A holy woman, black as night, black as the ace of spades,

Looks around at the land and the people sitting around,

And the moon is in the sky, and there’s turtles in the sea,

And the sunlight dries the rain, and the earth is a mother with plenty,

And the elders commune with the spirits and the tribal lore is kept.

Yet still the woman wonders, and yet still she is confused,

for she dreams dreams of ships and shooting sticks and massacres and abuse

she dreams dreams of children locked away, yet she sees them running free

and although people are covering their yam holes and live sustainably,

She dreams trees are cut down and holes are dug deep in the mothers belly.

She sees a musician playing away quite contentedly and says to him “Things are good, this place, this way, although I am still sad. I know how all things come to pass. I know this time won’t last”.

The musician says that the songs were learnt were passed along and as long as we sing them they shall never die. As I learnt the songs from my father before me, my son shall learn the songs from me. This is how the song is kept.

She went to the story teller. She said “Things are good, this place, this way, although I am still sad. I know how all things come to pass. I know this time won’t last. The storyteller said stories do change over time, interpreted by need, but the idea has been there since the dreaming and what is lost will again be uncovered. Always the lore is kept.

She went to the mother with a child upon her breast. She said “Things are good, this place, this way, although I am still sad. I know how all things come to pass. I know this time won’t last.” The mother said “A tree dies but it seeds new life. The next tree will be stronger. It is easier to adapt when younger. Who are we to be so selfish as to try to keep things the same. Look after the children so that they can look after the sacred spaces. This is how the lore is kept.

But the holy woman’s spirit could not be absolved. So she called upon the spirits. The great spirits of the sky. Cries “Why, how could it be that nothing golden lasts? This time and place so beautiful. This time and place in peace. I know things change but I want this place to remain forever in the dream”. So she walked out to the mountains and found the ancient tree. Under the tree was buried a stone. Gold and silver and red and white. In the stone was held a power. In the stone was held a spell. It was a sacred stone that was never to be broken, where bad ideas were held. The sky spirits had buried the stone long ago, before people walked the earth.

She uncovered the stone of fire and thunder and climbed to the top of the tree. She overlooked the earth below and overlooked the land of dreams. And the moon like a pregnant mother was rising in the sky. She cried, calling upon the serpent “Come and talk queen to queen”, threatening to smash the stone on the rocks below unless her spirit was seen.

She called to the queen of twilight

She called to the queen of dreams

And though flashes of rainbow filled the sky, the holy woman did not believe.

So she threw the stone when the moon was high, to try to keep all things.

The stone refused to break. Instead it rolled and whispered as it fell.

You never had to worry and you never had to fear. This place will last forever. Always, I keep it in the dream, I will keep it dear. Just not in the way that you think.