You may be rising
but the tide is, too —
we don’t go anywhere alone
Landmarks fall away,
measurements, too —
we can’t compare,
so much is new,
so much is felt in the attention
to these moments, all subsuming
as they are
Try to notice one
in the fleeting space of a thought,
try to hold it through the scrim
of day to day
If you miss this one,
the rhythm will come round again,
the place to grasp, in here and now,
infinity.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 29, 2019
Feet step out in wonder —
Try to describe this,
soaring down the tailwinds,
bright spirited day after the squall
Flowers bloomed where she walked —
that was one way to say it,
joy meeting joy
not something precious or singular,
just the natural way of moving
and its expected effects
Surely goodness and mercy
shall follow me
(I shall have a legacy of blessing)
all the days of my life
that’s a way to say it, too,
in the house of presence
where each breath
brings forth fruit.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 27, 2019
Turns out, it seems,
I’m not afraid of death.
It is a subtle thing,
the lack of terror — no struggling up
of something held at bay,
no frantic pushing back
against the upflow,
no fear-frayed patches present in my prayer
A thing to only notice in thunderstorms
(bike tires plowing through the water,
lightening flashing, touching down ahead)
or in an airplane, when they talk about the life vests,
or other times I haven’t yet observed
Not that I have a death wish, either —
I’d rather have my life be affirmation
that Life is here, and kind,
I’d rather be here for the folks that count on me
but being unafraid —
that’s something I don’t mind.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 26, 2019
There was movement everywhere
but presence was defined
by stillness,
a translucency
whose glow was seen
between the arcs and threads,
between the strides,
between the branches
There was music ringing out
from deep within the silence,
what seemed dark
becoming clear
in the sheen of rolling curve
We turned our focus
from what we thought defined us
to what was underneath,
to what has been here all along.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 25, 2019
I listen and my empathy
follows the threads of passion
(threads like water veins
upon the land below,
the rivers, lakes, the melting snow,
the cities clustered there, along the roads)
I feel the longing and the pain,
I feel the exaltation —
my spirit hums an all-embracing chord
that circles round the threads
and drops beneath,
enfolding them in overarching blue.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 24, 2019
It may look like I’m weeding
but I’m harvesting — these dandelions
are destined for great things,
performing their wizardry
on crusty ground,
pushing through,
making room for more life
The sun was here briefly,
later the cold wind came through,
but didn’t deter us from harvesting
sweetness and strength
from the field of our connection
and the truth that is with us
wherever we go.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 23, 2019
At a certain point
I started wanting
that texture, that color,
that I couldn’t name
but still could feel and see,
still could taste
(at the back of my tongue,
the place before the swallow,
the place of longing
and satisfaction)
(the color of water
when you drink it,
the clear and the shine of it
as it goes down)
And the longing settled
in between my toes,
urging my feet to find
the steps ahead
Time to move out of the narrow place,
time for a new yoke —
the yoke of freedom itself
with the consummate attention it requires
to keep myself
within the present dewdrop of its taste.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 22, 2019
Everywhere we stopped,
I wanted to eavesdrop,
wanted to throw myself
into the current
of other people’s lives,
wanted to feel
whatever it was they were feeling,
though I never really could quite hear
Out on the land
I am alive to the sounds
of geese and ravens,
turkeys, owls, the cycles
of water, of the seasons,
and the tutelage of Spirit,
my mind cleaving eager
to what it teaches
The world of people
drifts so far away,
I forget the goals, the games …
and though I don’t know
if I’ll ever play again,
I still, it seems, am drawn to watch.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 21, 2019
With all the offerings of easy trust
we may accept some
that are not trustworthy,
just for the ease of letting go
of something that seems so hard
There is always a deeper trust
we can sink our roots towards —
it will offer strength
rather than ease,
and though the ease may seem
so tantalizing,
the strength, most certainly,
will satisfy us more.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 19, 2019
If every life story
turns out not to matter,
if none of the shocks and the falls
or the haunting doubts
or the lonely lows
can make any mark on your being
If none of your items of pride
with their giddy highs,
their sidelong looks
(weighing your relative worth)
are anything you can protect,
anything that can remain
Still you will find
that the spark of your love
and all you’re compelled to defend,
your unplumbable worth
and the need for your presence
shine in Life’s eyes without end.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 17, 2019