Archives

inevitably, satan, centre stage.

once upon a time in a magic land far away there were wise wizards and witches of bright honour and shining virtue who practiced circle magic to procure and maintain the harmony of our lands. their circle had four quarters with a tower or tel at each of the four directions and a priesthood in every tower or tel. and there was in the middle a meadhall where the priesthood (christhood, in q celtic) of the centre (saint, or santa) kept a charitable table for rich and poor. they so  won the trust and gratitude love and high esteem of the people round about that they were given widespread political power. they bestowed schools and universities to raise the people to their own level, and they organised food production and distribution, commerce, trade, the arts and the just and fair management of resources. they recruited their new members from the elite of all nations, and were proud of their ideal of equality for all.

but gods though they were, they were, like us, gods mediating their divinity through the limiting, still somewhat distortive mind and imagination of the mortal human being and they sometimes quarrelled and snitched at each other though they were always ashamed, and they were always sorry after.

but one day a quarrel broke out that was bitterer than any before and it flared up out of control and sparks flew and efforts to pacify it only inflamed it the more. and why did not santa, standing where the diameters cross, why did he not immediately ring the bell for dheoch-acha and they sit down to peace talks? because he was one of the shameful miscreants. that’s why. water wouldn’t douse him, air wouldn’t scatter him, earth wouldn’t smite him, fire couldn’t burn him, nothing could quieten the towering majesty of his wrath.

and who was he quarrelling with? the southern priesthood, the southerner, sasana, satan sa’an sun god. set. seti. radiant god of light and warmth and magic and love.

and the santa cross/christ/priest conquered sasana, sowson, sorcerer, susanna, hassan, set, seti, satan, sun god ra ra ra drove satan out and barred his way with swords. and cursed satan, and called satan evil, and attributed to satan motives of pure evil..

which would have been all right except that he who occupied the centre, the crossed, christ, priest place, had the power to enlist the resources of the whole world, all the armies of all the bods, gods, guards, bards or pathers (aka cathars), and he constrained them to fulfill his vow to destroy satan and drive satanic evil out of the land. because nothing would restrain the wrath of the santa god.

and so spear-heading the driving out of the moorses, moses, well, black people, dull, dubh, du, diw, dieu, jew people, the santa christ replaced the meadhall meadow in the middle with the watery west, such that the world path is now a western one. after that there was no true christ, because the world was now divided against itself. then the west subsumed the north claiming much norse wisdom as ‘western’ philosophy, and claimed the old world cross-doing religion as a western one. now it seeks to westernise the east.

and for the love of humanity, look what is happening: dang me if it ain’t still anathematising, driving out, purging and ravaging satan, in his southern lands, appropriating whole populations in its superstitious rage and stealing its resources in the process.

o ye tower queens and kings, maybe it was a ‘just war’ but i couldn’t put those two words together in that sequence without bunging it in quotes and observing that they don’t go. maybe that noble saint was brought to book and legally punished for his war crimes. and maybe he was provoked by the fiery temperament of the priests of the fire. maybe it was just plain racism. because satan, sudan, sedan, saudi, was a sun-baked land, and its priesthood and its literate elite, its merchants, its brides, its warriors and its knightly suitors were sometimes dark-skinned, dusky, golden, tan, brown, or black as egypt’s knight. moors.  black. moors. didn’t ‘sambo’ once mean ‘summerboy’? wasn’t he our beloved page? did not desdemona love othello? did not blackamoor swoon with love for amaryllis?

you see, on the northern hemisphere of the world map,

  • north, norns, norse, horse, nains etc (but not normans) were in the north towards the pole, where all diminished to nort, naught, nought, not, night
  • in the east were the isis, aisir, asia, erinnya and their priesthoods
  • and in the watery washt west wet woda woden odin houdin voudun cu wet sail co water all the way to aotaroa (water rower) were voudun, woden, speaking at last thank godbodpathcath english so that we can understand him, uasail!
  • and of course satan was the equatorial zone viewed from the north.

