The One Who Loves Me

The one who loves me,

and who always has,

is the one who rivers me,

who flows my substance through me,

flows me through its being —

all my life, my love —

that ever eager pulse

that shows me forth in glimmers

and in full shine

as always so much deeper

than the shifting stories

I and others have called “me.”

The One who loves me

and who always has

brings up my love, full on, to meet it,

teaches me everything I know

of how to love.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 30, 2013

Tapestry

The threads that make our story

have passed through many warps

before they came through us.

They came from richly colored skeins,

were mixed with others

in their pathway through the loom.

They rendered skies, they rendered sun,

they rendered trees,

and many ancestors 

before depicting you and me.

We are not separate.

Every strand of us is also part

of everything that’s been before.

Their colors sing through us,

Their memories live in our bones,

We join with them in chorus.

We never walk alone.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 29, 2013

Mind and Heart

It’s said the mind can’t solve its own snarls —

A pro at spinning yarns, it is too linear

to see beyond the knotted interweavings —

that, though it flows with ease

through many convolutions,

it’s too invested in the string

to let the tangle go.

Have a heart!

It doesn’t really matter

who said what, who did what, and why —

(Wait — that’s still the mind speaking)

The heart says,

Hush —

Your wisdom and your love

are strong enough to ensure

that every actor in this story

get full due,

be wrapped up in the care

compelling them to thrive

as the wonderful creations that they are.

The heart says,

Sink deeper

into these infinite arms

that ever hold you up.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 28, 2013

A first-world problem

Darkness looms about the house,

enters the old man’s dreams,

makes him heavy —

He won’t get up.

My love is far away,

my friends move in their own orbits,

the music pipes on bravely

but I’m lost

This is a first-world problem —

my house is warm and dry

and safe

and well-supplied.

The only thing I lack today

is feeling useful —

the sense of purpose and essential role

that serves community,

helps make it whole . . . 

I will fight for this

each day I have to —

to feed some greater need

would fill my soul.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 27, 2013

In answer to your question

There is a yes

that whispers in the softest tones,

as intimate as kisses,

small as a cricket’s chirp,

but opens out a chorus of response

that in its vast resounding

sounds a universe.

It says:

You are enough

and you will have enough within you

at every step

to light your way

and be a light for others.

Your internal universe

has countless stars,

all of them bright enough

to guide you home.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 26, 2013

The One That Chooses

for Edward

See? The one that chooses

chooses true —

How else could we have known,

though we were very young

and scarcely knew ourselves,

that it was right for us to be together?

And though we jockeyed —

tried and mostly failed

to put forth our positions —

though we had so little power

to influence each other

as we took our stands at our opposing poles

Eventually our magnets had to shimmy

to settle us right here

in snuggled closeness

and we asked each other last night:

Who chose who?

Well, maybe this was chosen

not by us

so much as by our deeper essence

that moves not from a choice

but from a law —

a law that works regardless of our constructs,

The law that shines the stars and tunes the worlds.

Happy Anniversary, my love!

©Wendy Mulhern

September 25, 2013

The Law of Light

In the law of reflection

everyone is bright

(nothing is created or destroyed)

The light that rests on them

is the same,

and as it always has,

it shares its brilliance in full strength

with every thing.

And any time we fail to see it,

it’s just that it’s refracted

some other way —

turned toward a world, perhaps,

we haven’t even seen,

focused to bless

somewhere we haven’t known.

They will all do what they must

to find the place

where their brightness offers

the one clear shining ray that’s needed most.

Each has that gift

and each will give it

in the steady rhythm

of the law of light.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 24, 2013

Monuments

We think we build for eternity,

Yet all those heavy, heady things —

documents of finances,

records of transactions and transitions —

become as useful as the old computers

that contain them,

decaying towers of plastic obsoleteness.

We think our lives are fleeting,

Yet those moments

like where a hug reached through

beyond the mask of separation,

and where you saw a soul

and felt illumined,

and how you worked together

in the quiet, deft companionship

of knowing what was needed and delivering —

These times, uncaptured by recording,

still remain,

undimmed monuments

to the heart of life.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 23, 2013

Evening contrasts

The coziness of a heated house

is made stronger

by a foray into crisp evening

which is made fresher

in its contrast

with the warmth inside,

which is made sweeter

by the movement of the outside wind.

