Beloved Star Mothers,
A poet once told me the roots of the word “disaster” signify to be against our stars. I know this to be true: without you as cosmic context, we humans summon ruin. Severed from heralding our origin in you, we suffer.
Forgive us for turning our gaze away from you, for shrinking our focus, for shirking connection, for no longer gasping with astonishment at your galactic grandeur.
Forgive us for our will to override darkness, for all the dazzling distractions we’ve fabricated that blot you out, for the lights of our cities that compete with your twinkling, for no longer seeking you out.
Forgive us for no longer regarding your planetary cycles, for not honoring night, for pursuing immediate gratification twenty-four hours a day, oblivious to your deep time.
Forgive us for failing as stewards of creation, for squandering the grace of your unfolding life in its myriad forms, for looking at you with eyes of conquest, for our greed.
Forgive us for leaving our waste in your virgin spaces.
Forgive us for our forgetfulness, for not listening to star-song, for not attending to the ancient stories scribed in your constellations, for stumbling through the greater dance we are part of, for scrambling its choreography.
Forgive us for our cosmological illiteracy.
Oh, galaxy home,
Oh, shimmering template of eternity,
Oh, mirror of patience that absorbs all heartache,
May we your earth children awaken to your glories and celebrate them.
Sourced in the primordial flaring forth, may we gracefully extend you.
May we expand beyond the constructs and constrictions of our time
to renew our reverence toward you.
May we reclaim your effervescence in our bloodstream,
feel your pulsation in our hearts.