from the south, the equatorial zone is northern, so there is no slur on equatorial people who live south of the equator, but them northern southerners – let’s not propogate curses against whole peoples we do not know.

so that might have been all right but they were going at it hammer and tongs and it was only natural that someone would get hurt.

and when the tumult and the shouting died, the captains and the kings departed and lawkes a-mighty there’s roma on the throne hurling execrations at satan and requiring us all to do the same on pain of death….

let’s stop. let’s stop cursing and slandering entities we have never met just because an enraged king was racist long ago.

let no curse or slur from pulpit or pew on book or electronic media ever have power to harm the innocent, the beautiful peoples of our planet.

awen awen awen.

i invite with love and affectionan the northern hemisphere’s sat kindly benign spirits of satan to dance with our southern hemisphere northern spirits of fire, warmth, light and magic,

croning: an article and a ritual

Croning: coming of age in the 21st century. by vyvyan ogma wyverne
Old age is not a slow death unless your body is sick. We’re so accustomed to negative images of ‘crones’ in folk-lore and fantasy, where post-child-bearing, independent females are portrayed as a crooked, arthritic, ugly old scolds, that some people are surprised at the idea of a ‘croning’. Why would anyone want to be called a ‘crone’? Shouldn’t we seek positive images and archetypes and leave the old negative ones behind? We need ideals, but do we find them in archetypes generated in the past? Is that how we should honour our ancestors?

The archetypes preserved in folklore are interactive – do we need their power in our lives? They represent real people who lived in or before the middle ages, or during the renaissance or thereabouts. Our genetic inheritance comes from a population which not only included them, but fore-grounded them in story and song. The genes that determine our natures were hammered on the forges of their zeitgeist, just as we now find ourselves fine-tuning them in our 21st century interpersonal dramas. The crone of the middle ages incubated the spirituality of the crone of today, just as we are now shaping the nature of crones to come. It helps Gaia if we maintain the continuity of such evolutions – it’s a way of helping to repair the web of race memory, making subtle psychic connections between our times, allowing healing as in the repairing of damaged nerves.

Our ancestors had their own rightful place in the nasty past and are now fading from memory, while we live in the enlightened here and now, consciously working towards an ideal future. Shouldn’t we be imagining new role-models based on current experience? In the late 20th century, feminist scholars deeply explored the range of stereotypes generated by our culture, in the mass media, pop culture and in the popular imagination – many of these made use of carl jung’s work on archetypes and the collective unconscious. They found themselves awed at the power of the archetype as the shapers of society, of society’s response to individuals and their expectations of people who fall under their spell.

Some archetypes are distorted, like caricatures. They seem to exert a distortive power over the personality they misrepresent and over social situations involving them. Persistent images of independent old women have come down to us from a time when few people enjoyed long lives, and those who did were skinny, bent and rickety, with voices as croaky as that of the pet raven on their shoulder. Their faces are sometimes depicted as resembling death’s heads, the skull all but visible beneath the skin – and indeed, they seem close to death. It is this image of the crone that people fear.

The focus is not always on her decrepitude. In many folk tales the crone presents the symbolic gifts at rites of passage, and there’s usually nothing said of her other than that she is an old woman with high standing in the palace – at a time when a palace might be anything from a small populous city with a king and queen in residence to a lonely roadside cottage in the woods with a skeleton staff of one. This one is the dominant image in folk memory, and she still fascinates us. We continually create her anew, complete with rickets, toothlessness, croaky voice, distaff in hand and pet raven, but active pagans are more likely to up-grade her in the light of many generations of further evolution to a healthy, motivated, energised elder, rich in experience, a veteran of a lifetime of good living and ready for decades more of useful, dedicated work and enthusiastic participation in life.

Actors justly fear ‘type-casting’. It exerts metaphysical, magical power that can lock them into expected patterns of limited and inappropriate character-acting, stifling their creativity and limiting their opportunities for advance. So powerful are stereo-types, often unrecognised though held in the popular imagination by most people, that the second wave feminists of the 1970s called upon the image-makers of our culture, the educators, mass media, and the general population, to revise our fixed notions about old women, to take a reality check, to close the sizable gap between what old women, for example, really are and what most people think we are, how we are represented in the media and how this affects us. This radical rethink resulted in broad changes to our culture which now offers enhanced life experience for all older people.

