Bedrock

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

Peace Returning

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

Family Ties

We want to dissolve

all the knots we made,

all the contortions

we put you through,

all the habits we forced on you

in the twistings of our ignorant demands

We see the marks upon your posture

of all the places that we failed

to let you stand tall, and breathe free

and claim the breadth and depth 

of your own being

We wish, more than all else,

to set you free —

Is there a way?

Can we simply release you

from the tyranny of our early vision?

Is there a key in giving you

what you always knew that you deserved —

the full acknowledgement of everything you are,

of your infinity, your brilliant destiny?

Or maybe 

it doesn’t hinge on us at all.

Maybe you have already flown,

and the enduring truth of your nature

guides you clear and pure

and all that’s left for us

is to forgive ourselves.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 28, 2014

Post-Christmas Musings

One way and another,

stories vary from experience:

We may ride safely in the container of

How lovely to have the children home

while our peace lies in shards,

all the comforts of home spilled out —

a thing that’s more convenient

not to mention

Let us remember

that other people’s stories,

one way and another,

may mask what they are feeling,

emotional complexities

foiling words entirely,

their need for comfort perhaps greatest

when their stories gush with

how perfect everything is,

how enviable their lives

The young man who stood in Bellevue

with downcast eyes

and a sign proclaiming homelessness

called me an angel when I gave him five dollars.

Who knows what story was there,

and what experience,

but I feel my money

was well spent.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 27, 2014

Quickening

Now no longer enthralled

by the currency of death

we turn to the currents of Life,

the ones that surge in quick joy

and course in steady peace

How could we not know

that this has always been our strength,

always held us up

And there was no substance in the fear

or in the threat of loss the fear was using

to hold what we most love hostage

Life is not bounded 

by death, not bound

by limits, not circumscribed

by ultimatums

Life rules its own realm

and we are of it —

contiguous as ocean,

encircling as sky.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 26, 2014

Christmas Eve

Look how perfectly

(though inadvertently)

the scene has now been set:

The gaudy lights and cynically

commercialized tunes

finally driving all light 

out of the celebration,

with Christ’s name now so fast affixed

to vengeful, hateful opposites

and the supported pastimes of the season

so bereft of any sense of hope

We have achieved the ultimate:

a night dark enough

for it to really matter

that truth still breaks clear,

that the inevitable dawn

of that which always draws us close,

tenderly washes us as we approach,

till we’re delivered pure

to where we’ve always been

but didn’t know,

where we are dearly loved

by our eternal Source.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 24, 2014

Biding

Faced with a riptide

or a vortex

Be calm —

There’s less to gain by thrashing

than by tuning in

and waiting for your moment

It’s OK

if you go down a little more

before you surface

There will be something you can use —

An eddy, or a bottom to spring up from

Or a gravitas within,

more weighty than 

the surge can heave,

to separate you from the fray,

release you from its inundating force,

let you reclaim your footing

and your course.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 23, 2014

Preparation

Our preparation is like snow falling,

small flakes landing here and there,

the first ones fading, white to wet

on roofs and pavement,

disappearing silently

into the grass

Later it may thicken,

accumulation quick enough

to form a lock — crystal fingers

holding bridging structure

against the melt,

And before we know it

we may be transformed

stepping softly

into the opening world

of our next life.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 22, 2014

Winter Solstice Eve

The longest night

comes and passes by,

Clouds scud across the dark sky,

Stars reveal that they were always here,

through the day, through the rain

Wind walks the hooded land

in its efficient stride,

Trees and chimes make comment,

Thoughts glide,

moving like the wind

along the canted 

planes of observation,

ever slanting towards tomorrow

and the steady flow of everything

through the timeless changes

of ever cycling life.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 21, 2014

Advent

You put out candles

to mark the advent,

You set your watch

like shepherds

for the long hours of the night

You pray, you sing,

You pause. You’ve done

everything you can.

