The rhythm of summer

Everything is moving in the rhythm

of summer —

sound of wind chimes,

scent of privet,

transfixing flit of

not-quite-random insects,

play of light on spider webs,

crows in conversation —

There is something to learn from this,

something to take with me

from the unhurried connection of events,

the space between

that’s long enough for slack,

supple so it ripples smoothly.

Here where it’s too hot

for spiking urgency

or any worry,

things still progress

prodigiously,

with ample room

to take their perfect time.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 30, 2013

Reflections while driving home from recovering my car after it was towed from where my children parked it

I’m grateful that you’re here,

grateful that we could bail you out

and bring you home,

and have you in our lives,

Grateful that this, too,

is life-building,

and you will be stronger

because of it

Grateful to have learned

(though sorry that I didn’t learn it sooner)

that we only have one job

concerning you,

which is to see you —

to behold, in awe, your essence,

far more intricate and comprehensive

than we could grasp in a moment

or in years,

though we might glimpse it

in either years or moments . . .

No need to compel or criticize —

We only need (and need to only)

see and celebrate

what you bring,

what you give,

what you are.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 29, 2013

Ecology

Nothing is condemned,

Nothing thrown away —

There are so many branches

along life’s paths —

So many cycles

at every speed and scale

and everything is moving,

aligned in some great plan,

rolling out the endless course of life

No one is condemned,

No one cast aside,

for every life uniquely serves its purpose

and all shall be embraced,

for everyone belongs

and all of us

are needed where we are.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 28, 2013

My Final Offer

There is no part of my desire

that I’m willing to give up.

I insist on all the goodness

that I crave:

The part about the living land

and our deep kinship with it;

The part about our well-honed gifts

and all the richness shared in their fruition;

The part about our home

and all the others who live with us;

The part about the healing of the earth;

All these must be included

in the goodness we acquire,

No part may be excluded from the vision.

I won’t agree to any less

and so it must be given.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 27, 2013

Entering

Bring nothing with you,

for everything you need

is in your power to see what’s here

And there’s a lightness in knowing

every moment has, within it,

deep wells of richness,

plenty for your present thriving

And there’s no lack

of the substance in yourself

that calls forth that dark glow —

the subterranean shining

that quenches every thirst.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 26, 2013

Riding the beast

The lengths of highway

flex their strength

like muscular snakes.

We who have thought 

they lived to serve us

start to feel our big mistake,

Start to sense how trapped we’ve been

in the grid of roads,

in the grid of time,

in the grip of (up till now)

unquestioned rules

that say we have to ride the snakes

and serve the hours 

and not complain

when (for our safety)

more and more of liberty

is locked away.

If we are to escape,

we must slide, softly,

off the back of what we have been riding,

Find ourselves together off the grid,

Build the places in between

until they make new paths

for all our energies.

Let the beast grow old and still

through lack of use,

Give our every effort to our truth.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 25, 2013

Incubation

There is great value

in the unformed place

where the bee dance of particles

buzzes and clusters,

groups and regroups,

and a new understanding

can start to emerge,

something that’s shared,

something that joins

entities that had been separate

in some grand and wild

sliding together space

where all prior sets

of intents and opinions

are widely thrown away

And in the fresh fertility of union,

quick shoots start up,

vigorous and smooth.

New air is touched

in wonder by leaves

that had been, till then,

unimagined,

that now can take their place 

in the lush, emergent forest,

doing the sun work

to bring the great dream into being.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 24, 2013

Ark Building

We have our instructions:

In the face of great violence,

build an ark.

So much violence in the land,

no one is even talking about it —

afraid, as they may be,

of bringing down the wrath upon their heads,

lulled, as they may be,

by the vehemence of misdirecting tales

Violence to the land,

Violence to the people,

Violence to their structures of support:

Build an ark.

Make it out of circles of our arms,

Make is out of clear communication,

Make it from the habit

of open-hearted caring,

Make it with room for everyone

Make it out of work that serves the earth,

that builds the chains of life supporting life,

Make it from our trueness,

Make it with our hearts,

Make it from the clearness of our vision.

Build the ark.

Let all the creatures in —

No point in a war against the violence —

As we build, our worth will lift us up

Upon the sea that reconfigures all.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 23, 2013

Your Salvation

It doesn’t depend

on your belief.