As the mass media is now aware, if the general populace regards old women as typically sick, requiring full-time nursing care, headed for Alzheimer’s and kept alive by up to 20 different kinds of designer drugs, they can magically swing it that way. Advertising exploits this power for profit. We can wield it for the good of all. If we foreground the increasing sanity surrounding aging in current medical research, and focus on the many fit healthy role-models we see all around us, we can adjust our image towards the reality and thus connect more effectively with the beauty and blessing of old age, the value of the contribution of the aged to our culture and the special gifts and talents and sweet rewards that come with the wisdom of years. Then we can begin to shift them towards our own consciously crafted ideals. Thus we get magical control of our own evolution. Learning to use this awesome evolutionary force, this ‘force that through the green fuse drives the flower’ consciously, we avoid being distorted into creating dysfunctional social situations that plague life today.

We can learn from the archetypes, recognising their flaws in us and filtering them out, selectively inheriting their goodness, tweaking their spiritual ‘software’ creatively, participating in the crafting of the archetypes themselves. They aid us in discovering, cultivating and co-creating our own identities. The extent to which we resemble the archetype in question determines how much our spirit resonates with hers – or his in the case of a male. We can consciously avoid resembling an undesirable norm, the wicked witch who explodes in a jealous rage for example, while adopting features of the desired types, such as the chivalrous youth who marries the princess.

Through the evolving crone archetype women maintain continuum between ourselves and the old women of the past, receiving from them the power of their enchantment, and giving to them the blessing of their descendants. But be warned: when we conjure the crone from within our own beings, we might find ourselves with a friendly raven on our shoulder after all!

crow and crone

crone with crow

The Ritual
In preparation: crown (wrapped) and gifts are placed on central altar or other convenient surface in full view of all.

Rituallist: I proclaim the Rite of the The Spiral of Life
for the croning of vyvyan ogma wyverne,
companion of the order of bards, ovates and druids
in the cooringal groveof.
I give vyvyan greetings.
Saturn has twice returned to where it
was at the time of your birth.
You have turned fifty eight.
You have been a maiden,
and you have been a matron,
and now you are ready to become a crone.

Birch Spirit as Birth Guardian: As a spirit unborn you called together
father and mother, bodies and souls,
ancestors, past lives, dreamings, pathways:
you grew brand new from a single cell.
On a sunny day in spring,
you entered through the womb of life
into the arms of family love,
you entered the universe of human experience,
of perception and understanding,
you entered the succession of seasons,
of the circles and spirals of time and event
and you became a human child,
growing stronger every day.

East: As a bird in the wood,
around and around you flew,
you wove wakes in the shining air,
in the radiant peace of the east.
From the family to the greater community
you learned the established practices of our culture,
you took up the symbols of holiness and power,
you drank the nectar, spoke the ancient vows,
submitted to the curses of life, blessed the blessings
and learned to love the law,
and so became a maiden, fit for life.

North: As a flame in the fire
you went to work with a will
embraced the fuel, did the magical work of transformation
in the joyful peace of the North.
In the great crescendo of life
of culture and community, of work and of play,
as part of the vital fabric of earthly reality
there you matured, suffered, triumphed,
learned much, taught much, erred and sinned
and yet still loved goodness and just laws.

West: As a fish in the flood, questing,
you navigate instinctively.
you dream the mystic visions of the waters
in the deep inner peace of the west.
Now let the harvest be abundant,
as it ripens from the seeds and flowers
of your childhood and youth.
Since quiet questing, patient industry
and the simple prayer
of a steady mind with a good conscience
are the rich rewards of a life lived truthfully
and humbly in search of health and wisdom.

