As I walk the moss speaks
Reminding me:
This is sacred ground
This is all sacred ground
Voices of the velvet emerald ways
shimmy me shimmy me
into the deep listening place
Reminding me...
No!
Summoning me!
The first thing they do is to tell me:
You are not who you think you are
And if that wasn't enough, this:
Your true name isn't spoken aloud
Your true name lives inside
If you listen with the ears
of your whole life
Okay so let me get this clear -
I am not who I am
my name is not my name
and somehow that is supposed to
help me remember something I forgot?
And it requires my entire life?
I hear the resonant: Yes
ripple up from the moist red earth
I feel the palpable pulse
of the ripples of water rippling
The salt water within me responding
drawing me in, drawing me up
Here's what I am thinking:
The earth mysteries speak
in riddle bones between blades
of dew-kissed grasses on the river
Whispering in tones of silver fish
black seal and blue heron
marking me with the invisible tattoo
of pre-existant beingness in
my stardust bones
Am I can getting closer? I ask?
Then I cry out....Is it true?
Is it true
is it true that I am more than I appear?
Is it so, I have walked this path
of finding before?
But...
Finding, who, and finding what?
Why?
Why?
When I weep at the sight of sunshine
after weeks of rain then there is
a quickening from the crown of my
vulva to the crown of my fuzzy head
All of this is a remembering
I am the sacred ground, grounding
All of this is a remembering
I am the sacred ground, grounding
My tears nourish the sacred ground
Quick, can you catch my tears
with your lips?
Each day there is more grey
rippling in my hair
My eyesight is softening
around the edges
My skin is freckled
with so many sunlit beaches
Oh and so many late nights
listening to waves
and whispering in succulent kisses
Calling to our seal sisters
to come and get us
Did you forget us here? Or what?
The ocean always calls
The whole thing is really just amazing
Isn't it?
That we exist at all...
That we exist at all is reason to worship
and good reason to listen to the echoes
of velvet emerald moss when they speak
Perhaps one day all the remembering
of this incarnation will come rushing through
For now they give me shivers of clues
Shivers up and down that spine of mine
I bring these clues to life
through brush and pen
I offer what story they give me on the altar
The altar of the women who gather in
Then suddenly I remember this
I do not always have my own back
but the moss,
the velvet moss promises to back me
Unseen forces of essence
of ancestral beauty
are at my back now,
singing me into remembrance
with invisible wings of light
You are Our ancient child
They say
You are guided by Us
They call
You can find Us in the mosses
or in the rippling waters
or in the chambers of your heart
or in the kisses of your lover
Any place beauty is, We are
Any place beauty is, We are
Any place beauty is, We are
Can you remember this?
We have called you
by your secret name
You have answered and
Now you are ready
Ready? Ready for what???
I panic
Then of course, Silence
Then I breathe
I touch moss tenderly
Then I remember...just enough
The quickening
is moving through me now
I can feel the
green fire sparks igniting
something true I hope
I hope it's something true
I turn towards the day
that felt daunting
with a new daring
because
I am backed by velvet green
I am backed by velvet green
I am velvet green, greening
Shiloh Sophia
Moss at Wild Water Creek on Sonoma Mountain Oonapais
Join me this week for a daylong experience of FLOW - let’s gather together in sacred space and nourish our nervous systems, shall we? scholarship code on check out: flow30
This poem, crafted today, is dedicated to all the people who are my great romantic loves. All of them true loves. All of them I hoped would be forever and a day. Loving so deeply and being loved so deeply changes you of course and helps you to become more of who you are. Each one of them does that for me and I hope I do that for them too. Loving is in cycles.
Today, in poetry, they are One in me, One Love moving through as glorious green moss. Putting them in alphabetical order instead of chronological: Abe, Ali, Chris, Jonathan, Rahm Isaiah and Roberto - thank you, each of you, wherever you are, far or near, for sharing the beauty of life with me.
I feel as if I turned a page yesterday, spending the day in silence by the river. I am not sure what page of what book but I feel the great turning, turning.
The idea of moss as sacred arises from Sue Hoya Sellars. She was my mother Caron's lover. When they were first together in the late sixties, Sue and my mom were trying to find Creator together. They were on a spiritual journey. In one of Sue's journal entries she is praying to God about how to have a relationship with the Divine through the framework of an artist - and she says this:
How shall I worship you?
Moss, perhaps?
~
This poem started as worship for Creation and turned into a love story. My mom said that is what this life is, a love story. At times it can be challenging to continue to find that is the case - with so much harm happening to Earth - and to us, as Earth. But still, I will lean in and listen to the moss. Today giving thanks for so much love in my life.
Getting older is a curious thing. To 'look back' and know that you have less time ahead of you than behind you. Then it is time to do all you can, to listen for your true name in between blades of grass, ripples of water, and the sprouting of grey hair and new freckles.
People, including my chiropractor have been saying - touch the grass. I am touching the moss. Join me? It’s so very soft.
Love to you right where you, are from right where I am
Shiloh Sophia
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