So blessed we are to venture out

and to return,

renewed, embraced

in this

as in the cycling 

of every breath.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 22, 2013

Supply

Within Love’s infinity

there’s enough 

to craft everything —

enough scope, enough minute attention,

enough mastery, enough variation,

enough presence.

No fear or failure is required

for any true creation.

Here we are.

Here is the current canvas

and the moment’s brushstrokes,

Here is the object of our inspiration,

Here is our power to wield the artist’s tools

and bring each hidden gift to view.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 21, 2013

Blues and Olives

Things that have

the bitterness of olives

and dandelion greens

should not be sweetened.

You have to take them down

with salt and garlic

in the dark rolling flavor

that seeks the underside of tongues

in the wild place

where stomachs growl

and teeth chomp.

It is the same with Blues —

low crooning twang

taking you down 

into the satisfying

soothing ooze

of deep brine.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 20, 2013

Glimpses

How can you describe the glimpsing of this truth?

You see it like a deer in the woods,

suddenly revealed by a shift in shadow,

Then it’s gone —

Gone to your eyes at least —

You know it’s there,

and if you focus in just right

you’re sure you’ll see it.

You see it like a color —

white-rimmed mauve upon the water,

flickering and disappearing

till you find its source

in the sunset sky

and then you see it

repeated in great swaths across the lake.

It’s like a snatch of song

So sweet and haunting to your inward ear

But which you can’t quite hum

because you don’t quite know it.

Wait. Be still. You’ve called for it

And so, in its time, it will come.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 19, 2013

Met

The awkward throw,

high and wide or falling short,

allows for a heroic catch —

someone so inclined can run

and leap and dive

and hold their object

deftly cradled against falling.

The awkward comment,

tactless, unconsidered,

still can summon

heroic grace —

a pause, a gentle turn of phrase

that reveals the deep intent,

the effort for connection that was meant,

and so restore the moment’s joy and peace.

Everywhere I feel I have been awkward,

I still am held

within the harmony of the unending dance

where everything I do

can be profoundly met

with what brings forth

the fundamental good.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 17, 2013

Empty Nest

We move among the circles

that close quickly now,

tasks suddenly rendered easy

by lack of interruption,

huge projects now looking feasible

And we need to hang on hard

to the sense of purpose

that propels us forwards,

and learn to be sustained

by something other than

the scanty tidbits

gleaned from afar —

Harvest our joy

in what they have become,

but forge forward on our own.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 16, 2013

Crafting

Going in, I need to be

completely clean —

no burrs, no barbs, no sticky spots

to catch at the fragile web.

If I am to piece together

from these parts as soft and thin as petals,

a garment that will serve to cover us,

give us a name, a role,

a way to hold ourselves,

Then I must sew it deftly —

no rips or tears to render it

in need of still more sewing

So let me pause here first,

let all investment fall away

that I may be

a good instrument,

and my work true.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 15, 2013

Tidal

In the sea’s splendid surge —

foam swirling, gathering,

showing the grand dance of waves —

There is no resistance —

nothing that fails to move

in that symphonic harmony,

no molecule that bucks against the thunderous tide.

No more can we 

rebel against the law that moves us —

not as something separate from us

but in a oneness

like waves and water —

so we are held.

So we swirl, so we dance,

so we flow.

There’s no resistance

and there is no failing

in the surge of Life’s unending tide.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 14, 2013

Transition

I stood in transition,

hip deep in now-quiet waters,

feeling the melancholy of change, of stasis,

of muted gray and green

Then to the west

appeared a crisp rip in the clouds,

bright blue streaking out

clean and deep behind the weather

And without knowing just what prompted me,

I slid, snakelike, into the waiting water

to slip my skin and swim.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 13, 2013

Circles

Here is the circle

where I am held in your heart,

All of me enclosed, included,

Swinging in the hammock

of your care.

Here is the circle of radiation —

all of the warmth

that flows from that cozy enclosure,

Spread to include

those who come in the line of my sight,

Sure to exude all the comforts 
of this dear delight.

Here is the circle

of all who are drawn to the love,

Bringing their own light

and feeling it rise in the center.

