When the truth comes,
everything lights up at once.
It’s not a chain reaction,
a far off pulse that makes its way
through time, through space
Inspiration alights
simultaneously
in every cell —
They are all awake,
all intelligent,
all delighting in the instant activation
of their attention,
their essential role
in the great attuning.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 21, 2015
Ah, we have tried
with our minds
and with all our art
to bring the dawn —
we have visualized it,
and declared it,
we have understood its theory,
even publicized our musings —
How is it
that it has not yet come?
What more do we need to do?
People say
that dawn is subjective anyway,
coming at different times
in different places —
If that’s the case,
how will I know it
even if it does come to me?
©Wendy Mulhern
November 20, 2015
One day they discovered
there was much more to sound
than the tinny pings they evoked
by hitting themselves and each other
They found they could stand open
and the grand wind would come in,
would focus their tones
like fine bells,
would ring them crystalline and haunting
in a reverberation
that caught them up in holy awe,
and they all stood still
and listened.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 19, 2015
photo by Edward Mulhern
In the early morning edges
where sleep tosses its transparent images
in fractal ragged waves
across awakeness
In the pre-dawn chill
where an electric light
fails to bring the vigor of the day
There is still radiance,
jewels of peaceful thought
spreading clarity,
rays of awareness
imparting buoyant hope:
this is a day of healing.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 18, 2015
Deepening hue of evening sky
imparts a dusky wonderment
that such a color
(crossed, though it is, by suburb’s electric lines)
carries the evidence
of the goodness of everything,
soft promise
that what stretches out
along my life’s horizon
is also saturated
with quiet joy,
enough to cancel out
the long seep of dread
that used to haunt my edges,
enough to fill the whole bowl of my aural field
with golden sound.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 16, 2015
In this endeavor
I will yield
as gracefully
as a pear tree
yields her smooth fruits,
precious seed entrusted to the taker,
juice collected from the sun
concentrated here,
the best gift I can give
of my substance,
in just acknowledgement that
all that I am is perfected
in this exchange,
all that I am is indebted
to this truth.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 15, 2015
Let’s talk about
silence
Let’s let the rain
do the talking for us
(tapping patter and the rush of rivulets)
Let’s consider
that no raindrop
does the falling of another
It is not my job
to influence, persuade,
not my work
to make assessments,
Not even mine
to set examples
(thinking that they really should be followed)
Mine, instead, to notice
and to magnify
that which rises freely
from its own reception
of the blessed touch of thought,
that which drops unerring
into its own purpose,
from its own source.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 14, 2015
And blessings will come with
the dark wind — rain and
bits of leaves blown from trees,
fresh washed air and the progress
of what has moved all through the night
Blessings, too, of dry warmth within
and the remembrance
that the eternal laws of mutual blessing
are forming their delicate but capable arcs,
in Mind, in body,
in the harmony of all life,
even while we speak,
even as we pray.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 13, 2015
(title quote from Mary Baker Eddy)
Lack of a stream bed
will not stop water
from flowing down
Lack of a plan
will not stop love
from carving its way
through and around
every obstacle
Lack of lessons
will not stop dance
from cleaving to the music,
moving bodies in ways they hadn’t thought of,
hadn’t known they could
And no tale
of loss, of separation
can stop the full expression,
intricate and bold,
of everything you are
from shining forth.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 12, 2015
People may wonder
about your story —
That is the way of things in this world
People may speculate,
may use their conclusions
to readjust their sense
of how things stand.
People may wonder, or they may not
In any case, know that,
whatever they conclude,
it has nothing to do with you.
Whatever construct they may form
will be related far more to their own story
than to yours (accuracy being irrelevant
to the art of shoring up positions)
Some people may speculate,
Others will reach out —
that is something different:
Take their hands — in that connection
there is something real.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 12, 2015