Spirit from Nectan's Glen by Russell Hibbs

During a time that once was,
is now gone forever,
and will come again soon.
Is a garden of extraordinary beauty,
alive with primal songs of source and the living earth.

In leaf wood groves,
her grass harp rings.
Springs are sacred,
enlivening webs of spirit voice,
to sing in river,
sigh in reed,
high on the eagles feathered wing.

A time of plenty, vitality.
salmon and serpent water.
Cockles that speak to the stomach of oceans vast wealth,
and whales that sing of the cold stars.

Endless forests, exude,
etheric healing, oxygen.
Grandfather trees loom wisdom,
chieftain trees,
twist skyward and grow knotted with knowledge and memory.

Oak, ash, yew, pine , thorn, myrtle, may.
Home to wildfolk,
allies, shining ones.
Keepers of the mysteries,
together cloak this garden in a magical mantle.

Great mountains shoot plumes of ozone,
high into the atmosphere.
The earth breathes in exaltation and approval,
brimming with the awesome bliss of existence.
Ah i remember it well,
too well to be forgotten.

And if now i press my nose into the damp perfumed earth,
or squeeze between tangled tree roots,
or listen to the conversation of leaves,
or a brook, ripple and bubble over stone.

Or sit awhile on a mossy rock just to tick back the clock.
I can still feel the dreaming,
the once and future now.
Encoded with remembrance,
patiently awaiting us still.

As the mill wheel seems to grind this poor old world, toward,
the earth.
Spiralling cypher in corn,
pattern symmetry,
chaos harmony.
Humming in stone and bee.
Remembering the wild place within.

She will touch us with her blossom,
she will heal us with her seed,
i hope she can forgive us.

• Ayurveda
• Spoken Word
• bardic
• devotional
• shamanic
• transcendental
• Byron Bay