After all, you can’t decide

what you believe in,

can’t change your mind, at will,

about your trusts,

So it is not required

that you make yourself believe

in something other than you do.

It doesn’t depend

on your getting it right —

holding the right images,

doing the right rituals,

making the right choices

at the right time.

Your salvation

(your healing, your finding

your tribe and your calling)

depends on the same law

that guides the stars

and the mycorrhizae

and everything between.

It belongs to you.

You can have it.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 22, 2013

Solstice 2013

Summer hid behind clouds all morning

but by afternoon

it was bigger than they were

and spilled out

Just as my song spills out

like water

flowing and pooling and warbling

as I ride

down the long stretch of solstice,

while the day luxuriates

in languid hours.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 21, 2013

House

This is a house of prayer

a place to center

a place to be still

a place to wield the light-lines

of being,

to stand up for the justice

that rules in favor

of who you’ve always known you are.

This is a house of yes

Come here to be affirmed

Come here to enter

the entrancing

truth-impelled entrainment

with the ever-pulsing

symphony of Life.

This house,

This temple,

This body.

All I have,

All I need.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 20, 2013

Still

In the absence of words

the mind still does its melodies

sometimes with attention,

sometimes not,

and images may rise to meet the tunes

In the absence of conscious thought

the breath of life can still entrance —

so many variations to its inrush,

so many swirls within the currents

of its outward flow

In the absence of direction

the heart’s impulse, still present,

guides the mind into the stillness

before the words —

the quiet spring,

the soft upwelling

of what most needs to be heard.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 19, 2013

Beacon

Half moon

After midnight,

In its last act before departing,

Sets a beacon swath across the bay —

Silver summons

to the night’s deep pathways

swift around the world

towards the day.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 17, 2013

Ark

I will make this ark

from the course of the spark

between us —

the bright cathedral beams

that form from joy

when we meet each other,

when we have come eager

for the gift, ready

to be blessed,

humble and ignited with anticipation

for the way that arch forms

when our eye lights make contact

and the arc is completed.

We soar in elation

because we are made for this

and this ark of our connection

will hold us up,

lift us gently rocking

above the heaving waves

and we’ll be safe there

until the waters ease

and set us softly

on the reconsecrated shore.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 16, 2013

Life Cycles

There is no part, no particle,

no path of life

moving in the over-under cycle —

down, down to the depths of brown,

up, up in springing green —

which is not held in Love, 

and so attended,

profoundly celebrated in its present state,

wherever it may stand along the circle.

There is no end

to the bold, exploring,

pioneering edge of life

which leads with eager interest

and is fed

with all the newness

that rewards its rapt attention,

cascading and rising,

flowing and turning,

round and round the cycle,

ever free.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 14, 2013

Changes

Though we had imagined

a grand falling

attended, perhaps, by fire

and much bloodshed —

courageous sacrifice

to stand against the roaring maw —

and finally, colossal crashing,

followed by

a slow and tenuous rebuilding,

In the end

it was more a transformation,

a subtle redefining, a soft shifting,

something felt within the bones,

which then was seen in a great clearing —

dissolving of a shroud

(to our astonishment)

that we, up to that point,

had thought was sky —

And all the things

that never quite made sense

were then revealed

and so we claimed our place,

regenerated, healed.

© Wendy Mulhern

June 12, 2013

Foundational Principles

My life depends

on my getting this right.

Not as in

I’ll die if I don’t

so much as that

I live when I do,

really live.

Which means that life itself

will thrive around me

and give me life

just as I give to it,

And I will move within the brightness

of the being that fulfills me —

brings out my essence

as I bring it forth.

It is given

that I’ll get it right,

If not in every case,

at least in moments,

which then must grow

till they’re the only kind —

the bracing breath

on which my life depends.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 11, 2013

Song of Being

The clear song poured forth

because it had to,

making no attempt

to fill the proffered goals

of artistry and excellence,

oblivious of any frames of critics.

It overflowed all their lines;

they were amazed

and put forth praise

and tried to hold it up

as the new standard.

But it kept coursing forth,

forever free,

forever unimpressed

by what the pundits said.

Clear song of being —

creating its own perfection

in every melody,

in every chord.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 10, 2013

End of Game

All ye all ye in free!

So we were called home

at the edge of dusk

when the lights were starting to glow

in the houses,

and the evening’s cool

was softening the sky

and we would all return

to the separate circles

of those lights, and our families.