And then Christ comes,

even before the rolling earth

embraces dawn,

before the final shiver

of the last watch,

before the time you steeled yourself

to wait

Christ comes

now as ever,

singular yet constant

glorious light —

when you most need it,

what you most longed for,

invoking your grateful surprise,

joy to your heart and your eyes.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 20, 2014

photo by Heather Mulhern

Forward

There may be times to look back

but this is not one of them —

Not now, when the dissolving floes 

are drifting,

breaking up the paths 

we used to walk on

Not now, when our only hope

is in how solidly we place this step,

right here. And how attuned we are

to those deep harmonies

along whose lines

reality solidifies

This is the time to create the ways

for those who have been lost to follow,

and for all those coming up

with hope as yet unsullied

to have our boughs to twine on

In this way, we’ll weave a world

we all can stand on

and look around

in any way we want.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 18, 2014

Wasteland

We could live all our lives

in suburban toyland

with no discomfort,

with our pretend jobs,

with tools that are not dangerous,

that sort of work

We could tell ourselves

there’s no reason for

that reckless longing

that keeps rising up —

We could beat it back

through shopping,

live all our lives that way

But they would be short —

We’d die of shallowness,

of not being able

to get a deep breath

We’d die of feeling no danger,

no aliveness

We’d die because fear

would come and get us anyway

in our little holes

because fear is never conquered

by running from it

We can’t live all our lives

in suburban wasteland.

Wilderness calls us

and from deep in our throats,

deep in our guts,

we answer.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 17, 2014

Taste of Heaven

We start to look away

from all the things we thought

we cared about —

mementos, milestones, celebrations,

everything we thought would mark success

The taste of heaven

tingling on our tongues

drives us, hungry,

toward something we’re not finding

in the old pursuits

We seek it

in every place we’ve seen it —

smiles of strangers, twinkling eyes of friends,

wild abandon of winter colors in the land

and the promise of souls touching

hinted in those

inexplicable

sudden moments

when the uncountable

Importance of Everything

gleams clear.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 16, 2014

Snuggle Me

Snuggle me

for I’ve been playing the grown-up

for too long —

heaviness tugging me down,

hard knots in my forehead

Playing the grown-up

with all of its hang-ups,

studying contracts,

haggling with language

Snuggle me —

Somewhere within

is the timeless and ageless

core of my being

where wisdom runs totally clear

Let your heart reach me there

where the sweet currents

wash away every care,

smooth out the tangles,

free me from worries,

free me from anguish,

from those conundrums 

offer release,

rest me serenely 

in snuggle-deep peace.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 14, 2014

Madre Terra

We are made to speak with the earth,

Soles to press to loam,

Skin to sing the pure vibrations,

Tongue to taste the curling air

that bears the tale of everything alive

We are made to speak with the earth,

Eyes as emissaries, catching shafts of light,

relaying truth of all that lies within —

blue cast in the scent of oceans,

red in sun-warmed soils,

green and russet wetland grasses,

silvers aromatic in pine and sage, 

rosemary

This has long been hidden

under roads and floors,

the pictures all presented 

through small and separate windows

so we haven’t known

what they all mean together,

haven’t known how they comprise a whole

But still the earth will call us,

pull us out from where

the dry pursuits have trapped us,

Lead us by some image, by some zephyr

to the place that owns us,

to our land.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 13, 2014

Coming Home

Everybody’s coming home.

What looked like long and rocky trails,

what looked like walls, what looked like jails,

what looked like horrid snarls

of debt and obligation

are all the same

We set out on our journey

with strong resolve,

desperately determined

to give all it takes,

This time to finally leap free

of all those loops that snagged us,

dragged us back

so many times

We’re coming home.

It may be our resolve

or just the truth of our belonging:

The hard travails begin to fade

as we engage them —

We wake,

We wake to find ourselves

home.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 11, 2014

Current Events

I tear myself away from the pictures

so many times a day,

sickening and sad,

grief hanging with the edge of rain

on my windshield,

on the ledge behind my eyes —

Where can we turn now,

How did we drift so close to checkmate?

I look for solace in the colors —

winter reds of shrubs against storm gray,

dark trees against the sky,

I look for comfort

in the words of friends

These send me where I need to go,

down to the depths of my roots

to find the place where life

is ever coiling

to rise in its own strength,

to claim its truth.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 10, 2014