Since my body had been
soaked in kindness,
it had no voice to complain —
it wanted to stay there
in the memory and present fact
of kindness,
where it confessed
it was eager to learn,
eager to do anything I might ask
It was willing to abandon
any tales of injury or weakness
and just stay there in the aura
the kindness had bestowed
When it next moved
it was a different body
than the one I had walked in before.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 19, 2020
New language arises
in the differentiation of essential oils,
in the attention to small details —
freshness and sequence and timing
There are places in this noticing
for gratitude to take hold
with confident grip
to entrances too small to see —
thread hairs of its roots
reaching in and changing the ground
with what it brings
and what it calls forth.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 18, 2020
The silk I was washing
tore in my hands like wet paper,
myriad holes appearing
in what before was whole cloth,
my innocent fingers proving themselves deadly,
hapless
The oil from the orange you described
stayed on my fingers
and my lips,
its presence in thought
so immediate, so important
Ways of seeing things fall away,
suddenly proved unable
to hold truth in them,
new images tingle,
evocative, potent,
their scent suffusing everything.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 17, 2020
Tailwind now — enjoy your ride —
you will have headwind
on the other side,
strong gusts will blast
and beat you down
all the way along the sound
But wait — no need to prearrange —
winds make no promises —
they change,
in their direction and their force,
with no attention to your course
See how today you are attended —
someone who the wind’s befriended,
playful with your hair,
playfully pushing you along,
freshening the air
and joining in your song
So bring that spirit home —
bring it on inside,
until the new engagement
of tomorrow’s ride.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 16, 2020
This is not about how you need to be,
This is about what you are.
How you need to be
is so, well, needy —
it chafes against your brows, your lungs,
it sighs, it paces,
it rides itself with a crop
(gee up!) it stumbles forth
half hearted
What you are
is not like that —
it moves gracefully,
like light on water —
weightless, unsinking, delighted,
responsive, here to serve,
generous, whole and tender hearted,
receiving the reward of its own being.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 15, 2020
It isn’t a unifying force —
It’s much more gentle than that,
simple as sunshine, the present fact
of what’s here, of what properties
always are seen
in the way things move,
the way they interact
We can know we belong
in any here we find ourselves,
because we, too,
move like that —
gentle necessity,
the nature in which we rise.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 14, 2020
I went out shiny and hopeful,
I came back grubby and bruised,
I tripped over myself
so many times,
I got in my way —
such a familiar place
I had made grand narratives
for my triumph, had configured the words
but then found myself
once again
having to settle for silence
I know
there is another way,
I see the sweet humility
that overcomes the toughest challenge.
I feel the gratitude
for those quiet moments
where I see others
have found that peace
I can’t do this alone
but I’m not asked to,
nor am I charged to chronicle the story.
The steps are shown,
and all those dear ones
wait eager to receive me when I come.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 13, 2020
And for now
I can sit like a low cloud
above the scenery,
I can be within the rain,
it can be something
that isn’t falling,
or it is, but I’m still here
There is a peace,
a suffusion of quiet glows,
a sense of being untouched
by what moves below,
letting my being be determined
not by my will or effort,
but by what moves in me
and makes me what I am.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 11, 2020
In light traveling, as I slowly learn,
I must be vigilant
not to put my weight down,
not to stick my fingers
into any situation,
lest I be grabbed
and wrenched downwards,
lest I smudge and darken
my perception
In light traveling
I must hold myself
open to the wind
and to the logic of Allness,
and everything that light touches,
so I am borne up
in the fabric of everything,
so I am woven true.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 10, 2020
I closed my eyes
and the blue violet shadow
swept over me, through me,
then its particulate
began to dissipate
but the dark specs
still shaded everything
I can see the light —
right there, in memory,
and under everything —
it will rise,
it will become
what fills my consciousness and sight.
This I know well
though I can’t feel it now.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 9, 2020