the new archaic Art by James R. Eads The New Archaic In the beating of my heart I hear the beating of your drums, In the whirring of my brain I hear the shaking of your rattles and your dusty steps. I myself take up the rhythm; I myself take up the dance. In the beating of the drum, I lay down my hours, lay down my time, lay down these thick and heavy ways. I lay down this kind of time and take up the ancient ways, recalling the not-forgotten. I lay my self down in long-ago trance. In the beating of the drum, I hear your feet come near to me, hear your hearts in my own body, your thoughts in my own mind, strong and clear as shining stars, deep and long as rivers run. Nearer now celestial wheels, your spirits awake my ears; beaming faces full of hope, you know and claim me as your own. My own beloveds, yes, and look behind you! Back and back spirals are turning, eternally bearing, beaming, whirring. On the double helix road, walking the heartbeat way, out of time and space and into re-membering of bonds never broken. Face-to-face, you reach in deep and pull a still-life snake from inside the guts of me. Wake this sleeping snake, you say, And begin the new archaic. **** Anne Benvenuti, 2008 magic words Magic Words In the very earliest time, when both people and animals lived on earth, a person could become an animal if he wanted to and an animal could become a human being. Sometimes they were people and sometimes animals and there was no difference. All spoke the same language. That was the time when words were like magic. The human mind had mysterious powers. A word spoken by chance might have strange consequences. It would suddenly come alive and what people wanted to happen could happen– all you had to do was say it. Nobody could explain this: That's the way it was. **** Inuit, translation Edward Field REMEMBERING "Earth Work" by Anahit Burke Remembering We are touching and touched by ancestral guidance in the waters, wind, and soil in sunlight and stardust in the migrations of whales and hummingbirds in each seed who becomes a tree in the vast fields of brilliant energy flowing through and between us and radiating far beyond our earth **** JoAnne Dodgson children born now ~ dan hanrahan  THINGS TO REMEMBER AS THIS WORLD DIES Art by Annelie Solis Things to Remember As This World Dies You did not come here to pay bills and die nor did you come to build the fortunes of those destroying the Earth Imagine instead that you came to gather precious things fallen from the pockets of Ancient Ones as they fled the desert’s march - each a reminder of something they pledged never to forget Things like how to call birds by name with your whistle which news to tell the bees and which to share only with the moon how to tell a parliament from a conspiracy a colony from a convocation Things like Nature has no race or nation, class or creed except when humans seek to deceive - division designed to sever you from kith and kin and buddha-mind Things like: the antidote to oppression is not freedom but belonging the opposite of domination is communion the medicine you need is always outside your door and there’s likely a wise woman two streets away to show you how to use it These things were left to help us remember how each world before has ended and how each death became a door to new life and how this world wants to take you in her arms and make of you a lover and have you listen to the land talk to the stream find meaning in the silence of trees and wisdom on the singing breeze Listen awhile to discover the right season for all the ten thousand things the ninety-nine names we use for our own divinity how to share power so it cannot be captured by the vain and greedy how to step into the flow of life and make of the Earth a common treasury for all beings how to map the stars learn the lesson of each constellation and still know there is more in heaven and earth than any of us were ever meant to know So fill your pockets as this world dies knowing some of it will guide you to the next and some will fall to the ground in time to be found by those who’ll bring the world back to life. **** Chris Taylor The Cryptonaturalist The CryptoNaturalist is written by Jarod K. Anderson, poet, podcaster, and nature lover. >linktree< mending song Mending Song A prayer for the healing of our lineages, the mending of what has been broken & frayed, and the reweaving of a more beautiful world. Verses sung in the 4,000-year old Proto-Celtic mother tongue. Harmonies by Ayla Schafer. I sing for the mending of the tapestry of this ancestry to be woven again into beauty, to be woven again Kanyo kanyo kanyo kom karayo kanyo kanyo (sing with love) I sing for the mending of the tapestry of humanity to be woven again into unity, to be woven again kanyo kwe kombero kanyo kom karayo wegjeyo âg adkara wegjeyo âg skeimâ (sing & join together, sing with love, weave with love & beauty) I sing for the remembering of the happiness of our true essence to awaken again into consciousness, to awaken again I sing for the mending of the tapestry of these ancestries to be woven again into beauty, to be woven again kanyo kwe kombero kanyo kom karayo kanyo kanyo kwe wegjeyo kanyo kanyo kanyo kwe kombero kanyo kom adkara wegjeyo âg skeima To be woven again to be woven again to be woven again Into peace through me **** Hanna Leigh, released December 19, 2025 >listen on bandcamp< Weaving Remembrance on Instagram Founded by Hanna Leigh Weaving ancestral wisdom into modern life 🌿 Song, story, ritual & craft Hieroglyphic Stairway Hieroglyphic Stairway it’s 3:23 in the morning and I’m awake because my great great grandchildren won’t let me sleep my great great grandchildren ask me in dreams what did you do while the planet was plundered? what did you do when the earth was unraveling? surely you did something when the seasons started failing? as the mammals, reptiles, birds were all dying? did you fill the streets with protest when democracy was stolen? what did you do once you knew? I’m riding home on the Colma train I’ve got the voice of the milky way in my dreams I have teams of scientists feeding me data daily and pleading I immediately turn it into poetry I want just this consciousness reached by people in range of secret frequencies contained in my speech I am the desirous earth equidistant to the underworld and the flesh of the stars I am everything already lost the moment the universe turns transparent and all the light shoots through the cosmos I use words to instigate silence I’m a hieroglyphic stairway in a buried Mayan city suddenly