Just before the turn

It’s not quite time

for the quiet click

that signals

the start up of a new cycle,

not quite where the whirrings

of the measuring machinery

propel the system on

past the pause at the top of the circle

into the subtle push

before momentum picks up

and sends the circle onward . . .

Not quite time,

but we can pause,

here as anywhere,

to let our breath catch up.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 31, 2013

Completion: A Witness Circle

Each of us in turn

opened out a little star point,

our circle’s roundness

expanding to encompass

all those bright bursts,

where our breath flowed together,

pulled along the raw emotion

and exposed softness,

drawing out the heart hum,

sucked into the poignancy 

of each truth

And the arms of our shared intention

held us all,

flexing their strength

in the enormity

of what they now contained,

in breathless awe

of what we could support.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 30, 2013

Year’s End, 2013

There will be no falling, this time,

into the end of the year,

no tumbling of untallied days,

no cache of uncounted hours

to not expect, but then to have

for languid wandering through paths

of memory . . .

These days are still measured,

still ordered — needed for the steady

mounting for the launch,

in rising hope,

into the next ascent.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 29, 2013

Settled

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

The Law of Home

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

Wellspring

This world in which we’ve run,

silly and small and sad,

(recursive rounds of mindlessness

blinding us

in blaring 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

Peace

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

Three Days Past Winter Solstice

The sun gleams low

against the undersides of low 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

Momentous

At this moment

I feel my weight is

infinite,

in that nothing can move me

from my here.

When I move,

I engage the spin of the earth,

the swirling up of trade winds,

the gravitation of seas

In this point of balance,

responsive to the landing of a wren,

the look of recognition,

I am always moving

but always here

And this is true for all of us

who spin and swing across the sky

in interlocking orbits,

enacting the momentous dance of spheres.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 23, 2013

Celebration

In our new life

we will reclaim celebration.

It will be as frequent as our days,

as individual as our loves,

spontaneous songs and hugs and dance,

gifts that arise in the moment

Our paths will be constructed

so we come together

as a matter of course,

and we will rejoice

because we see each other,

we will be glad

because we are seen.

Our celebrations will not be

a distant gleam of hope

to sustain us through dark 

and weary months.

Each day will be royal —

Even our work

will be full of light,

and each of us, each day, will be

cause for delight.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 22, 2013

Dawn

When he wakes up each morning

It takes him a while to remember

the nightmare has been banished

from his waking world

Though it had sat there many years,

a dense cloud that dulled all light,

dead weights along his limbs,

a constant punch of dread against his gut,

It isn’t here now.

It’s gone.

There is a light scent of sunlit dew,

of snow from distant mountains,

There is a catch of breath

and a bubble rising

from somewhere deep within,

There is a new day,

and the power of his ancient balance

reclaimed

There is love to live

and life to love,

and it is plenty.

Yes, it is enough.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 21, 2013

Magical

Well, the fact is,

we are magical.

All of us.

And we will see it

in any medium we engage with —

clay or iron or words,

seed or song or smiles —

Each will yield its magic

in response to ours

And the voice that scoffed,

“Be real,” was just the screech

of chains, the wing-clipping 

croak of bondage and despair.

It holds no place

in our right mind.

It is befitting

that we bring magic

to all we do,

that we call forth

profound cooperation,

hitherto unseen gifts

from what we work with,

that we be magical.

It is the secret key of wisdom,

forged in love,

and it is real.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 19, 2013

Pattern Language

We are made

to find the way 

to harmonize,

To move in phase,

to synchronize our orbits,

So when we come around

we blink together

These frequencies form

intricate and interlocking webs,

the patterns where

communities develop.

They rise from us,

from what we are

alone and with each other.

We come into our world

remembering this dance,

and if no heavy hand

compels us to forget,

we’ll build it naturally.

But if we have forgotten,

We’re still not lost:

It only takes a few key intersections

to recreate the whole.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 18. 2013

We Are Home

There will be no pretending,

no playacting,

no terrified attempts

to be someone who knows

how to move, what to do,

what to decide.

There will be no more skittering

unmoored across the surface

of what calls itself our life,

no more posturing

in efforts to appear to be

someone who has arrived.

We are here.

(as clouds that momentarily disperse reveal)

We have been here for a long time

And we have always owned ourselves

And we know how to move

and what to do

and how to nourish things

and make them grow,

and how to bless,

how to be whole.

There will be no pretending,

for we are home.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 17, 2013

“To walk, by right, on the naked hills”

The great slow-motion bounce,

accompanied by the long-sustained

expanding chord,

Captures the triumph of the forces,

the extended harmony

where everything follows

the line of intention,

Waves undulating, weaving through waves . . .

And we love the unweighting

and the sinking down

and the pressing in

and the bounding up —

Some who know

call it walking with God,

Tuning the edge of awareness,

where joy is the treasure

born of connection,

the only thing that feeds us,

the only thing we’ve sought —

A knowledge that will always rise

from the essence of our being,

that can’t remain concealed,

as it’s so thoroughly written

in the law of everything we are.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 15, 2013

A Place to Begin

This holy starting place

is like mist dancing in bright sun rays,

like soft light sifting through eyelashes,

a meeting of our hopes, our shaggy edges.

