A little late for a Monday meditation but this is one of my favourite poems by American poet William Stafford.
Universe Is One Place
Crisis they call it? – when
when the gentle wheat leans at the combine and
and the farm girl brings cool jugs wrapped in burlap
slapping at her legs?
We think -drinking cold water
water looking at the sky-
Sky is home, universe is one place.
Crisis? City folk make
Make such a stir.
Farm girl away through the wheat.
The Empty Chalice 
I heard an evolutionary biologist on the radio the other day talking about how we are made of the same matter as the stars, that if we have any cosmic identity, it is that; that we are of the stars. I’ve been thinking this ever since. Stafford’s poem, I think, says the same think in a more colloquial way. Thanks.
I agree, it is one of the reasons I love Stafford’s work. Astophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson often speaks about our human connection to the stars. The sense that we are connected in such fundamental ways to the universe is very compelling to me.