The Drones of Praise

Carry me home — words that came with my blood after joining the band Tau & The Drones of Praise, and for the first time meeting my native soul tribe at a conscious festival we played at in Louth.

The drones of praise,

that’s what called me to the fire —

the drones of praise that hum from the bellies and hearts of the Irish

even though we’re still half-sleeping under the shade of our forgotten ancient past.

Nothing is lost,

the dragon sleeps and is waking,

I spied the saplings of oaks and

the drones of praise rise deep from the belly of earth to fill the limbs of these battered humans

so that none of them is left

and rightly so —

they become right-sized and life-sized —

the whole of life itself

dancing us on the dirt out the back of the big house

lighting up the stars in our hearts

entangling us in fierce embrace

warbling up and out our mouths under the wise yew tree

as we (together with the birds of a feather) called in the dawn —

we are calling in this new dawn

we are breaking down the old forms so we can stand together

hushed and unashamed of our praying and listening

an old way of being that was kept secret but carried by blood

from mother, to mother, to mothers

to be birthed anew

when the wing of the feminine unfolds —

sisters and brothers, we’ve been hollowed

but know that hallowed feeling,

called back to her from the strange seas of our distant healing —

heard her cooing “enough, now, mo leanbhín, you’re ready to serve”

and before I met ye I was given but heartbroken

til I beheld the lot of yiz

and felt mo chlann, le chéile,

remembered our magic

the madness that lives in us

remembered how the Irish cannot but be who we are

and that is no small thing,

that our spirituality is as naturally grounded as our language is naturally rounded

so forget all else and return

tears are pouring down my cheeks even as these words fly onto the page

and finally choosing to be here down my legs

pours dark moon wine —

táimid ag filleadh,

the waters of life pour forth

love pours through the center of things

we dance and sing and know the the center indeed can hold,

but everything else will fall apart;

from the center

let the drones of praise pour forth

and let all that was banished

be called to

return, return, return.