I’m practicing
this way to be small,
to be nimble:
to leave behind me any armature
that could be jousted at, could topple
(divest myself of it whenever it is sparred with
or whenever it kicks up the urge to spar)
to leave behind me any burdens,
any worries,
to ask the big question
that wipes them all away
and so define myself
not as a big structure
but as a small point of light,
one that grows brighter
the more that it reflects.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 15, 2020
I reckon many of us
would not mind
the end of the world —
The un-quibble-able finality of it,
the sudden change,
the necessary dropping
of the hundred little burdens
we each carry through our days
The excitement of it,
the call of something deeper,
long sleeping, in our beings,
something that would rise up
if only in that crashing moment
The hope is that it would be quick,
not some drawn out monotony of suffering
(though even there we would be honed,
and even there we’d mount the struggle
to survive)
The hope is
we would see
our loved ones again,
and laugh together
about the long strange trip.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 14, 2020
Morning has its faithfulness,
and even before dawn
as the gibbous moon still shines,
the turkeys are set off
by any other sound — the geese,
another flock of turkeys,
tiny songbirds, the occasional duck
Even before dawn
cars and trucks are trundling
down Marcola road along the river
We are up earlier
than our rustic lives would order,
preparing for errands in town
and to get back to planting
before the rain.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 13, 2020
It only takes a grain,
for if you even once
sense one true thing,
you won’t forget it
It will be there in its difference
from everything you’ve ever thought,
and it will trace itself
like light lines
all along your consciousness
until you realize
this is something you have always known
It will keep claiming your attention
till it changes
all the ways you think,
till its new logic
renders past assumptions
foolish and absurd
You won’t look back,
for you will find this new perspective
so precious as to be your very breath.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 11, 2020
Every place has an opening.
There is no scorecard
for whether you take it
or not, whether you glide over
or whether you founder
People who’ve been there will tell you
there is great value
in the most hopeless place –
they will tell you how they found a door there
thar opens unimaginable light
And some may note
the value wasn’t in the circumstance
but in its inability
(although they thought it would)
to snuff them out
and how that helped them grasp
what they are made of.
Wherever you may find yourself,
take heart. Ultimately,
there is no way that you can fail.
Every moment has its opening –
When you’re ready,
you’ll go in.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 10, 2020
The evening air is sweet-
scent of raked weeds
and walking on the land,
carrying water
Ravens and robins and blackbirds
fill the gloaming with their joy
This is better than comfort –
The warmth through working,
the togetherness that stretches out wide,
and these birds, this land, this sky.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 8, 2020
Left once again
in the detritus of dysphoria,
ripped, deflated,
rendered helpless by its flat words
(give up, you can’t do it
and you don’t want to anyway
(take that palliative, don’t complain)
you don’t have whatever it may take
and don’t deserve to either)
You are not alone,
and though you feel
no one could approach you,
look again
As you let the stillness sweep you
as the ebbing wave subsides,
you will sense, inside, a tiny seed,
its threadlike roots extending,
pulling you together
till the sprout can lift its head
It will tell you
nothing overcomes you —
you will blossom, and your voice will soar,
you’re made of life —
that old voice isn’t —
it falls to dust, but you,
you still shine clear.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 7, 2020
Here is a dream of sweet movement,
something to find in the time
before attempted sleep,
something to bind myself to,
to embody, to walk in the steps
in which my feet rejoice
Here before lethargy paints
a bland blank wall,
let life bound up in me
and take the reins.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 6, 2020
This fierceness is needed,
for to allow the stain
to fall on anyone,
to let it shame them,
to let it shape them,
is an injustice
that can’t be allowed
This tenderness is needed,
for the washing clean
must deftly leave
all natural color intact —
all of it needed
to form the spectrum
expressing the wholeness of life.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 5, 2020
Time and again, I have to ask myself,
What do I believe? And under that,
What must I believe to allow me
to believe what I believe?
And are those underpinnings solid —
can I stand on them?
If not, let them fall away
along with everything built up on them.
Let my belief stand
on the ground of truth.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 3, 2020