South: As a clod of clay, flesh of the earth,
you will come to know and cherish
the solid logic in the forms and forces of reality
in the still, silent peace of the South.
Now as your material body ages,
you will have learnt the hard lessons,
won the difficult harvests, stored the gains
and gathered the bountiful rewards
of living upon the material planet
as a material being. You will age,
you will approach death itself as we all must.
Yet you will not fear this death in its time,
knowing that it is the doorway to new lives.

Yew Spirit – the Death Guardian: From the earth came your body,
from the unknown came your soul,
and finally they will return,
replete with each other’s imprint,
your soul to the unknown, your body to the earth,
the memory of you to the mythos
of the ancestors, or to oblivion
in a world that keeps on turning
through the cycle of the seasons
and the spinning spirals of the day.

Rituallist: As a maiden you learned to be useful.
As a matron you worked in the world.
As the crone you will share your wisdom
bringing understanding to the world
and foresight to the young.
(picks up crown)
This croning is the crowning of your life.
Perhaps the words are related –
older women once wore crowns
though they were not queens.
(placing crown on w’s head)
Yet, within the circle of this crown
you are queen of your own dominions,
as every woman is when she is croned.
You are queen of your own soul
queen of your own mind
queen of your own experience.
autonomous, empowered and free.

wyverne: I am grateful to the guardians of birth
who helped me into this world.
I remember with affection and something more
the children with whom I played
and the teachers who gave me my lessons
while I was a growing girl.
I am grateful to them all.
I am also grateful
to the friends of my adolescence
and those who prepared me for adult life.
My family, friends and teachers
both human and other,
animals and angels
and the beings of all worlds.
And my co-workers, comrades-at-arms
my fellow humans, I am grateful
to have been so blessed and so sustained
through hard times and good
in so many ways by so many.
(praying)
Gaia, you have been good to me
Given me more than you’re able to give others.
I go forward with a right good will
in trust and affection with you
to bring help to the hurt,
provisions to the needy
healing to the sick
wisdom to the bewildered
and comfort to the weary
in the best way I can till I can do no more.

To you who have spoken the ritual words for me,
and to you have listened, I am especially grateful,
because you are here to revive that consciousness
of magic, and the ritual response that sanctifies
the stages of my life as they ought to be sanctified,
without which life is less.

For this reason I ask each of you to accept this gift.
(goes round circle then returns to centre)

I came into this circle today a matron
a maturing woman with a lot of memories
and I’ll leave it a crone, autonomous and free.

All: (return to places ready to resume ceremony)

labyrinth

wyeuro labyrinth

the labyrinth capturing the dragon energy

during an assembly of druids a few years ago, moonfox suggested that we build a labyrinth.   i was surprised.  i had wanted to build one ever since reading about them in touchstone a few months earlier.  i’d kept coming across references to labyrinths without even looking for them and my appetite was truly whetted.  i’d looked about for suitable sites and had narrowed it down to two, and had a fairly clear idea of what its size, shape and appearance would be.  someday i’ll research labyrinths and see if i can design one, i promised myself, but i’d never got around to it.  so moonfox’s idea hit all the right buttons. i had intended to propose the idea to the assembled obodies but it was late in the weekend and there were other things going on, and nearly everyone had left before i had a chance.

but moonfox, who was staying an extra day, returned to the idea after everyone had gone, and having done all the necessary research, confidently took charge. i knew for sure it had all the right magic driving it when without any prompting he went straight to one of my two possible sites and suggested it would be ideal.  it was flat, roundish, and strewn with white stones with few bushes or tussocks.  i had almost rejected it because there was a small hole not quite in the middle of it with a mound of dirt beside it remaining from an attempt i had made years before to plant a tree, but i’d had to abandon it because i’d hit bedrock only six inches below the surface, and i’d never returned to it to fill it in.  now dry, shrivelled, black moss lined the hole waiting for winter rains to turn its fronds vivid green again, and spear grass matted the little mound beside it.  i suggested filling it in, but moonfox seemed delighted with it. in fact he was a-buzz with enthusiasm and totally possessed by the spirit of the thing, so i let him work his own magic, and away he went.

