It was a cloudy, misty day,
and we did little,
It was a shifting in between day,
a shadow,
overlapping transparencies,
intransigent opacities,
a day of waiting —
waiting for clarity,
for any forward direction,
where even fresh pursuits
fell muted
into the gray cloud
of what we don’t know.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 25, 2015
I knew from dreams
that it would be effortless,
guided by thought and not mechanics,
and that every cell of me
would be awakened, would be exclaiming,
over and over, how free, how right, this feels
I knew that there would be no fear.
I knew I’d feel companioned,
so closely held and guided
by the Truth with which I gratefully commune.
I knew I wanted this, with all my being
What I didn’t know
was how close at hand this is —
not something lost to me
(at least until I walk a span
wherein I am defined
by some corporeality,
wherein I am confined to tracing
mostly pre-determined, fear-laced paths,
wearily, from birth to certain death)
I didn’t know I didn’t have to wait —
that this reality of who I am,
equipped and fully knowing flight,
has been here all along,
simply awaiting my lift-off.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 24, 2015
I search for inspiration
and see the bright image squiggle,
naked as a sunbeam,
upward and out of grasp
except my mind
is its medium,
so it can’t escape —
it can only
open out my sight
to where I see it
blending like heat rising,
releasing its radiance
into a greater shimmer,
bringing me there with it,
breathing the broad freedom
of communion.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 23, 2015
they shall drive thee from men, and thy dwelling shall be with the beasts of the field, and they shall make thee to eat grass as oxen, and they shall wet thee with the dew of heaven, and seven times shall pass over thee, till thou know that the most High ruleth in the kingdom of men, and giveth it to whomsoever he will.
Daniel 4:25
I’ll take whatever baptism I can get —
Let me be wet with the dew of heaven,
till I know:
1)
Not my scheming mind,
not my fretting, fearful mind,
not my story seeking,
straw-grasping,
hoping and despairing mind,
but the Mind of stars and seasons,
of microscopic earth connections,
of fragrant sweeping tides and cedar boughs
guides the action of my life
2)
Not my self-concerned, capricious tastes,
not my opinions,
not my brittle sense of what I am
determines me,
but the Soul that sings through every morning
and sustains the song all through the afternoon,
goldening the evening,
coloring the mystical transition into night,
chiming through the stars,
tuning the subtle shifting
in every blessed hour until the dawn
3)
Not my cyclic bursts of will,
my spurts of motivation
(between the slumps of lethargy)
not my halfway efforts
to accomplish something,
but Spirit’s steady, constant inspiration,
that brings life’s fruits to fullness,
each in their perfect time —
this crafts my being
4)
It’s not my sense of life,
its little arc, and my attempts
to fill it with the things I think I want,
but Life’s design that brings me forth —
so joy-filled, so abundant,
spilling forth delight,
limitless and free
5)
Not the set of things I’ve thought I loved,
nor the (also small) set
of what I’ve thought loves me,
but the unrepressed infinitude
of Love comprising everything,
fills me up with its desire to be
6)
Not my former judgments of what’s true,
based on what I thought I understood,
but this great Truth is what I must acknowledge —
which makes a place for every being,
each one with its center, each a centered love
7)
Not my sense of law — of what is right
or what I might decree,
but that full Principle,
which holds the world
in ever-moving harmony,
is the law that governs me
Seven times, and then
my reason will be sound
for I will know
The Most High, the All Good,
makes me what I am.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 21, 2015
In the grand array of Life
there’s nothing fragile —
The most delicate of flowers
is securely held
in the space around it,
in the air and light that haloes it,
and in its neededness
within the web of everything,
the tenderest of fronds
is supported
in the isometric force of life,
pushing out and down,
and in the cycling of energies within it
The finest of perceptions
and the sweetest of emotions,
the deep empathy and sensitivity,
are anchored in a love as vast
as all the universe
where nothing ruptures them
nor overrides their purity
So, too, this day,
this epoch, and this moment,
are held in their perfection
by a law, a love, that leaves
no room for falling —
a law, a love, that cherishes us all.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 19, 2015
For me you have often
stood in as my daemon —
spirit beside me
giving me courage,
feather-light anchor
securing my sense of my right
to be here
Even of late
on opposite coasts
I still feel us walking together,
seeking our heart instruments
and our song,
practicing light lessons daily
Now, while you’re here,
all the tasks of my day
suddenly seem light and easy —
buoyed by your presence,
in joy of your essence,
my spirit is lifted again.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 17, 2015
A bird in a picture
can no more fall
out of the painted sky
than you can fall
from the grace that attends your being
No matter how high that bird might be
and how young — a fledgling, really —
no matter how hard the painted trees
may show the wind to blow,
that bird will stay aloft,
so have no fear,
for so shall you
I try to explain these things —
I know my own fear
in former times
was hard to overcome —
It was hard for me, as well,
not to think of these words
as some incantation
to keep the bird from falling
Believe me — I know
that words aren’t enough,
that you, too, need to feel
the upward-bearing lift
that holds you, blanket-sure,
on your true course.
And so you can —
you, too, can feel that Love
that is the only law.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 16, 2015
It’s not quite time
to settle
into the coziness of darker days,
the smell of inside heat
while winds blow outside
and the sun comes just
in scattered, rapid glances,
and rain spatters
and there is no guilt
in staying inside all day
Now the squash have played their hands —
some will roll in flush and full to harvest,
some are banking on a longer season,
their fruits now small and hopeful and daring
And the heart race
of this span of opportunity
pulls me forward —
right to the edge of what I can know,
right to the hungering yearning urge
to keep leaping, one bound after another,
into open space.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 15, 2015
I recognize the goodness
of your sturdy strength
and your willingness
to get completely dirty
and to muscle the heavy equipment
into the ground,
your endurance
and your experience
and the way you signal to each other
above the motor’s din and through your earplugs
and you both know
what you need to do
The joy in this shows through
like the brightness of your eyes
in mud-spattered faces,
and how you hold yourselves
after the heat of the day
and the hours of work,
fortified instead of slumped by labor.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 11, 2015
I’m finished with voices
telling me to do it right
I’m finished especially with
voices telling me not to do it
because I can’t do it right
right off the bat,
such that I am left
helpless and immobilized,
waiting for someone else
to do it for me
or teach me
to do it right
For I have discovered
that if I just begin,
my action and attention
will teach me very quickly
not a rule for rightness
but the motion and awareness
that works perfectly
for right now.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 10, 2015
photo by Edward Mulhern