Wheelhouse of the Mother

Dear Ones

I wrote this today. I have so many things I would love to share with you. Big big stories as big as redwoods and small stories as tiny as a baby ant!

But for today, just this poem, and an invitation to join me for a complimentary class on the Wheel of the Year on Sunday with my friends Lavender Grace and trish o’malley,

The painting below became a kind of fortelling of something I will share with you on Sunday about Wild Water Creek on Sonoma Mountain. We were adopted by a creek and I want to tell you why….

Love,

Shiloh Sophia

The painting is called The Birth of Sonoma Mountain.

p.s. You can now make a contribution if you want to Tea with the Muse. People were pledging even though I didn’t have the button turned on. It’s all still free, I am not going to make exclusive content for the time being. But thank you, those of you who offered even when I didn’t ask.

The Wheelhouse of the Mother

Do you see those planets dangling

from the hem of her garment?

Oh! When she dances, how glorious!

The stars sprinkle through her skin

Shimmering in the black silence

Bearing witness to ancient stories

Her face is so radiant, you can’t

even see her eyelashes most days

just a twinkle here or there

The moon is her beauty mark

and depending on the day

she shows us a glimmering crescent

She is like that, just dazzling…

our most amazing mother

filled with the beauty of creation

Her breathe the air

Her love the fire

Her dreams the earth

Her songs the water

Her stories the core

Her family the cosmos

All of it is her great big

beautiful body

Me? Oh I’m her daughter and

I live here at the mouth of a waterway

Moving up and down the mossy rocks

in rubber boots and flannel

Keeping company with the redwood,

the oak and the wild grape

Having tea with deer and dove

and pink cake my lover made

I used to live in caves before houses

I used to spend time, instead of time

spending me, long long ago

I was wild once, you know  

and in my soul I am still

and so are you

Do you remember how we played?

I must remember, and you too,

That we are more than we appear

to be, we shall see

Did you see that bird fly by?

To remember who I am I must

make parties, feasts and dances

Eight times a year, then I remember

Will you come to supper with me?

I follow the patterns of her sun,

her moon and her feisty eclipses

I watch her face for my actions and

I count the days on hands and knees

I am part of creation creating itself

The milky sky high-way is our

home and if we really know that

we can see how this unfolds

There are stars under my skin

There are rivers flowing in my heart

There are people I have yet to meet

There are stories we, beloved one,

are yet to tell

I believe, I believe

Mother will show me the way

We live here safely in the

Wheelhouse of the Mother

For A.S.G.