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Electric wizardry

by Russell Hibbs & Second Nature.

From red clay, thought awake. Hear songs of the ancient, brown skin the bark, rough skin the rock. A whisper from the desert heart. Earth snake belly swells with breath, flesh powdered, vibrant. Rainbow serpent eyes open. Dreaming begins. Eyes wide shimmering, body of earth is filled with light. The rainbow serpent dreams. Her scales, brilliant, iridescent, each scale a mirror, reflecting countless faces. And i marionet and mask, mind spun on a loom of dust. Watch as the tail, cuts like a blade. Where spirit sings the body awake. Alive in each cell, calling me to surrender to:- Earth, water, fire, air. Inviting the elements to take back this flesh. Resonating with the humming drone of cicadas. I am the wasps nest, the warm breast, the spiral horn, the yellow corn. With eyes of leaves. Where sunlight dapples the ground, and the totems of my dreaming lie scattered round, in the scarlet shadows. Gentle, new as the spring. I watch them become dense to flesh, goanna, wallaby, brolga. Dancing on the rainbow serpent coils. Who dwells where birds swim and fish fly. Whose smile arcs the sky. Whose iridescent scales fall as rain, and the red earth is nourished again. And the earth is awake. And the earth is awake. And the earth is awake.
Te Kohanga 06:50
The Wyrdd 04:55
Early one morning, on a beach lit by a crescent moon. I met someone who told me a story. How we program the patterns of inevitability, offering our children as sacrifice to the moloch. Feeding our addiction with narcotic neurosis. Bursting from prehistoric caves, flapping pterodactyl wings, digging holes in space. He was wearing a rainbow radiation jump suite, and inoculating his children, with homeopathic fallout. He left me a small piece of paper, on it written; Waiting for the word. In the beginning was the word, it must have been a very long word, like the name of a welsh railway station. And the word became the world, and the world became thick like a smoothie. And the separation of sound became greater and louder, each sound with a desperate need to communicate it's origin. And a billion, billion, billion people, each with a bagful of words, juggled in a world full of language. Pressing hands against empty space. And the whales couldn't sing to each other any more, through seas of sonar and cacophony. And swift & swallow, were sucked into screaming engines of jet fighter planes. And people stood on street corners, and shouted above the roar of traffic. And we forgot how to listen, spinning like a blur over the space and silence. Were are the silence's, Where are the silence's?. Gift wrapped by dakinis, Transmitted in secret ritual that returns you to the sender. Echoing like himalayan thunder between, the breath and blood. Im guilty too i need to have the radio and t.v playing symtaneously just to think. I need mantras like visual relief in the desert, i will try to stop the silence from rushing in. Was houdini silent underwater, as he masterfully escaped hissing ropes, fingers on the pulse of eternities workshop, surfacing from a bond of snakes with just one more point to prove. This juxtaposition of existence, balanced between the razor and lace, symptom, thought form, breath, blood. Sometimes i get so lonely. But i don't need you quite so much anymore. Right now i walk around in a dream of poems, waiting to be statistically functional, putting on a suit and tie to make telephone calls, limpid as a lounge lizard whilst you breathe aerobically, waiting for the super powers to kiss and make up, waiting for the ozone to grow it's skin, waiting for the chrysalis to empty it's pockets, waiting for the poppies to dream, waiting for the clothes to dry, waiting for the world to begin, waiting, just waiting for the wyrdd.
Leshy 05:18
Now in days when the world was wild and untamed, ice colder, fire hotter and magic a way of life. Stretching across the northern steppes of russia, was a primordial wilderness of, pine, spruce, larch, aspen, birch and beetroot. Broken only by misty peat bogs, where strange lights flickered at night. And a few villages huddled together within the shelter of their wooden palisades. For these forests were dangerous places, home to wolves, bear, tigers and elk. And all of the animal, it was whispered in the villages, were ruled over by forest faeries, called leshy. Curious beings indeed. Not many a mortal spied a leshy. And those that did, gave conflicting reports, as to the creatures true appearance. What was that i saw just then, what could it be, did i see a face through the tangled vines, was it a leshy?. You see the leshy were shape shifters. And though it's true appearance, was man like, but with long green hair & beard. Narrow bony face, and eyes coldly gleaming. They could also assume, the shapes and sounds of animals, the wind, the water, the trees, do you see? Was it the sigh, or the howl of the wind, or the rustle in the leaves?. Was it the sound of water over stone, or the movement in the trees?. The