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Cosmic Pilgrims Poem
We are cosmic pilgrims
You are an ancient identity
I see you,
do you see me,
seeing you?
You are
inhabiting a luminous garment
of stardust framed upon crystal bones
traveling on a forested spaceship
at over 100,000 Kilometers per hour
spiraling through our Milky Way galaxy
on a mysterious voyage
without a map or destination
woven within a pattern of stars
keeping time with the moon
Darling,
isn't it wonderous
to have our own moon?
That travels with us always?
You, We, Us
Are powered by an incandescent star
Our glorious sun, we worship you still
You light up our vessels of stars and water
with the sacred geometry
of your luminous nature
Am I so different
than this blooming tree?
This hummingbird,
could very well be me
We are encoded with a tender
and temperamental psyche
living within a story
we won’t be able to control
Each of us
carrying unique hidden information
that longs to be expressed
in the shape of a living myth
our hidden gifts looking for
ways to reveal themselves
through us
You are dreamed and designed
by gracious Infinite Intelligence
to have an Illuminated heart
capable of ever-expanding poetry
in a seemingly impossible situation
Darling you are a cathedral of light!
I worship at the foot of your altars
Flowers bloom where you have danced
I fall breathless into your potentials
Finding place, pace and grace
in your moon-kissed face
We don't know how we got here
We don't really know
where we are going now
But we know this
Love is at the center
Love is at the center
Love is at the center
of the Universe
We are cosmic pilgrims
You are an ancient identity
at the crossroads of
an uncertain future
Will you cross the threshold with me?
Shiloh Sophia
Revisioned Poem today adapted from the original in 2021
Oh my friends, my friends! I would love nothing more than to take a long walk with you, holding hands and talking. I want to hear from you - not just what you post when your mad, or glad, but instead the early morning joys and fears. The things you don't say at the luncheon with colleagues or the dinner table with family. I want to know about the words on the shingle you don't put out about the gifts you really have for these wild times.
You could describe me as a painter, a poet, a relucant priestess. But those aren't my real titles. The gifts I have don't work on a business card, can't be put into an algorithm, can't be seen with a machine mind looking deeply into my online history.
Who I really am is who I am when I am when I am with you. Whether that is over a cuppa virtual or in person tea with the Muse. Or most especially when I am leading ceremony and I can feel you through the black hole of the camera. My real gifts are feelings. Feeling deeply. I don't care if you know that, or if the machine knows that. You can't use it against me and I know you wouldn't even try. I am a Lover. The universe is my Lover. Like Michael Jackson says, I'm a lover, not a fighter.
The kinds of gifts we carry cannot be taken from us by wit or force or password or pressure. Your truest gifts are natural and innate - they are all innately tucked into who you are. You don't have to grow them, earn them or be certified in these gifts. You are the gifts being given through you. The pace of life, and the never-ending intensity can keep us from living them. But that doesn't mean they aren't within you.
We are worried about a lot of things right now. I know. I feel it. I see it. I am tracking the many narratives on all sides of the shadow dance of now. There is a grand confluence occuring and
Published on 10 months, 1 week ago