Black Cockatoo Woman
She is the first ancestor — the one who arrived before all others. Black Cockatoo Woman carries an ancient call, a raw, bone-deep sound that opens the way into the underworld where grief and joy live side by side. She is the feathered grandmother, the one who screeches over the bones of memory, over ancestral grief, over the stories held in the dark.
She has seen everything before, across ages and upheavals. Her presence is companionship for the hardest passages: fear, pain, sorrow, thresholds that demand courage. She flies beside those who enter the deep places, offering guidance, witnessing, and a fierce, tender kind of protection.
Black Cockatoo Woman is the elder who knows the terrain of loss and renewal. She comes to remind us that descent is not abandonment — it is an necessary and vital initiation.
Black feathers braided in golden hair
Black feathers braided in golden hair
She tilts her face
To the Holy Rose Pink Sky
The shine on her cheeks
tears of pearls carry all that she seeks
Oh heavenly powers above!
Oh Mother Moons in all your phases!
Pull on the tides of my blood
I let myself be drawn into the darkness,
The river beneath the river
within my soul
running wild,
the cosmic undercurrent
winding, wading and waxing
My bones of mud and stardust
My womb of magic and mystery
Oh! Black feathered Sister of the Sky
Spiral alongside
down
down
down as we fly
To hear what is not spoken
To see what lays in the darkness
To give love to what is broken
Oh! Black feather sister of the Sky
Ancient ancestor of this Land
Glide with me
Dive with me
Through galaxies of unchartered stars
Into the charred hollow of the tree
The Raven Hole
The Open Wound
Where joy and sorrow
are cocooned
She knows the way down
She knows the way of return
She flies and
She Calls
The lost pieces of Herself back Home
Her rosen,
risen
blooming heart, so rare
Black feathers braided in her golden hair
Black feathers braided in her golden hair
Into the the Belly of the Deep
Black Cockatoo screeches overhead,
She is calling them in
The Sisters.
It's Time.
Time to meet Her at the Gates
And there...
She stands, for us to behold
Oh Woman of the Earth
Mother of the mud
Priestess of the Rose
Servant of the Sacred Heart
Her hair dripping silver moon callings
Her spine made up of stars
She has cried an Ocean of tears
But has not yet drowned
For She IS the Water
She is the Fire
And the Dirt
And the Wind,
the ancient wind that combs the belly of grandmother Crow
She has walked the Wild terrain many times
Moved through the Darkness
Stood centre in the Storm
Swallowed Thunder
And held Lightening in her hands
Her Womb,
her Womb the anchor in
Into the hallowed ground beneath her dancing feet
She knows the way down,
down into the Deep
And so...
She is here again
Meeting her magic for the first time, anew,
To be reborn out of her own ashes
Gate by Gate down into the belly of the Underworld
Unlocking the ancient Mysteries running red rivers through her bones
She will till the soil as she spirals
Uprooting what no longer serves
And seeding what is to come
Tears from Her eyes and between her thighs,
of sorrow and grief
of joy and light
Is the Holy Substance
She Knows,
they must be churned together
In order to Return Whole
For this place of Darkness, is too..
The Temple of Freedom
where true Love is born