few hardy souls that ventured into those woods, huntsmen, herdsmen, charcoal burners and hare krishna's. Knew better than to listen to the seemingly innocuous, sounds all around them. For no one knew exactly where those sounds came from. And one may be lured of the tracks and into real danger, by the cry of a baby, maybe. Or the dulcet welcoming tones of a woman. Was it a man, was it a beast, was it a spirit there?. Was it a wolf, was it and owl, was it a roaming bear?. For the leshy was as fickle and complex, as the forest itself. As temperamental as the tassie weather. As schizophrenic as the seasons of the 21st century. Herdsmen slaughtered cows, and offered them to the leshy. Huntsmen set out bread and salt, one symbolising life, the other eternity. As hopeful tokens, of a safe passage, and lasting friendship.
Hunab Ku 07:09
There was a crooked man who walked a crooked mile, but he didn't have to if he had followed harmonic time. Now once upon a day out of time in the lands of the Maya, when fire was hotter, coconuts cooler and ayahuasca stronger than it is today. Everyone everywhere knew they were a part of everything, and honoured the light in each, Inlakesh, Inlakesh. For they understood the patterns and cycles in nature, the thirteen tones, the twenty keys or glyphs. That form the very web of life. The harmonic ratio, the tzolkin, the hexagram of dreams. 1320, time is art, the art of being, hu-man. Who you are, hunab ku. O yum hunab ku eva maya emaho The art of being. 13 moons of 28 days with one day out of time. 2013. But then time tumbled down the quantum hour glass, of forget fullness, Here comes twenty first century schizoid stress. 1260, time is money, forget the honey, it's a propolis now, forget bee-ing. Wholesale gregorian mayhem. A right proper apocalypto, ground to zero. Pandemic amnesia catatonic squeeze ure, 1260 time is money. Stop stop, it's time to remember, the 21st of december 2013 dare to dream, heal the isms, schisms, chasms, b'earth spasms and re ignite excitable spore-gasms, it is here, it is now, this is it doot doot doot.
Power 04:28
Power in the circles we're forming, power in the songs we sing, power in the dreams we're weaving, power in the gifts we bring. Power in thew wisdom of the elders, power in a new born babe, power in stillness and silence, power in the roaring wave. Power in the drum and heartbeat, power in the seed and tree, power in thought and feeling, power in you and me. Power in crystals and mountains, power in the eagle and dove, power in angels and dolphins, and there's a great big power in love.
Envirolament 08:08
Wilberforce 03:04
Here i lie, wing commander Claude Wilberforce Watkins, 1914/1991. I thought the boys had all come home, but the war has just begun. 'Keep the home fires burning, in our hearts a yearning, though the boys are far away, they dream of':- Bones, bones, dry bones, snug neath a moss grey gravestone, and a hedgehog caretaker, sniffing out worms, dear fellow. 'By the light of the silvery moon', hung chinese lantern in the arms of the forest. In the leaf litter i am, the squirrels chatter, the children's pitter patter. A moment, an hour, a thistle, a flower. A raindrop, a teardrop. In your memory, i am. I am the eye that sees, seize the dayLest we forget. 'Theres a silver lining, through the dark clouds shining, though the boys are far away, they dream of':- The howling stars, the standing stones. The mistletoe, the oak. The sighing reeds, piped by pan, Pebbled with the laughter of a brook. or mournful as the wild moors lament, echoing a drum, beat on the skin of the sky. So lay me down, mother gaia. With my face in your clover. And over and over i whisper your name. A rumble in the cloud, hark the hollow hills. And call me home as it be your will. Just as earth gives us birth, so like birds we could fly. She will make us immortal, by taking us back when we die. Keep the home fires burning, in our hearts a yearning, though the boys are far away, they dream'.....


2008 saw me in Wales,
dipping a toe into the Cauldron.
Back in the vale of Glamorgan.
Back to hear my Mother calling.

The whispers of Dylan Thomas,
the timeless songs of Taliesin.
And another cycle in seasons of the self.

At a week long retreat,
on the curly Welsh coastline,
i met Rob Coulter of 'Second Nature'.
Over a few more days,
we wove our worlds together and created "Electric Wizardry".

The album lay in a cupboard until 2011,
and emerged, in good time, for Galactic alignment.


released February 8, 2015

Russell Hibbs:- Guitar, Drum, Shruti, World Stick, Vocals.
Rob Coulter:- Programming, Percussion, Bowls, Didj.
Natilly Nesbitt:- Vocals.

Recording, Engineering:- Rob.
Mastering:- Rob.


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Shivakti Byron Bay, Australia

A sonic salad of homegrown songs, toe tapping tunes, evocative verse, melodic grooves, healing drones, harmonic overtones, fun, laughter, wild nature and tales of the ancient future -NOW. Shivakti are Russell, Mayinda & friends. ... more

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