from the overwhelming forests and seas, the merciless and taxing
expanse of greens, whites, and blues - wild and free - that stopped at the
city walls.
In time, the ramparts became higher and the gates more massive, until they
simply disappeared and were replaced by barriers, subtler than stone, that
girded every city like a crown and held in its spirit. Some claim that the
barriers do not exist, and disparage them. Although they themselves can
penetrate the new walls with no effort, their spirits {which, also, they
claim do not exist} cannot, and are left like orphans around the periphery.
To enter a city intact it is necessary to pass through one of the new gates.
They are far more difficult to find than their solid predecessors, for they
are tests, mechanisms, devices, and implementations of justice.