first he drew a ten metre diameter outer ring, the first of seven concentric rings about a foot apart, and within them a small spiral into what had naturally and logically now become the ‘centre’ – the hole i had thought unsightly, now a pleasingly off-centre focal point of the maze.  a large weathered belichened old limestone rock immediately found its way – i honestly can’t remember how! – to the top of the small mound of earth beside the hole, making an ideal residence for the spirit of the labyrinth, and the spiral led with a smoothly flowing sweep right into the little mossy hollow as naturally as a snake to her hole or the rabbit to his burrow.  it was already beautiful.

next we worked out an entry point, in the south, and then marked out the rings and spiral with small stones. moonfox and i both felt a powerful feng shui current running into the circle from the west north west to the south west, about a metre and a half wide with a strong drag to it.  moonfox placed a complex double turn in the outer circuit at the place where it entered, and at once it seemed to staunch the flow, redirecting its powerful energies into the labyrinth itself, where it became part of the labyrinth’s own energy system, it’s life force.  without any foreknowledge on the part of either of its builders, the labyrinth had located itself right on a vital and inexhaustible supply of nourishment and power, which in its raw undirected form had been wreaking energetic havoc in one corner of the wyeuro gardens, where the trees were embattled and nothing would grow among them. it had found and captured its own dragon!

other turns were dictated by tussocks of grass growing in the pathways – these we respected, building them in.  we added others to balance the whole, and we began to fill in the outline with larger stones, about as big as an orange on average, some smaller, some larger.

by then the labyrinth was alive and raring to go.  we performed an impromptu ritual to invoke the deva of labyrinths, the goddess, and the powers of earth, and to give thanks for the great gift of the labyrinth and all its blessings, and then we each took a turn to walk it.  already it was powerful experience.  at each turn there was a new feeling, whole new attitudes, new ways of thinking; turn again and there’s a new way of feeling time flow; turn again, and feel the shapes of thoughts in a whole new way.  peace in one section, laughter in another, rapid thought further in, vitality and healing all the way.  in places your mind is filled with animal thoughts, elsewhere, you are hyper-aware of the subtle scents of the earth and grasses and the flow of animal bodies along their habitual tracks.

when you spiral into the centre it all speeds up and you go almost spinning into the mossy hollow to confront the rock in which the spirit dwells.  it’s an intensely personal connection.

moonfox had to leave, so i kept filling the lines with buckets and wheelbarrows full of stones. when stormwolf arrived after lugnasadh i’d completed only three of the outer rings.  over the next couple of days we filled in another three.  stormwolf was the third person to walk the labyrinth. now that it was gaining coherence with successive walkings and the filling out of the rings, we were both noticing significant psychical effects.  stormwolf saw me in the maze as a small child, and i saw shackles being removed from her feet and swallowed up by the hollow in which she stood facing the spirit rock.

it’s quietly alive.  kangaroos with their joeys are drawn to it.  one of my cats goes straight to the centre and sits there, communing with the rock.  i’m often drawn there at sunset, to walk the maze in the most meditative time of the day.

it is a gift, not just to wyeuro, but to all beings.  i am thankful to be a part of it.

sorry ritual for calling home the dispossessed.

A few years ago, when Wilderness was campaigning vigorously for recognition of the needs of endangered species, I was studying literature at university, and we looked at Aboriginal poetry and song.  Profoundly striking were the corroborree songs for the wild animals that were their food.  The scene was set, the place described in a few vivid images, and instantly you were carried to the scene, the vital habitat of the animal. Then the magic started:

There are paw-prints on the sand, the smell of the animal running, running are the animals, the grasslands are replete with their running…” Didj, dance, chant and the clapping of digging sticks… “…warm is their fur, strong their instincts, they forage for seeds, abundant is their food…”

What was happening in this poem was enchantment, the casting of a spell, a spell of fecundity, abundance and health.  The land and the animals, the dreaming, long conditioned by such singing, lies open to it, waiting for it, ready always to respond.  The Aborigines have always urged us to understand that the land needs this.  It feeds upon it.  It is a primary function of humanity to ‘talk up the land’.

