Today I will Be.

Now it is Time to Heal

Dedicated to a Wattpad Poet “stridermarcusjones” )

Now,

We can appreciate the truth,

The nature of country, its identity,

Of older than old and always been,

A conglomerate stone— of different tongues,

of different tribes, with different codes.

This has always been the fabric

of this wide southern land.

Now,

Spirits and deep magic combined,

Together with religions of all kinds,

we reflect this multifaceted nature of ourselves,

deep within our unconscious minds and dreams.

 We become as mirrors, shifting and refracting

reflecting this dream state, of a cubic landscape,

of shared drenched scenes, there upon screens.

More ancient than the oldest man made home.

Now,

Time dimensions spilt between dreaming and reality,

all woven into the fabric of the spirit world.

 It beckons us to travel there, to visit the ancient ones.

Those, of  the red desert sands, or within the sandstone cliffs,

And  hiding in the forests deep, of wet browns and greens;

 all wish us to come and sit for a while.

Sitting by the fire within their paradise.

But unfortunately ,our contemporary minds,

 Find this world as half formed dreams, and not really there.

Too occupied with our digital weaves and machines.

Now,

Those ancient ones are aroused by the clap stick beat,

And didgeridoo calls, as the dancing feet raise up the dust

of scared ochre, smoke ceremonies, with lemon myrtle, and fire ash.

All creating the healing of our  troubled spirits, within.

This healing balance found, has reawakened the once lost.

The Ancient souls, those spirits that once only dwelt

Within tree, water, sand and rock, are released,

 To recreate and strengthen the ancient ways of this land.

Now,

 The didgeridoo will play with the Asian drum, 

Or with the Peruvian wooden pipe, to being a new life,

To sing along, or dance with flute, and harp.

With the whale song, that is heard above,

and deep within the waves of oceans, southern- blue,

We hear this more than a military brass band,

Or the plastic songs of commercial beats , for they fade in the spells,

That those ancient ones have weaved.

Now,

The violin and the natural wood winds, the old pan pipes,

 lyre of the rocks, the guitar, and boursouki too: all shiny and new,

but reflecting ancient times and all played together

On the stage, all light drenched is broadcasted to our screens

And replayed in our ears— all magic it seems.

For the spell is woven deep within our  inner being

So we can rejoice in music of this ancient Earth.

Now,

 We can rejoice and share the rhythms of the beat

of these patched worked plains.

With each section connected by the common thread of love

We all share for this land.

Healing, with each note heard ; vibrating away the sorrow and pain

 Calling us to pick up our brother that falls,  and “come dance with us”

Now

 There is the olive and the paper bark, the wattle and the rose,

The marble floors and the sandstone rainbow walls,

The desert red sand and the grey ribbon roads.

The artificial swimming parks, and the natural rock pools,

The dams and the billabongs, yes they all belong as we all do;

All totally understood by us all.

Now

No more weeping over what has been lost

Feel the strength of the beat to save what you can.

Differences there are between us is a must,

This land knows and understands.

Just as the cavernous tall buildings and the cliff side caves,

Also, the kangaroo and emu plains, the endless wheat fields too,

Just as the lemon myrtle leaves, and lavender oil, all understood

As part of it all.

Now

The eucalypt and tea tree gives relief as does,

Garlic and menthol. Just with,

Blackberry and lillypilly turned into a spoon conserves.

Cane sugar juice and wild sweet ants

Are the opposite treats; but still just as sweet.

The onion and water reeds, flavour our stews.

As do ginger, honey and soya sauce just to name a few.

Now

Old knowledge given freely all over the Earth.

With scared fire rituals heralding rebirth.