When Moss Speaks

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 OonapaisJoin 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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