Fly with me through the dreaming,
where the night sky opens like a doorway
and the old spirits speak in soft winds,
guiding our steps across the warm red earth.
Let me walk beside the Ancestors
as they paint their journeys in the stars,
and show me how the songlines hum
beneath every footfall we take.
Let me feel the turning of the seasons
in the quiet breath of Country,
and understand how each tree, each stone,
remembers the stories we nearly forgot.
Hold my hand as the spirits gather,
their presence gentle as moonlit water,
teaching us to listen
to the truth carried by the land.
Let my voice rise in gratitude,
joining the ancient songs that echo
from riverbank to mountain ridge,
where the world began in endless dawn.
Fill my heart with their stories,
so I may carry them carefully,
like embers cupped against the wind,
alive with warmth and meaning.
You are the one I seek in the silence –
the wisdom that steadies me,
the breath of Country that reminds me
I belong to something older than time.
Let the spirits see us walk with respect,
our steps gentle, our hearts open,
honouring the pathways they shaped
long before our names were spoken.
Please stay true beside me,
as we learn again how to listen,
how to care for this vast and living place
that holds every memory.
In the end, it is love –
for land, for story, for each other –
that binds us to the dreaming still,
and keeps the old songs shining.