exposed by a hurricane a satellite circling earth finding dinosaur bones in the Gobi desert I am telescopes that see back in time I am the precession of the equinoxes, the magnetism of the spiraling sea I’m riding home on the Colma train with the voice of the milky way in my dreams I am myths where violets blossom from blood like dying and rising gods I’m the boundary of time soul encountering soul and tongues of fire it’s 3:23 in the morning and I can’t sleep because my great great grandchildren ask me in dreams what did you do while the earth was unraveling? I want just this consciousness reached by people in range of secret frequencies contained in my speech **** Drew Dellinger BRIng FORTH YOUR LIGHT Bring Forth Your Light It’s when the earth shakes And foundations crumble That our light is called To rise up. It’s when everything falls away And shakes us to the core And awakens all Of our hidden ghosts That we dig deeper to find Once inaccessible strength. It’s in times when division is fierce That we must reach for each other And hold each other much Much tighter. Do not fall away now. This is the time to rise. Your light is being summoned. Your integrity is being tested That it may stand more tall. When everything collapses We must find within us That which is indomitable. Rise, and find the strength in your heart. Rise, and find the strength in each other Burn through your devastation, Make it your fuel. Bring forth your light. Now is not the time To be afraid of the dark. **** Chelan Harkin five ways
Five Ways Dry brown, dry grass hills resting like a hand, a pattern of rise and shadowed folds where dark and light keep kin in the lands’ movement through time, it’s old old story of uplift and erosion, through light and dark, dreaming into being trees and waters and creatures, all our ancestors scaled and winged, carapaced and furred, our ancestors with two legs, two hands, two eyes to see and hold the patterns in the hills like hands, patterns in the stars’ dreaming light between darkness, in the maple leaf, the turtle’s claw, our kinship with it all, connections held in patterns that move through our stories that deft hands twine into baskets--dry rush grass and willow--holding stories, patterns of breath that blow through dry reeds into songs holding dreams and visions: hills opening like hands, memories of the deep ancestry in the maple leafs’ unfurling, in the snakes’ skin patterns-- spiraling diamonds pressed into clay vessels to hold memory of kinship, hold and carry it forward to descendants, to us, distant kin so we might now hold the clay in our hands and hear its story-- even broken, even in shards, the curve, the dry earth scent, the pattern of deep-pressed triangles like snake skin, spiraling—feel our ancestors’ hands in the making of memory, shaping of knowledge and dream into earthen form. Even now, when the dry hills are blackened; ash drifts like dreams, rising in whirlwinds over scorched grass to mingle with shattered turtle shell, ancestors’ bones dried to dust, grains of eroded mountains and shed snake skins--a kinship of the particulate--spiraling upward to meet rain, to fall back to earth, a story of returning, re-membering, the cycle of the whole and the wholeness of the pattern. Look: hands like maple leaves, like river deltas holding memory of kinship, ancestry. Listen: the dry wind’s rush; the rainfall; the rocks’ silence—dreams that teach, stories we have not forgotten but not remembered. Hands: hold to each other, hold the pattern. **** Caroline Le Guin (with gratitude to Tyson Yunkaporta for teaching about the five ways of knowing, and how to hold remembering in my hand) Images: "Five Treasures" by Dixie Yelvington, Diana Heyne, unknown x2 the word The Word I want a word that means okay and not okay, more than that: a word that means devastated and stunned with joy. I want the word that says I feel it all, all at once. The heart is not like a songbird singing only one note at a time, more like a Tuvan throat singer able to sing both a drone and simultaneously two or three harmonics high above it-- a sound, the Tuvans say, that gives the impression of wind swirling among rocks. The heart understands swirl, how the churning of opposite feelings weaves through us like an insistent breeze leads us wordlessly deeper into ourselves, blesses us with paradox so we might walk more openly into this world so rife with devastation, this world so ripe with joy. *** Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, Ecological Grief, Climate Change & Polycrisis Workshop excerpt from the kalevala There are mysteries learned from roadsides Heard from heather Cut from brushwood Crafted from saplings Rubbed from a grass-head Read from a footpath The cold told a tale to me The rain suggested poems Another tale the wind brought The birds added words Tree tops whispered phrases...... **** posted on social media by Ari Berk From the Kalevala, the national epic poem of Finland ancestors Ancestors We woke to skeins of fog strung tree to tree and swirled like milk in the meadow. By noon the days bent to clarity and cold light. Nights fell quick, wide, exquisitely moonlit, and quiet as your own heart would have it. The river canyoned through stone and all-day shadow. Fir and sugar pine rose and kept rising. We tuned our ears to the whistles of fish hawks, the low calls of owls. The wind loved the grass and us, water from inside the mountain brimmed in our bellies. We knelt before the buck and prayed our thanks. They’re here, my tall, startling daughter said. They’re watching. We trembled, breathed, and unsheathed our bright knives. * We unsheathed our knives and peeled back the hide. My daughter startled. They’re here. They’re watching us. Our prayers rose above the buck, the grass knelt down in supplication. Water brimmed in the mountain’s belly. Thirsty, we drank the wind, the calls of owls. Fish hawks carved clear skies. Fir and pine kept counsel in the near heavens. Far below, the river roared stone, promised shadow. Our hearts, we quieted-- soon, night would fall, the moon rise bright and wide as god. This cold day, a colder dark, our minds clear as milk. Fog licked at meadow’s edge, where the leavings steamed. We breathed and trembled. We woke, and were glad to wake, to hunger. **** Joe Wilkins, Orion Magazine, Winter 2025/2026
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 The Westray Goddess, the
oldest human form found in Scotland. (Orkney Archipelago)
(eik) eUROPEAN iNDIGENOUS kNOWLEDGE
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