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 Get full access to Tea with the Muse at teawiththemuse.substack.com/subscribe