So has it just stopped now that few aborigines are able to keep doing it now?  Christian missionaries forbade it, and strict punishments were dealt to anyone caught sneaking off and doing it secretly.  Does that mean the land listens in vain?

Aboriginal tribal elders from the western desert tell us that we have to ‘talk up the land’, retrieve that vitalising enchantment, and actively will the spirit animals to come back and reinvest in their species on earth. Some of them have gone, and their animals seem doomed to die out, but they can be called back through ritual magic and their species saved from extinction. The aborigines, still culture-shocked and spiritually devastated, need our help to do this. This is Wyeuro’s best effort. (Wyeuro is our goat-farm.)

The circle is cast and consecrated, peace to the quarters and the ceremony is opened in the usual, OZ-OBODic way

CORROBOREE

All play on digging sticks harmoniously humming for a few moments to attune. If there is a didjeridu, so much the better, but it must be live or recorded especially for this ritual, as recordings made for other purposes may not be appropriate.

(Note: N, V and J are two druids and a witch. Because the witch was a guest we had a ritual of welcoming and attunement first.)

V.: We have come together for ritual and corroboree, for the calling home of the native mammals which have left or are leaving this area or are finding it hard to stay.

N.: We ask for the blessing and help of the Aborigine people and spirits whose land this once was, who are still here, our neighbours and friends in the worlds invisible to us, to perform this ceremony, part Celtic ritual, part corroboree, for the healing of our lands, for the building of bridges between our worlds, and for the calling back of the animals that have left or are leaving the mallee.

J.: We acknowledge the authority of the Crow. We acknowledge that we are in land sacred to the Goanna Dreaming, guardian of the law, and we honour the authority of the Goanna Spirit Man. For the love and respect and reverence we feel, we call upon the Moonah tree Spirit Woman, wise elder and kindly guide and guardian, to bless and guide us in this ceremony of healing.

ALL:  (Invocation: sung as a round 3X, with sticks)

Moonah, Moonah, Moonah, Moonah,

We call to you, we call to you, we call to you, we call to you

Call you to our sacred circle, call you to our sacred circle.

N and J:  Continue playing on digging sticks while V dances Moonah in and takes her to her sitting place in the circle.

N and J (when she is sitting down):  Welcome, Moonah, welcome!

V returns to her place.

(Brief meditation of attunement)

*******************

N.: We are now going to call the koala home to the river.

ALL : (with digging sticks)

Koala, Koala, Koala, Koala,

We call to you, we call to you, we call to you, we call to you

Call you to our sacred circle, call you to our sacred circle.

V & N: (play on sticks while J dances, bringing Koala to sitting place)

V & N: (when Koala is sitting) Welcome, Koala, welcome!

J. returns to her place: The koala was once very widespread, but ecological shock, relentless hunting for fur, and disease have brought them too close for comfort to the brink of extinction. Now they are returning to reserves and protected wilderness,  responding to our pleas and our children’s pleas for them to return. Their health and abundance on our planet is inextricably linked to the health and vitality of all koala dreaming people world wide of all races, and all koala dreaming activities as well.

ALL: (play on sticks and sing in chorus, ending with chant)

Sad we are, sad we are, sad we are, Koala,

Hear us now from your place in the stars,

Hear us calling you, hear us pleading,

Please don’t leave us, sad we are!

Please come back we are sorry we are sorry,

Please come back to the river banks,

Please come back O koala woman!

Please come back O koala man!

See the sheep leaving, see the land recovering

Food is plentiful here for you

Safety too in the returning woodlands

Come back, Koala, come back do!

We will give you power and freedom

Power for your dreaming too,

We will give you light and life force

Come back Koala, come back do!

(chant) Come back come back come back come back

Come back come back come back do!

(brief meditation)

*******************

N.:  We are now going to call the Numbat home to the mallee.

ALL : (with digging sticks)

Numbat, Numbat, Numbat, Numbat

We call to you, we call to you, we call to you, we call to you

Call you to our sacred circle, call you to our sacred circle.

