Banyan Thorns - Among The Woodland Spirits

Ritual Folk, drone, doom folk, dark forest folk, Pastoral Folk Blues, Mystic Ambient, Funeral Soundscapes, bowed strings, shruti boxes, didgeridoos, Acoustic guitars, hurdy-gurdies, hand drums, frame drums, bone flutes, resonator, harsh male vocals, raw male vocals, atmospheric, melancholic, gravelly vocals, throat singing, Funerary ritual folk with low droning tones, echoing frame drums, guttural throat vocals, and ambient temple reverb, Ancient European folk, layered whisper vocals, rune-scratched melodies on lyres and jaw harp, Witchwood folk with eerie ambient layers, bowed strings, and ritual bells, Nordic ritual folk, droning frame drums, bone flutes, and throat singing, dark ritual folk, doom folk, atmospheric neofolk, deep gravelly baritone vocals, finger-picked acoustic guitar, droning strings, frame drum, rattles, natural field recordings, mystical animist atmosphere, raw and intimate, primal, spiritual, meditation bowls, harmonium, shruti box, acoustic guitar

Beneath the soil, I am laid in loam, Roots weave through marrow, calling me home. The moss pulls gently across my chest, Leaves fall quiet where my body rests. No coffin binds me, no walls contain, I return to earth through root and rain. Each breath I gave is soil’s reclaim, Each bone a seed that forgets its name. The spirit rises like smoke through trees, Carried on whispers, borne by the breeze. Owls attend with their lantern eyes, Foxes circle where the shadow lies. River stones hum with a sacred tone, Marking the path where the dead are sown. I feel my edges begin to part, Dissolving into the woodland’s heart. Carry me, roots and stone, Back to the forest, back to the bone. Spirit unbound, I take my place, Among the woodland, I leave no trace. I walk where antlers of spirits gleam, Through hollow clearings, half-in dream. The deer remember the sound of my tread, The wolves acknowledge the newly dead. I shed my flesh like a husk of grain, Freed from sorrow, freed from pain. The forest gathers me into its choir, A voice of root, of bone, of fire. Now I am ash, and breath, and rain, A song in the branches, a ghost in the grain. I rest in the silence the soil keeps, I sing in the current where the river sleeps. No more a name, no more a face, But spirit entwined in every place. The woodland spirits encircle me near, And scatter my soul through the turning year. Carry me, roots and stone, Back to the forest, back to the bone. Spirit unbound, I take my place, Among the woodland, I leave no trace. The soil is silent, the roots have spoken, The circle unbroken, the spirit awoken.

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