I took down my high wire act
(which, truth to tell, involved mere puppetry)
to stand in this soil
and breathe the air
of humility
It may be a long walk from here,
all along the ridged and valleyed land,
but my feet will learn to know the ground
and be satisfied.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 11, 2018
And in the ponderous time
it seems to take
to do the simple tasks,
may we gain experience
in presence, and in gratitude,
in noticing, in overcoming
And how we find our rhythm
with all the things that don’t need clocks,
that arc along the day
according to their own grace,
the kiss of rain or sun
enough to crown their deeds.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 10, 2018
You, too, will find yourself illumined,
fuzzy new edges full of light,
the growth within unstoppable,
though spring may seem to stumble,
Your essence pushing out
to meet the reaching day,
the thin wall between inner and outer light
tingling in anticipation,
incipient transformation.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 8, 2018
After long neglect
the music, when invited,
still fills my form,
the dance still transports me
I feel it like spring sap rising,
like sun on bark, on skin.
It reminds me what it’s like
to know I am alive,
to be something more
than a thing described,
or a role, or one who waits —
It reminds me how life defines itself
fresh in each moment,
new in each breath.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 7, 2018
Who can predict the consequence
of one truth restored, one thing
that had been unknown, now
deeply understood?
It may be a keystone, rebuilding the arch,
allowing the bridge to go across,
it may be the line that closes the circuit,
lighting up the house,
it may be a birthright, rendering royal
whole peoples, all along the course of history.
One truth may be all we need.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 6, 2018
Across this path the trees
have written of themselves,
their shadows elegant,
celebrating the gift of sunlight,
their gift to us who walk here
while the wind blows strong
and spring is still a promise
And promise is something
that we’re looking for,
along with any signs that clarify:
promises are not about the future,
promises express the grace of now.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 5, 2018
A place that’s warm can give me
permission to cry — kindness so often
sets me off, I don’t know why —
I don’t know if it rolls me onto
the underside of long and steady courage,
if it makes my vigil seem bleak, if it allows
a setting down of strength,
and if this flood is something
I just needed, or if it is
a detour from the program
and does no earthly good
I don’t know why, but I feel
grateful and unhinged
both at the same time.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 4, 2018
We will go in the strength of
what fills us with our sense of presence,
what gives us grace, what affirms
the I Am that courses through us,
waking up everything, thrilling us
with the warble of life,
the power where we are.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 3, 2018
Hush. It is good
that we be quiet,
the better to hear the soft stirring,
underground, of swelling seeds,
the gentle parting of willing soil,
so recently too hard to move
It is good that we be quiet
to form the backdrop of gratitude
for the early warble of birds
unafraid to be first
to celebrate the dawn
In the sacred quiet, our hearts
relax from taut waiting,
even before we can otherwise sense
the springing forth
of our perennial grace.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 2, 2018
Now that I’ve found this place
I will not go out,
I will not go back
to the world where everything
is always sliding down,
and everyone is trying
to claw their way up
I will stay here,
and though I’m told the dogs of doom
will still snap at my heels,
I will not be moved.
I will hold to the vision
until all who fight against it
are transformed, and glide gratefully
into this truth.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 1, 2018