Truth can’t be a theory.
It has to be a thing that’s here,
that makes itself felt
in the bright coursing of strength
through limbs and loins,
that fills your mind and heart
with clarity, that speaks in the voice
more intimate than your own,
guides your feet in strides
along the high ridges,
shows you your sovereignty,
makes every step your home.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 13, 2020
My world is full of sounds at play –
phrases flit frivolous through my day:
“Pot and matches, pot and matches
go together like a plot that hatches “
(it’s a mnemonic,
it’s not symphonic,
and it isn’t about smoking –
it’s for making oatmeal)
With a spoon and a bowl
and a sprinkle of soul
and a knife and a fork
and equations for torque
Through the rain and the sun
with the work never done
but the days ever full of their splendor
and lines that would do well to end here.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 12, 2020
Unless everyone gets into heaven,
nobody does,
for it wouldn’t be heaven
without each of us
It couldn’t be heaven
without including
the utter end of condemnation,
that nobody can be a loser,
no one lost, no one left out
And everyone who’s been annoyed by me,
and anyone for whom I’ve felt annoyance –
We’ll all be reconciled, we’ll be forgiven,
and thus experience
the peace that is the reign of heaven.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 11, 2020
How refreshing, how truly inspiring,
how brilliantly illuminating it is
not to sit in the seat of the scornful,
not to have a belittling thought for anyone
Not to be gnawed from within
by a terror of nothingness,
not to claw my way away from there
by setting up a structure upon which to perch
from where to look down on others
How wide the view,
now that the seat is taken down,
leaving so much more room
to see the gift that each one is.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 10, 2020
At twilight, midst the evening calls
of robins, blackbirds, flickers, other singers,
I hear the turkeys flying up to roost –
the loud clap of their wings, the landing,
which sounds almost like a crash,
the rather muted commentary
I don’t see them, but I know their sound,
for other years they’ve roosted
in trees near us,
and I could watch them settle in,.
After they’re quiet, after it’s dark,
the geese start up –
many a point to settle
before they call it a night.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 8, 2020
In the way of heaven,
not one of us is judged
for our bumbling efforts
to make our way on earth
And no one is rewarded
for being the high status clown –
each one of us is laughable
in our lowdown or our haughty way
We all are loved –
loved even while laughed at,
loved beyond laughter,
loved to the point of awe, of tears.
It is our disapproval that gets laughed away –
no one is disapproved of here.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 7, 2020
I was jumping up and down
trying to tell everyone,
Look what I’ve learned!
Look at the truth that changes everything!
I was thinking the most important thing
in my whole life
was finding a way to let people know
And then I realized
the same discovery must dawn
in everyone. In each of them
it must be as precious, as profound,
as earth moving, as it is for me.
No one needs a second hand dawn –
Each one gets their own
And how rich it is to see
this treasure, latent or in full bloom,
hidden or celebrated,
in every person. On the street,
in the grocery store, at their work,
each one promised and given
the holy vision
that means so much,
that means everything.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 6, 2020
Sprouts of possibility
push themselves up
like seedlings where we’ve planted them –
still so small they’re almost imperceptible
but growing sturdier and more apparent
Like with my seeds, I’m not sure if I know
how best to tend them. Like my seeds
I’ll trust they’ll grow
with a power all their own.
I’ll try to keep them warm,
try not to over water,
and let the sun and springtime
bring them home.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 5, 2020
Sometimes it seems
a small misstep
can punch me right through the floor –
not into free fall
so much as into hobbled stuckness
One misspeaking
can rip the whole fabric
of our mutual understanding,
leave us hugging at our rags –
efforts to mend it just make deeper tears
There is no hope
but to step back
to where I’m formed anew,
and from there, let my eyes reframe
a truer view.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 3, 2020
I don’t know how this ends,
don’t know how we can go back
to being as we were,
don’t know, either,
if there’s enough of a way forward
to see us through the fire
And I don’t want us to pass through
without being transformed –
crucible purified, phoenix transfigured,
rising out of the ashes
with nothing of our former bondage,
chains gone, rags burnt away,
so the shining truth of us
stands clear.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 2, 2020