My Choice

Today I choose sovereignty.

I will take the time

to sit down into this truth,

to feel the weight of it,

to feel the power.

No one else is here

in my consciousness,

no one to declare that I am helpless,

no one else to set up obstacles

it says I must surmount,

no one to lay blame,

no one to say I don’t have control

of my being

Yes I surrender

to something larger

than what I think of as myself.

I don’t surrender that surrender

to anything else.

I surrender to the Allness

and take up my sovereignty

in the true reflection of the One.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 29, 2016

You, Inside

What are you then,

when your memory

has come unmoored

and you don’t know

where and when you are,

or why or how you’re here?

I see you are the same inside —

it feels no different

to wander in those corridors

of mind, of time,

to play the rhythms 

tapped into your psyche

from long ago events,

to hum, to breathe, to doze

Your loops of thought

don’t intersect with us,

but that makes little difference —

We’re the ones you struggle to place.

You are still your own companion,

the one who doesn’t fade away.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 28, 2016

Daily Purpose

It’s not about collecting balls

or marbles, not about juggling,

not about corralling them,

not about trying to hold an armful

(while several fall and bounce and roll)

It is the standing that summons orbs

from the right here where they appear,

gravitating to the infinite inner energy

that comprises our stature

They are not the sources of this light,

but they come to it.

They come because the energy is here.

This is what it is about.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 27, 2016

Wishes

If I revisit

the childhood conversation

about wishes granted,

here’s what I’ve decided I’d request:

Not things I could predict,

but freshness in my days —

yes, I’d ask to be amazed,

to have my sense of everything

frequently upended,

but with the caveat

that everything be good.

It’s not too much to ask,

since good is, after all,

the one enduring fact,

the essence from which

each entity unfolds,

to which it ever yearns

Good is the kernel

of every sorry effort

and every noble gesture.

Good, on further thought,

doesn’t even need wishes.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 26, 2016

A Moment

Late February puts on spring

like an affect, the casual

lap of shadows

across the afternoon,

the sun, fleetingly benevolent,

early blooms taking full advantage

of a head start on processes,

tiny insects, at home in the moment,

inhabit this day — their only universe,

where air to them is viscous

and sun eternal.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 25, 2016

A Caregiver’s Confession

Swore like a sailor today,

at my father-in-law

(pushing ninety-seven)

over a bath, well overdue,

to which he had agreed

but changed his mind

He swore first

but I swore second,

well knowing I had already lost,

most of me watching impassively

as I snatched the covers

and gritted my teeth,

feeling the hapless euphoria

of my loud words,

wondering why I was doing this.

I gave up, put the covers back on him,

took myself on a bike ride

to Think About It.

I entertained the stories

that could flock to this one,

as indeed I’ve heard his children say,

in sorrow and frustration

more than once:

“He’s never thought of anyone

except himself, never 

admitted wrong, never apologized,

never felt remorse, just justified.”

And yet, I find, I’m not, in fact, enmired.

I’d do as well to get in knots about a kite

that disobeyed my tugs, and dipped and dove

against the wind. When I come back,

I guess he’ll have forgotten,

like all the things that happen in his days

(the sleeping and the eating and the dozing)

and the slow and solitary work

of drifting away.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 23, 2016

Escape to Reality

Here I find myself

walking through the set again,

asking myself, how and when

can I get myself to someplace real?

— Where, when I ask,

What is my role? Whose lives

does my livelihood support? —

I’ll feel the ground 

beneath the answer,

the solid good 

of my days, 

and how it nurtures others,

I’ll taste the sustenance 

in that support

And then I ask myself,

Are not the lines of light here?

Don’t I have power, right now,

in kindness I may extend,

in how I see people true?

Is not deliverance

in having no excuses,

Is not the ground I seek

in every heart?

©Wendy Mulhern

February 22, 2016

Dark Currency

I have put it down,

the dark currency —

shaken my hands

for its good riddance

I tell myself —

just don’t pick it up,

yet I find it in my hands again.

It takes a mighty struggle

(so it says)

to let it go

But I am all light,

and it is that light

that pays my debts,

it is that light

in which I take my measure

And it is that light

of every one of us

that is our endless value —

no dark currency

has ever bought us.

In the light

we are all redeemed.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 21, 2016

Balancing Stones

The stones in our life

at this juncture

are more etheric than these —

these with their mute weight

and satisfying surfaces,

heavy to the arms and hands,

the better to sink into the plumb line,

to sit into their place,

to embody, in their standing,

such unexpected grace

May we have equal clarity

to balance purpose and timing,

progress and patience,

transition and that which stays the same

May our monument

stand in time just like these —

curves of sun and shadow,

transcendent peace.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 20, 2016

Ye Shall Find

The secret elixir,

abundant in the lake of grace —

deep as its reflection of the sky —
pure as tears,

will quench your thirst from inside,

provide the satisfaction

you wished you could believe in,

all those parched and lonely years

when you wandered amid the fake fountains

(cellophane streams you couldn’t even

put your hand in)

It is here behind the wall,

dark as wet concrete,

cool as echoes from the heart of caves,

warm as hope, as promises fulfilled —

When you drink of it,

you’ll never thirst or doubt again.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 19, 2016

Under the Sun

Everything bends to our desires —

trees grow plump fruit

because we ask them to,

leaves yield up

what they know we need

This is true for everything

that walks or flies or swims

in this world —

they are all celebrated

And the plants appreciate

the mobility and immortality

we so easily grant them in return,

spreading their seed.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 18, 2016

Approaching the House

The big house of gratitude

is over there on the hill —

we’ll get to it sometime.

Right here there is walking

through tall grasses,

there is the touch of the slight

burr of their seed heads,

there is the touch of sun,

there is the dance of color

and the dance of winds

These things are small

and ephemeral,

they can be passed

in a step or two.

But there is gratitude.

Yes, there is gratitude here, too.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 17, 2016

Early Spring

After such a mild winter,

spring comes casually —

plum buds plumpen,

crocuses unfurl,

folks in shorts and t shirts

stroll out of houses

There will be more rain —

socked in, dark dawns,

evenings blustering wind and mist,

but little promises will glint

around the middle of most days,

like deep pink quince

amid the winter green.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 16, 2016

Squozen

There had to be

enough force, I guess,

to break the tiny membranes,

to spin out the pulp

and let the juice come out

so it could coalesce

here at the bottom of the bowl,

here at the core.

Slow drips are still oozing down.

Later, we shall drink.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 15, 2016

Climbing Out

I will climb out carefully,

I will extricate myself

from the piles of stories,

from the emotion webs

that snag and catch at me

I’ll step out deftly

from the wiles of glory

and assumptions

of how things have to be

I’ll climb out carefully

to the place of clarity

where the strong sun-touched winds

will sweep away the dust

of that old structure,

and I’ll breathe clear

and look, and really see.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 13, 2016

Outside

I stepped outside myself

and shut the door

to stand in the light

to consider

maybe I could stay out here

maybe I could recognize

these are the rays of my alignment,

this is the source of my power

Out here the air is fresh

and there are no stories

blocking my view.

I could get used to it.

Perhaps I could learn

not to go back in.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 12, 2016