Rejoice,
for your place in Life,
so particular, so vast,
is eternally established:
Who you are,
as singular as your name,
is braided in,
inextricably,
to the epic song
of elemental harmony
You are known,
You are needed,
and your words and actions
will always
bring forth their intended fruits.
Rejoice,
for your names are written in heaven.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 10, 2015
I need these moments
where the perfunctory subsides,
where its detritus —
the weariness, the dread —
ceases to be tossed
against my eyes
And the clear burn
of fervent purpose
lights my steps
and takes me deep
where the life cords course
in swift, braiding channels
surging me sure-footed and alert
through my day.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 8, 2015
Pearl of a late sun
within the matching shells
of sky and sea
rests serene
while wisps of fog form
and venture out from the land,
and matching fog
sits on the water
It is its own world —
it will enclose itself
by and by
with a quiet click,
into the inner space of night.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 7, 2014
photo by Eric Mulhern
In the gestation
of any new idea,
there is a time for silence —
a time when the currents of words
would warp the fragile budding,
when the stream of story
would make it something other
than it otherwise could be,
when blessed stillness
lets it unfold
from its own impulse
till it’s strong enough
to hold its own.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 6, 2015
photos by Eric Mulhern
The rain made patterns
of the sand that fell
from people’s shoes
as they left the beach
and climbed the ramp
up to the bridge over the tracks
The sand streamed down
in branching, braiding paths,
dark gray against the tawny pavement —
A thing I hadn’t thought to look for,
surprised to have noticed it
in a fleeting random glance, heading home
while the billowed sky hung close,
releasing its wetness,
soft and persistent,
into the very dark day.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 5, 2014
Love is a persistent thing —
The marks it leaves
don’t wash off.
Though they may be masked
by conversation
or the lack thereof,
by things said and not said,
done and not done,
When the alchemic fumes clear
and the film of time burns off,
Love is still there
In the end, its indelible etching
replaces all the old forms
with its insistent truth.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 5, 2014
We can do this
because this is what we are made for:
The timeless power
flows through our ionized, alerted forms,
from core through fingertips,
completes the arc,
connects us
to our incontestable purpose,
plucks the harmonic
that calls all sensors to attention
and aligns the universal forces
with our own
so we together
(we and the universe)
manifest
that to which we ever have been called —
destiny which never is forestalled.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 2, 2015
It’s no longer good enough
to feel sacred,
to string bright-colored spiritual baubles
and put them in our hair,
to feel vaguely enlightened
It’s no longer good enough
to be in the same tribe
with others who talk the talk
of spiritual urgency
and share the sense of what is most important
In this time,
action is required of us all
and our light must actually make things clear
and our connections
need to give us more than fuzzy feelings
We must nurture and support each other,
help each other claim our native sovereignty:
When we name Spirit
we must bring forth its fruits —
harvest of sustenance,
lifework of truth.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 1, 2015
Take me down to the bedrock,
Plant my feet
on something that’s not shifting
as days flow like dreams
and dreams flow like sand
along the sinking dunes of my perception
I can make no more conclusions
from any set of givens
sold in the market
of social norms
And I can find nothing
of enduring value
in the schools or in the stores
But there is something I can stand on,
step by step, there is a way to walk,
Guide my feet,
set them down surely
on eternal Spirit,
my only rock.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 31, 2014
Many small actors
help my equilibrium return —
the recognition of an old friend,
a planned reunion followed through on,
lots of other little things —
Nothing momentous
or even relevant,
just the quiet footsteps of life,
each thing moving for its own purpose
on its own course
These things together
set down a patchwork of peace,
calm the roiled landscape,
re-establish my presence,
find my ground.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 30, 2014