Well, it’s getting to be

the end of the game

and all the chosen roles

and all the tokens

are swirling down the vortex

towards their fall —

What will we hear of next?

It’s a strange thought

that everything might be falling

but we can’t feel it

any more than we feel the earth’s spin

But there are signs

that the whole game is ending

so we are looking up

ready to be called home.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 9, 2013

Development

Let rain wash around my stones,

Let wind drop fallen leaves

along my fences,

Let the gathered nutrient

from all my edges

call forth ever richer

teaming life

Build up my attention along contour

so what flows to me slows down,

Drops its gift to my receiving gratitude

Let me take the time to soak it in

There is no end

to the permission Life gives

and the ever-presence

of its care,

Its willingness to bless

gives rise to ever new recurrences

of the splendid circle

where all the living things

resound in bliss.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 8, 2013

Reunion

It was summer

and the bright, reaffirming waves

rolled down across everything

coursing through our limbs

bringing out the warm, languid affection

in which movement and laughter

flowed freely between us

It is summer again today

and we, reunited,

don’t need to work to make connection —

It’s here

in the liquid lines that join us

deeper than words,

deeper than roles,

deeper than thought.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 7, 2013

Life Song

Let me inhabit

the song that I am,

Let its melody course

through my limbs,

Let the deep crystal harmony

roll out its hum in me

Filling my center with bliss

With the trace taste of 

dust of the high mountain rocks

washed in the snowmelt,

cleansed in its rushing fall

Telling the story

of timeless eternity,

Sending the rhythm on down,

And the soft scent of blossoms

So light and ephemeral —

Subtle insistence on living in now

Let me inhabit 

the song that I am,

Learn from my heart and my bones

How I have known this for thousands of years,

How I now come to my own.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 5, 2013

Cleansing

I’ve been foiled by this lie before:

The curling worm cringes in

and the fleeing form

sinks down —

This is flight mode,

hide mode,

play dead mode —

It is very effective:

If I try to pry it up

it goes all slidey,

try to lift it and it shrinks back down

The more I try to get it out

the more I am enmired

But I will not give up

If I can’t engage it

(and I can’t)

Then I will flood it out

Flood it with the consciousness

of every tiny, perfect life form,

every act of love under the soil,

every handclasp, every trust,

and all the harmony inherent

in the turnings of the sky,

let those fill me up

so there’s no room

for any lie.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 4, 2013

Evening, Home

Well, I won’t dwell on

the little unravellings at the edges —

backwash of doubts about an interaction,

nagging thoughts of having done it wrong —

Better to remember

the afternoon light

and the touch of hands

with the home-soaring

but ever unexpected joy

that flew like swallows

from the moment of connection

Better to notice

how deep and ultimately unerring

is the impulse

that stands behind me

ready to pour out

from my eyes and mouth and fingertips

when I am attentive,

when I give consent.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 3, 2013

Not what we thought

We are the beings who fly

with our minds,

the ones who see the underlying patterns,

expressions of the matrix

of all the rolling powers,

everything that moves

in the stately flow

afforded by eternity,

infinitely fast or slow,

ineffable

We are the beings who find the fulcra

where the patterns turn,

and with our understanding,

we can touch them

so they bloom

into ever more involved unfoldment

Not hemmed in by these,

the temporary forms we thought defined us,

not condemned to stumble blind

amid the powers that bind us

We are the beings who ride,

standing, reins in hand,

down the face of nature’s spirals

Let us remember

We are not helpless,

not what we thought.

When we hold strong

in humbleness and service,

We’re so much more.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 2, 2013

Earth Song

Hush, hush,

Let yourself curl

in and in along the folding currents

of yourself,

in that weightless place

from whence you came,

in the inner infinite,

until you hear

a murmuring of waves

This is the song

the earth sings to herself,

in the depths of her continental shelves,

in the swinging of her tides

and the slow shifting at the molten edges

of her plates

Trees reprise it to their sleeping seeds,

in reaching roots, in weathered memories;

Winds take up its refrain 
as warm air slides up sensually 

along the sinking bank of cool;

Rills whisper it to rivulets

which join in choruses of creeks

which fall to streams

which roar in rivers —

ever-present hum of life

reminding us

where we come from

and where we gratefully, unerringly 

return.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 1, 2013