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Pekkala

from CelloWoman by Mudsong

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about

Our heroine, like many before and hence, mistook carrying the weight of the world as her quest. When its grief thrust its arms up around her sensitive soul, she knew not how to let her answer be no. What sort of evil woman denies each needy request to suckle for dear life at the milk of her breast?

lyrics

Don’t you hear the sage on the breeze, though your feet are planted in green? That’s how it goes when you let go your soul, you find yourself always at home.


Listen close and I’ll tell you a tale of how witches ride on the breeze and the gale. They take the nightwind, see Earth from the sky, because they’ve mastered sayin’ good-bye. When you learn to let it all go, you learn not to grab what you think you need so. You bear the heartache at first, that’s no doubt, but when it’s over you’ve got what you found.

When a witch bends low, hugs good-bye to a friend, or the daemon who carries her through to the end, she endures the suffering because her heart knows, when your grasping you never can hold. She’ll cross the distance inside her own heart, retracing lines still conjoined in the dark. She learns that while you often can’t see, what you need is still always in reach.

It’s said that we live on the turtle’s broad back. What’s under him? Well, more turtles in fact. He’s nothing but what makes up his home; his bones are hugged ‘round his own soul. Perhaps this is why it is said he’s got us, because we need to learn what he does. It doesn’t matter how wide that he roams, he knows he is always at home.

So when October’s moon shines so yellow and fat and you spy in it’s face a witch’s sharp hat. Recall where you loved and are unable to stand, holding it in the meat of your hands. Inhale those scents in the moist autumn breeze, let the sounds of what’s passed be heard in your feet. That’s how you fly, crossing all space and time, to bring yourself their by their side.

Ah gousha finga bah-dah whoa-wee
that’s the sound of the spell that they weave.     
Ah gousha finga bah-dah whoa-wee
life is more than what you touch here & see. 

credits

from CelloWoman, released June 5, 2021

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Mudsong Bemidji, Minnesota

Mudsong crafts stories that give voice to our breaking human hearts. Thomas King said, “The truth about stories is that’s all we are."  The truth about Mudsong is songstories are all we are. Original stories. Soulful songs. Crafted from the sloppy mess of life? That's what we do. Our evenings open on the hearthfire of the bass guitar, shimmy through the saxophone, and linger over heart and soul. ... more

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