Author Archives: Wendy

Living On

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living on

(Cynthia’s wisdom)

You will live on.
This is your gift —
Your aliveness
with which you feel
every incredible tender thing —
the supple softness of rose petals,
the rush of breath against your heart,
stirrings of life forces
across your skin

You are alive
and you can bring them with you,
the ones you loved —
You haven’t lost them
because they live in you.
You can’t leave them
any more than you could leave
your bones, your blood

You have to take them with you
(which is what you wanted anyway)
This is your gift
to you and your loved ones —
You take them with you
as you live on.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 29, 2014

Sharing Stories

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gems

We traded in the currency of wisdom —
Bright beads strung on chains of story,
held out in our gesticulating hands,
exchanged in channels of our care

We were all lit up
in the refracted rays
of those deep gems
we each had mined,
ofttimes in solitary toil,
and now could bring out in the light
to share

So we grew richer,
the wealth of these being
the way they multiply when seen,
the way they fill up our dark places
with a glow that warms us solidly
while still revealing
their enticing depth.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 28, 2014

In the backyard

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flicker baby1

The baby flickers
consider fledging —
one and then another
sticks a head out, then feet,
breast, a shoulder

woodpecker babies

Their eyes dart around,
they blink,
They’re in and out,
in and out —
The one without the red cheeks
has been out longer,
come out farther

Yesterday a hawk came
and perched on their snag.
The jay made holy racket
and the babies hid
while mom and dad flew frantic,
making their decoy calls

Today it’s quiet.
The wind rushes through the trees,
crows and planes more distant.
I watch them watching everything,
weighing themselves
against the feat at hand.

woodpeckers1

©Wendy Mulhern
June 26, 2014

photos by Edward Mulhern

Borne

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borne2

Make no resolutions,
Assay no regimen:
This — who you are —
is out of your hands

Nor does it belong to
those desiccated voices,
hollow echoes of disapproval
tunneled down the years,
speaking through the mouthpieces
of relatives and teachers (and yourself),
standing in for experts,
Knowing nothing

Your perfection is as close
as the little hitch of breath
that comes in the space between
the leaping and the falling
and the rush of being borne up
in the ever humming
affirmation of you.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 25, 2014

Impress

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impress

Who can actually
look back or forward?
The rolling drum of life
stamps its impress
on our moments,
thick and deep,
And we are caught up in it,
and everything that was our past
is far from our attention
And what the coming press might hold,
we can’t foresee
And it’s OK to be
here in the quick of it,
the colors glistening
and dripping from our hands.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 24, 2014

Testimony

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testify

No internal tyrant
can stand against
the law of Love

There are no bargains,
nothing to be bid against yourself,
nothing to be bought,
no wily devil
with whom to gamble
for your soul

You have the right
to remain silent
and let the quiet
truth about your being
testify

Love ensures your innate worth,
outweighs any evidence
the tyrant musters,
Proving
the tyrant is not you
and you are never called
to be its voice.
Your love will take the stand
and you will win.
We’ll see you claim your freedom
and rejoice.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 23, 2014

Aflatus

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sorrel woods1a

It could be called the moment
when Spirit appears on the scene —
That silent shift in everything,
where all the spaces and hollows
become more pronounced.
Things stand out from each other —
ferns in the sunlight,
waves cresting among waves,
and the whole dimensionality
takes on depth and richness
And things glisten
in the sure sense of being themselves
and being loved,
And everything moves
with a unity of breathing —
Grand inclusive rise and fall,
catching them up in its peace,
embracing them all.

oregon beach1

©Wendy Mulhern
June 22, 2014

Transfiguration

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transfiguration3a

Oh, I recognize this,
Coming, as it does,
in the rush of weather changes,
wind chimes frenzied,
tree tops all astir . . .

I don’t know if I’ve seen it before
but I’ve felt it,
The way those distant trees
(one layer behind the houses
across the street)
Were suddenly gold,
lit up at full attention,
limbs held in sudden
transfiguration
for a long moment in which
all I could do was watch . . .

One cottonwood took the chance
to dance copper and brass
instead of its usual silver,
Wildly, in full abandon,
until the glow was softly
lifted away.

transfiguration2

©Wendy Mulhern
June 19, 2014