Here is the joining of links that will hold us

in that grateful unity

called our community

All of which grows from the start

of how I am held in your heart.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 12, 2013

Praxis

Sing, people!

Stretch, meditate,

Pray, make love, dance —

Fly to the thing that brings you light!

Seek out friends to laugh, to rant,

Climb mountains, find wild rivers —

Whatever will expand, restore you,

rush through you, ignite, fulfill you.

Give it enough time

to refresh your luminescence,

For when, in my usual ways,

I can’t find mine,

I can then turn to you

and be lifted.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 11, 2013

Fruition

This is a time of closing of the arc,

not as in a downward fall towards death,

climax past,

but as integrity of structure,

in which the strength is realized,

and all the flyaway, forgotten hopes

of many years

now have a place

to weave themselves back in,

to form a vessel

that can hold

all these sweet fruits.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 10, 2013

A Place Prepared

Music across the water,

music across the miles,

things to mend our sense of presence,

reassurance of smiles

It’s not too late —

everything comes home

and in its coming brings

great claps of celebration.

So we are all received

into the place created for us,

kept and embellished throughout the years,

though we hadn’t seen it,

refined continually to be sure

that when we find it,

whatever our path of growth has been,

it will fit perfectly

and so will we.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 9, 2013

A Most Important Thing

At this time of life

depth seems a most important thing —

the balance weights that extend  

below the illusion we call the ground,

the ones that give us

dynamic presence

so we can’t be tumbled

from our own truth.

Though many forces

may push us flat against the ground,

we are not phased

for we rebound,

immediately realign

with what we are,

embody a circumference

that’s wider far

than what we had before believed.

We need this depth

to move with purpose

through the social daze,

We need this size 

to overcome the myth of death.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 7, 2013

Sun Turn

We rounded the bend

into the precipitous edge of fall,

the sky’s dynamics

dealing real cold air behind the clouds,

the sun’s warmth 

playing for higher stakes

and sometimes losing.

It was worth it this morning

to dress at three fifteen

and walk, almost blind, through the dark house

to find and muffle a light

and walk down to the water

to see if the stars

(so many, so bright)

would cast a clear reflection —

many did.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 6, 2013

Sisters

(for my mom, and her sister Marcia, and, I hope, for Edith)

You have connections

you may not notice —
A shared light in the corner of access memory,

How your eye may catch your cheekbone, looking out,

Your love of birds,

deeper than articulation —

something tugging at your inner wings . . .

So, though your worlds diverge,

When you come together,

you find that seated ease

where words are comfortable

but not required.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 5, 2013

Crickets

Cricket song, like stars

in the soundscape of the night

illumines the crisp air

with points of aural light

Memories of moments

stretch across the years,

bright spots of joy

like cricket song

fill my eyes and ears

There is a place

for every sound,

for every voice.

So crickets,

alone and in their undulating chorus

invoke my inner song,

let my heart rejoice.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 4, 2013

Americans

We are actually much deeper

than the stories about ourselves,

the tragic, unanchored drifting,

vertiginous sense of not knowing,

of having no basis for deep compassion

and decisive action.

We are not those shallow people

who accumulate stuff

and blame others

for the lack of joy in our lives.

This is who we are:

Grounded in truth. Formidable.

Able to demand fairness for all,

able to protect the sovereignty and dignity

of every living thing.

Able to say no to the growing, rolling

ball of lies that tries to drag us under,

Able to stand as strong

as any long-oppressed survivor,

able to see love win.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 3, 2013

Martha’s Vineyard, Labor Day

It’s still hot and muggy,

windy and cloudy,

but now, baptized by salt spray,

I move through the air

as one who belongs here,

easing into the familiar lightness 

of bone, expansiveness of breath.

Crickets and small birds

sing songs of evening.

Masts of moored boats clank,

engines of boats and planes

stretch out loud against the quiet of the land,

the rain and thunderstorms

still pent, unspent,

but I’m no longer waiting,

now fully here.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 2, 2013

A Moment

For an instant,

in my prayer,

I saw all the darkness of the world

as being short as a breath —

an exhale awaiting the inhale,

an infant’s need reaching out

to be gathered into loving mother arms,

And all the world’s travails,

throughout all time,

as just that moment of the asking,

calling forth the full embrace

that brings us all in and in

into the truth of everlasting Love.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 1, 2013