Author Archives: Wendy

The shapes are not the light

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If you brought them all together —
all the moments, from many different lives,
where the dream was broken through
and the light poured in —

You would see many different shapes —
a death, a near death, a psychedelic trip,
the answer to a prayer offered
from the very depths,
a gift of life received, the gratitude invoked —

The shapes are not the light.
Light can come through anything.
And what you do with the dream
after seeing the light
is not trivial. There is guidance
to be found, about how this is done,
guidance, and guides,
along the upward way.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 26, 2019

Needed

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All of them needed to know —
needed a way to look up
from their burdened lives,
from their crashed or crushed visions,
the dysphoric drag of suffocating stories,
they needed a better way
to catch a breath
than the scrabbled pushing aside
of some of the worst weights

All of them — the ones thought fortunate
and the ones thought down and out,
needed something more,
needed this —
the bright assurance
welling from within,
the blessed kinship
with all that’s light and lovely,
the solid truth about their royal being,
never held down,
supplying all their needs.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 25, 2019

Words and Light

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If I could tell you
my deepest, newest thoughts,
they would have the same words
that I’ve been saying for years,
the same words others are saying,
no doubt, like me, noticing that
they essence they are trying to convey
does not come through

Words! — they are fickle vessels,
more like light projections
that you can walk in front of
and fill them with your shadow
while the image is reflected
off of you

But light — light can inhabit words,
if briefly, and it can keep them
in listening’s reflective silence.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 23, 2019

Integral

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I was tempted by the mantle
of the good guy —
the evidence compelling,
the accolades attractive

But I considered —
What, then, of the bad guys?
Is there anyone I’m willing
to throw under the bus,
to think of them as scraps
to pull away from my fine cut out
and discard?

No. Let the cloth be whole.
Let there be no one condemned,
no one discarded.
Let the good I am
be one that holds out
for the true picture,
where no one is cut out
and all are welcomed,
where everybody’s place is integral.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 22, 2019

Closure

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The prospect of departure
is like wood settling in to the fire,
causing a quickening of flames —
our actions burn warmer
though there is less fuel
to work with

We will do what we can
and leave when we have to.
There is power and comfort
in closure.
We’ll savor the silence
before the next act.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 21, 2019

Bed of Acceptance

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At the end of our day,
size of remaining tasks notwithstanding,
we have to acknowledge
what was accomplished —
two vehicles saved
from the ravages of mice
(at least for now)
and some flickers of clarity
rising up in the firelight
as we considered
our past and future course

Now I can hold you
in the love that offers
a bed of acceptance
like coals hold the wood in the fire —
whatever you may think of your life
can be transmuted, offered up as warmth,
rendered translucent in the service
of that which glorifies us all.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 19, 2019

Aha!

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(in the aftermath of tepid soup)

It wasn’t the soup at all.
It was the opportunity
(missed that time)
to reassess my disappointment
and what I swallowed
by accepting
that what I needed for my comfort
was heat,
and then in thinking,
when I couldn’t get it,
that all there was for me to do
was settle

It wasn’t that I should have found
some perfect way to ask again —
this was a portal
(missed that time)
to seeing things in terms of life
instead of soup,
being supported by
(thus bearing witness to)
the ever present river
comforting us all.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 17, 2019

Novice

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I still am a novice at fire,
as it reminds me, morning and evening,
demanding my humble attentiveness,
first in the building
and then in the watching
what the first flicker will do

I look for the rushing of flames,
the roaring of yellow filling the firebox,
I look for the holes where it falters,
I seek to provide what it needs

As reward, I’m provided
with myriad metaphors
curling and licking,
warming my thought —
fire within takes on a new meaning,
lighting my day with its art.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 15, 2019

Picture

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Your being gone
tells me acutely
all this is dream,
all this is dream

I see its edges —
see where the tapestry
meets the loom,
the threads I chose,
how they were woven,
how they have made
what is depicted here

It isn’t sorrow
so much as recognition —
how what I thought and feared
became this picture,
and from this standpoint
my hope is greater
that I will see, sometime,
all that is real.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 14, 2019