V & J: (play on sticks while N. dances, bringing Numbat to sitting place)

V & J: (when Koala is sitting)  Welcome, Numbat, welcome!

N. returns to her place.

N.: Striped anteaters or Numbats are diurnal and feed exclusively on termites. They shelter in hollow logs and nest in leaf litter. They grow up to 28cm long, with the females a bit smaller than the males. 200 years ago, they were widespread and numerous across Australia. Now they’re found only in a small area of forest in southwestern Western Australia where they are endangered. Their health and abundance on our planet is inextricably linked to the health and vitality of all numbat dreaming people of all races worldwide, and all numbat dreaming activities as well.

ALL: (play on sticks and sing in chorus, ending with chant)

Sad we are, sad we are, sad we are, Numbat,

Hear us now from your place in the stars,

Hear us calling you, hear us pleading,

Please don’t leave us, sad we are!

Please come back we are sorry we are sorry,

Please come back to the mallee lands,

Please come back O Numbat woman!

Please come back O Numbat man!

See the sheep leaving, see the land recovering

Food is plentiful here for you

Safety too in the returning undergrowth

Come back, Numbat, come back do!

We will give you power and freedom

Power for your dreaming too,

We will give you light and life force

Come back Numbat, come back do!

(chant) Come back come back come back come back

Come back come back come back do!

(brief meditation)

*******************

N.:  We are now going to call the Woylie home to the mallee.

ALL : (with digging sticks)

Woylie, Woylie, Woylie, Woylie,

We call to you, we call to you, we call to you, we call to you

Call you to our sacred circle, call you to our sacred circle.

N & J: (play on sticks while V. dances, bringing Woylie to sitting place)

N & J: (when W is sitting)  Welcome, Woylie, welcome!

V. returns to her place: The woylie was an endangered species until recently, but is beginning to show signs of recovery. It is the tiniest and rarest kangaroo, less than 1 inch long. They forage at night for underground fungi, bulbs, seeds, tubers, insects and resin. Woylies spend the day in an elaborate domed nest made of grass or bark which they carry to the nest in the curled tip of the tail. Their health and abundance on our planet is vitally linked to the health and vitality of all numbat dreaming people of all races worldwide, and all numbat dreaming activities as well.

ALL: (play on sticks and sing in chorus, ending with chant)

Sad we are, sad we are, sad we are, Woylie,

Hear us now from your place in the stars,

Hear us calling you, hear us pleading,

Please don’t leave us, sad we are!

Please come back we are sorry we are sorry,

Please come back to the mallee lands,

Please come back O Woylie woman!

Please come back O Woylie man!

See the sheep leaving, see the land recovering

Food is plentiful here for you

Safety too in the returning undergrowth

Come back, Woylie, come back do!

We will give you power and freedom

Power for your dreaming too,

We will give you light and life force

Come back, Woylie, come back do!

(chant) Come back come back come back come back

Come back come back come back do!

(brief meditation)

*******************

N.:  We give thanks to the Koala, to the Numbat, and to the Woylie, for coming and listening to us, and to the Aborigine spirit people and ghosts for their blessings and help with inspiration, insight and magic. Thanks also to our OBOD guides and helpers, and all participants. May the blessing and empowering love of this ritual stay with you to help and heal you and your Dreaming.

PAUSE

J.: We give thanks and respectfulness to the kindly Moonah, for her blessings and authority to do this ritual magic for the healing of the land, the building of bridges of friendship and cooperation between the worlds, and the calling home of the animals, and to the Crow and the Goanna for their kindly guidance and goodwill. May the blessing and empowering love of this ritual stay with you to help and heal you and your Dreaming.

PAUSE

V.: May the power and spirit of this coroboree be carried out into the worlds; may it reach to the divine spirits of the animals themselves, their devas, their dreamings, and may its intentions be understood and empowered for the good of all beings.  May the blessing and empowering love of this ritual stay with us all to help and heal us in relation to our Dreaming.

All: 3  awens.

Close Ceremony in the normal way.