Here’s where we give ourselves,

Surrender to the mercy of

the grace that listens,

that finds the first fit,

the clasp with which 

we slide into the dance

of deepening reverberation,

plunging into fathoms of our souls.

This is the immersion

that we came here for,

This is the draft that satisfies

our fullest essence,

This is the blessing

we have longed to give,

shining the perfection of our presence.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 14, 2013

A Staider Day

There is a satisfaction

in crossing “i”s and dotting “t”s,

Not like the rush of flight,

not like the sweet epiphanies

that bounce, exultant, on my inner walls . . .

It’s a prosaic peace,

but worthy, nonetheless,

A nourishment that’s good in moderation,

A staider note to give a base for spices

and ground the fledgling efforts of creation.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 13, 2013

Here

Here is the power

in what you are,

Here is the ground

you stand on,

Here is the soil

that richly holds your soul

nourished in its springy living web.

Here is the knowing

what your light can do,

Here is the strength

that fuels your song,

Here is the quiet

that births the hallowed music

that lifts you up

and bears you home.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 12, 2013

Whoosh

Every time I think of it

it feels like the moment after

a tub of cold water was dumped

on my head —

The breath-arresting shock, the ragged

gasp, the rush of cold and wetness,

the persisting dripping,

rivulets pushing past my ears and eyes,

a pounding pulsing of my head and heart,

the tingle filling everything,

and the exhilaration as it clears . . .

It’s so astonishing

I keep on thinking of it,

keep on being dowsed with the surprise —

How I never grasped before

how much of what I thought was true

was just a ruse,

how long I’ve let myself be disempowered.

Shocking it is —

the stirrings of awakening

asserting the dissolving of a dream.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 11, 2013

Biodiversity

Some seeds won’t sprout

in these conditions —

they’ll wait dormant

till things change,

and then, as saviors,

as tiny carriers of daring hope

of life’s return,

they’ll spring up, set their leaves,

and thrive

There may be parts of you

that haven’t sprouted,

and you may have wondered why —

perhaps you’ve doubted

life’s provision, or life’s wisdom,

But things may change

and suddenly you’ll find

a capability you never nurtured,

rising strong, growing apace

with all the needs of now,

blessing you, blessing everyone.

There’s room for all of your potential,

and it’s needed.

In its time

each gift will shine.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 10, 2013

Defending Innocence

I stand here afterwards,

a bit bewildered —

The flames haven’t hurt me

and the smoke is clearing,

and it wasn’t exactly a battle . . .

I took a stand for innocence,

and it came under fire,

but what got singed was just

the guilty part I held within.

Unaltered was the call

to stand for innocence

and let no rising voice,

indignant, shocked, alarmed,

deflect my steady sight

of innocence inviolate —

every person’s right.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 8, 2013

Cold Snap

Now we’re here

and what we thought we’d do

has been subsumed 

by all the day’s particulars —

the cold,

the sun’s low angle

(bleak, oblique, but warming through the glass,)

the newly rising urgencies

and their disjointed rhythms —

times of waiting spaced between demanding tasks —

So we stay home

and move within the small circles,

try to settle in,

protect the center.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 7, 2013

Winter’s Onset/Inner Warmth

Warmed from the inside

by radiant heat,

I feel the pleasant boundary

of my skin,

a rosy presence,

the satisfaction of being

soundly grounded in a place.

It’s cold outside

but that coldness is no match 

for inner warmth

that glows here

even brighter than the fire.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 6, 2013

Arguing the Case

I need not plead for you

in the court of nightmares,

masking with bravado

a trembling sense

of being at the mercy of its sentences,

implacable, arbitrary, cruel.

I’ll take your case

to the light of day

where all those looming shadows

are revealed as two-dimensional —

lying flat along the ground

and bending with the walls,

insubstantial, fleeting as the hours —

For you were never subject

to the tales of failure,

never marred by the projections

of a bad light.

You have always stood empowered

in the grandeur of the genius

that ever brings you forth

intact, upright.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 5, 2013

Transfiguration

It is good for us to be here,

and whatever we have brought —

our child fears, our defenses,

our adult masks, our opinions,

the scaffolding on which we’ve propped

our wobbly sense of worth —

Whatever we have brought

can sit here in this light

of what we’ve glimpsed within each other.

It can sit in that warmth,

bask in the slowly suffusing fact

that it’s forgiven. All of it.

We will fill with light till that’s all

we can see in each other,

and we will be whole.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 4, 2013

There’s time

Don’t worry —

Time won’t go without you.

We are the time-makers —

we breathe time,

it moves at our fiat.

Every one of us

has the power to insist

that time unfold in order,

allowing space for each expression

to come to full fruition,

each impulse to bring forth

all the blessing that impelled it,

each symphonic movement 

to build,

in its proper sequence,

to the place of final satisfaction.

Life doesn’t go without you —

there’s time.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 2, 2013

The affluence of forgiveness

It doesn’t matter

how big, how horrible

the lie told about you.

It doesn’t matter

how often it was told,

or for how long,

or who believed it,

or even if you, too, were fooled.

It doesn’t matter

how it has accumulated,

what complications got piled up

and up, compounding that first lie,

it doesn’t matter

what consequences have accrued.

In the clarity of Truth

no lie is seen,

and in the sight of Truth

is the forgiveness

that absolves any size lie

and makes you clean.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 1, 2013