In the absence of pillows
and space to stretch out,
I still traveled well,
in the company of angels,
in the comfort of belonging
wherever I was,
richly entertained
with memories and gratitude
for what I’m learning,
and eyes to see the kindness of others
and their joys,
and the freedom
that tucks me in with all the space around me,
charging all with potent portent,
setting me down at journey’s end,
perpetually home.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 11, 2015
I feel a little like this day —
partly cloudy, beautiful at times,
finding myself wishing
less for sun than rain
There is, as often, the scent of tears
that won’t quite precipitate,
a subtle suspension
that holds me from the lusty
and definitive bounce
into the fullest stride of life
Nothing to howl for —
All is in order —
This sense of dispersal
will, in time, resolve,
and I will leap and laugh
like sparkling sun, like rain.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 10, 2015
Go easy with the plans.
Grand plans can crash
through the fragile screens
of our connections, the web
with which we anchor our experience.
They can crash through
the wispy wefts of imagination,
the ones we use to build our vision
There is a place to plan big,
but then we must come quickly down,
for seedlings have different needs
from saplings, which have different
roles from trees,
and fruition requires
many conditions
to come about
You can imagine an orchard and a harvest
in an instant
but how to make it grow
robust through all its stages,
through the years —
more than big plans,
that is what we need.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 9, 2015
Your house doesn’t matter,
Nor even (or especially)
the coral construct you have built
from all your interactions,
all your habits of relating,
all your skills (or lack thereof)
Your living self is found
in the act of darting out
from that hard castle,
making the bold or resolute
(or kind, compassionate)
leap into the space outside your fortress
That’s where you find love,
that’s the compellingly lovable
essence of you,
irresistible, sensitized, delicious —
That is the truth of you
that really feels,
that loves, that heals —
That is your gift, your soul,
your worth.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 8, 2015
This poison
has brewed a long time
and it has been spewed
on us before
but the concentration
of bitterness at its target
still surprises
Is there healing for this, even this?
Is there a way to grant permission
for the righteous spite
that eats away, finally, at itself,
to simply be set aside?
— A hold so tight, a sea so deep
that even this one
would be compelled to let go,
to let Love take over?
And what of me?
Can I find a safe harbor to offer
in my thought,
for this one’s homecoming?
©Wendy Mulhern
August 6, 2015
I stepped into a long dark stripe
where it seems to have been
a lonely journey
down the shadowed canyons of my thought,
along the ever-stretching landscape
where I have held myself
trimmed to the wind of years,
beating my course
in its ragged tacks,
undercurrents pulling me sideways
as I strive to bring myself
to the place where I can see progress
It’s a wearying perspective,
not one in which I choose to stay for long —
sun stripes, too, can make their mark
across my vision.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 5, 2015
When I started to sing
(my voice pulled up by the enticing
echoes of the underpass)
I found the sound was bound
to the memory
of how last night
it entwined with others,
rich tones rising from us,
curling around and drawing forth harmony,
long lush locks of song
like dark, smoky-incense scented hair,
like arms embracing, foreheads touching
and the primal coil
that rose up through our centers,
feeding us from the earth.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 4, 2015
photo by Edward Mulhern
Some of these lines
were drawn a long time ago
and which side you were on —
bumbling, refined,
golden-crowned, pariah,
may or may not still hold sway
within your mind
I’ve been surprised at times
to see how little difference
they have made
along the longitude of lives —
ways I’ve shined anyway
(despite predictions),
ways I’ve failed to thrive
(despite achievements)
Some of these lines
are drawn daily
in the shifting sands of internet
and in our thoughts —
benighted or enlightened,
savvy or snookered, blessed or damned
They could criss-cross us
into tiny boxes,
or perhaps we’ll see
there are so many that they cancel out
and we’re just standing,
feeling alone but really
right next to each other
on the ever-tousled but resilient shore.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 3, 2015
What if that inner elixir,
that euphoria,
that quality of the peak moment
we hardly dare hope for
is just a glimpse
of our natural state,
the fullness we are made to ride on,
the flight we are designed to soar in,
the heights on which our natural home
is settled?
What if every moment
is a launching off point,
a way to get there,
and there is no pedestrian
in between
waiting for goodness
half-living state of being
in our true existence?
©Wendy Mulhern
August 1, 2015
Oh, the world is vast
and sometimes we can glimpse
how we have chosen
one small part in which to run our circles
One small set of intersections
with one small set of others,
of whose lives we see
only a fraction
And we assume others are foreign
or we assume they’re the same
and never see the whole of them
and scarcely see
the grand rolling
that moves us all, in which
all our orbits are one.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 31, 2015