All of these whirlings —
frenzied opinions bouncing
against each other,
frazzled worries gnawing
at the air,
These will cease,
and everything will settle
in the calm continuity
of our care
No fear, for though life’s torrents
cast our prognoses into doubt
and though we can’t predict
how our projections will come out,
We know the rich weight
of all that’s real
will still be with us
when the dust clears.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 28, 2013
We had been taught we had to buy our homes
in the currency of servitude,
our souls indentured for security,
our freedom traded to be warm and dry.
What liberation to discover
there’s a higher law,
to find we make our homes
from what we are.
We make our homes
from what we are:
Like coral, like clams,
we grow our shelter
from the soft sweetness of ourselves
and from our interface
with the vast and seething breathing
of currents rushing through us
We make our homes
in the power of our thought,
conceiving them as we conceive ourselves
inseparable from innate belonging.
We make our homes to hold ourselves together
and keep us where the flow of life
will constantly enliven us.
No way to be homeless,
no need to be fooled:
It isn’t commerce that protects us
but the law of home,
written in the timeless code
of water, waves, and stars.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 27, 2013
This world in which we’ve run,
silly and small and sad,
(recursive rounds of mindlessness
blinding us
in blarings of so many things
we never really cared about)
may be crumbling,
But it is also fading,
and the blaze of our love
is forging new connections —
networks for our light
to run along and multiply,
illumining the bedrock of our being,
the deep source
of our sweet, eternal spring.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 26, 2013
With the deft precision of stones
we slid beneath the frenzy,
silently, like falling through water
down to the stillness. A settling
of sands, their quiet lift and gradual
return. Each particle always
in its perfect place. We nestle
where our essence sets us.
This peace will last. We’ll always
be able to find it. It is as true
as our belonging. As our being
what we are. As our constant
return to our source. As its
ever present tender hold
on our lives.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 25, 2013
The sun gleams low
against the underside of clouds
gilding them as they drift, uncommitted,
above, among, the glinting city buildings
And it fills me with something —
not quite tears —
A gathering of clouds within,
which drift, also stunning,
low and gilded
through such a fleeting softness
of the day
The earth has turned
and days will now grow longer,
pulling us under the low points
through the mystery
into stronger light.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 24, 2013
Poems are being imported from Earth Whispering Blog.