Afterwards, I would release myself
from the rhythm of listening,
the quick catching on the cadence
of thought, of feeling,
riding down the tale
through its pauses and its dramas
circling in to its conclusion
The energy it takes
is not trivial — the close attention
as in dance, the role of follow
Afterwards, I would notice
how still and even my breath could be,
sinking into the quiet,
submerging into a noticing
that has no words.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 30, 2018
You peer with interest
through the interstices
to find, somehow, the ultimate escape
where everything transcends
what it was thought to be —
the thing becomes the space between
as focus shifts, the space becomes the thing
Come inward, then, come through
to where, on tiny scale, space opens out —
infinitesimal, the infinite within
deftly reflects the universe without
This is a thing you clearly want,
less certain is your need —
you will try to take it home —
Who knows? You may succeed.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 29, 2018
The day has its gifts,
they require of me no planning,
just the openness to see them and receive
My worthiness
requires no earning,
just the willingness to be
open eyes to bring the moment home,
grateful heart to notice where I’ve come.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 28, 2018
Save, or I perish —
that is, hold me,
for your holding
is what makes me what I am,
Your thought of me defines me,
my movement and my voice,
my love, my focus, my desire,
my strength —
this is all your great idea
So I am not
(though it come back and back
like a recurring dream)
a crier on a mountain,
whipped by wind,
my voice blown back,
noticing whatever truth
I climbed up here to tell
is lost
My words, my song, my truth
come from you —
they are not lost,
for you are making them
new in each moment,
fresh as each morning.
I learn myself from you.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 27, 2018
Wind blows through, bringing weather —
trees send the signal along the ridge,
pressure drops, flotsam falls from branches
prefiguring the coming rain
There is no stress within the mounting rush —
it comes with patience, each development
in its appointed time —
soft rolls of thunder, turkeys gobbling in response,
moving patches of darkened fields and sky
Then the showers, quick and cleansing as our tears,
here and there, sweeping through briefly,
wetting grasses, trees and roads
Then the angelic sunset
riding with us as we headed home,
touching down, reminding us of grace.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 24, 2018
It is good, I suppose,
that the hardest work of my life
be now, that there be no hope of
sliding into comfort, letting go the reins,
letting the next generation take over
I would find such comfort meaningless,
as much so as the offerings our culture sells
(having stuff, being stuff, doing stuff)
My need remains, for once, to find
what really heals the moment and the world
and it’s worth working for (this I tell myself,
though I feel so tired)
this I tell myself, knowing that it’s true.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 23, 2018
Sometimes the extent of
what doesn’t matter in the least —
doesn’t matter anymore or never did —
seems ready to drown me
So far removed these tracks have gone
from anything that nourishes,
any reason anyone could see
to go and do it for another day
And yet the gleams of what’s precious
shine out somehow, from every moving being —
May that light grow stronger from within
and guide them, guide us —
all along our homeward way.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 22, 2018
Though I see light all around me,
it’s still my time (it seems)
to walk in silence
There may never be a time where I say
look, this is the way to do it —
by the time I get there
everybody else will be there, too.
That would be fine with me —
I’d love to never tell anybody anything again
Maybe instead we’ll just
build a new life for ourselves,
here on the land —
a life that offers shelter and encouragement
for those who need this place, this light, this time,
for those who, for their needing, we will need.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 20, 2018
For the folly of my past,
amends are all that I can offer,
so I offer them wholeheartedly
As for the shame of having been a fool,
that doesn’t matter. None of those feelings
apply to me anymore. There is no contest,
so I am not contesting my foolishness
The fact that it has nothing to do
with who I am, with who I’ve ever been,
removes the sting,
but not the need for an apology.
Sorry for my presumption,
sorry for my assumptions,
sorry for the skewed assessments
that impelled my words and actions.
I’m seeing things better now —
I hope you’ll feel the difference.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 18, 2018
One day you’ll wake up feeling fine —
the dread that sullied
so many of your early mornings
gone — you’ll feel, within,
the strong light rising,
pure as blackbird song
For this, this bright upwelling,
is what you’re made of,
what you’re made for, too.
The thin veneer on which anxiety is etched
must wear away,
leaving nothing but the true,
which overcomes,
which carries all the days.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 17, 2018