To the Edge

The heat and the work

burned out all the pettiness —

There was nothing left

for being right or being wrong,

for being better or being worse,

for looking good or foolish.

there was nothing left

for irritation or disappointment,

hardly even anything left for thought

We recovered slowly

as the sun slowly relented,

and the bird song

which had been constant,

we started to notice again,

and gratitude started to flow in,

and affection,

and appreciation

for being in this together

and going out to the very edge

and holding hands

to make sure we would survive.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 31, 2016

Pioneers

In time we stopped wishing

we knew someone

who knew the answers,

stopped fearing

we would make terrible, stupid mistakes.

In this place, we are pioneers,

alone in the stature of our own thoughts

As we work

the generous scent of kindness

rises from the land,

blackbirds trill by the pond,

a raven riffs in a nearby forest

while songbirds fill the closer,

lower, places

with their exuberance

What we need to know

will come to us

in the logic of our needs

and in our birthright of belonging.

We find clarity as we listen,

we will fill our place

as surely as all of these.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 30, 2016

Words

Sometimes words are overrated,

sometimes what’s needed

is a closer contact,

the lock of what’s present

between you and me,

side stepping the demand

for coordination

or negotiation

And maybe it’s not time

to be searching for words

as evening settles in steady

and an affectionate cat

pushes and purrs against my lap

while the creek murmurs

and the smell of dinner

wafts from a neighbor’s house

These trees will move in silence

towards darkness,

These cats want to be fed.

Whatever words I may have now

will fall unspoken,

but what’s essential will still be said.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 28, 2016

Where We Live

I love the way our yard is now

with the kiwi vine pushing through the artichoke,

heading up the cherry tree,

with the honeysuckle in full bloom

(rhodies now spent)

and the chickadees flitting back and forth

to their vociferous young

I am happy with the lush greenness

of all the weeds, and the upward insistence

of herbs gone to seed

and the young trees offering young fruits,

feeding us now with hope

I recognize it will be daunting

when we need to bring it all in line,

a task I’ll face next year, perhaps —

for now, for me, it’s fine.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 27, 2016

Reminders

Maybe the way I seem to need

to be reminded again and again

is not unlike the looping questions

from the old man of the house:

     Where are we?

     How long have I been here?

     When am I going home?

And maybe my Source is just as patient

with the replies, over and over again:

     You are worthy and beloved

     You have always been here

     You are home

And if I soared yesterday

and sink today, even if yesterday, really,

was not that long ago, and I felt sure

I’d never forget it,

I still seem to need reminding:

     You are worthy and beloved

     You have always been here

     You are home.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 25, 2016

The Tasks at Hand

If the tasks at hand

seem impossible,

just remember

the voice that tells you so

is not you. It is only

the keeper of boxes, the one

that tries to circumscribe your light,

the one that battles your dissent

with stridency of tone

so you will not keep fighting

The tasks at hand are a gift,

presented to celebrate your capabilities.

You are well able to do them,

and they will show the depth and brilliance

of your being.

The tasks at hand are yours —

Rise up!

©Wendy Mulhern

May 24, 2016

We Will Laugh

And most importantly,

we will laugh. We will laugh

in the delight of the life window

another’s story provides, we will

laugh in the sweet touch of a compliment,

in the glow of the overflow

of appreciation

We will laugh at lightness, we will laugh

at Taking Ourselves Too Seriously —

not to close anyone out

but to bring them in, to remind them

none of this weighs more

than dandelion fluff, it is all carried

in cushioned tenderness

through the laughing back eddies

of a larger current

which ultimately delivers

that which really matters

to its starting place

in the waiting land.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 23, 2016

Today’s Metaphysics

That which is everywhere

can’t be pushed around,

can’t be forced, can’t be withheld,

can’t be transferred, transmitted or dispensed

That which is everything

can’t be squeezed, or thinned out,

or distorted, can’t be deficient,

can’t be subjugated

That which we are

must exist in the context

of what is everywhere and everything,

forever whole, forever shining bright,

immutable and sovereign as light.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 22, 2016

Just a Story

It’s just a story.

It’s just a story,

and these deep heavings

of vicarious grief

need not possess me

any longer than I choose

It’s a story, and its aftermath

was just a dream, just a dream

accompanied by torments

of the almost sleeper by my side

It all got slept away,

it all got side-stepped

in my midnight insistence

on immunity

So why, in the shadow

of this overcast afternoon,

do I feel the mounting, behind my eyes,

of what would be tears

if they felt sure they had a cause?

Every story must need

to be heard, be felt,

sweep up a community to circle it,

to deliver it down

to where all is resolved

in the peace-deep ever stirring sea.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 21, 2016

Stitches

I’ve laid my needle down.

From here on out, I will not try

to stitch together separating clouds,

I will not stab

at what I, after all,

have no perspective

to clearly understand

The atmosphere has its own laws —

the vapors move on lines of pressure

I can’t see,

and even clouds with massive gaps between them

are still united in the common sky

As for this poem,

I’m not sure what I even meant,

and so it’s hard to know how it should end.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 19, 2016

At Home

We move in the easy circles

of things we have practiced

without thinking about it,

rounds of companionship and conversation,

movement and sitting still and not talking,

held together in the matrix of the music

It wasn’t always like this,

but maybe now we have learned

enough of our home base,

enough of our center,

that after we disperse,

when we come back,

we’ll find this place again.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 18, 2016

A Pause

The afternoon seems quiet.

the sun has slipped away without comment,

the predicted overcast

taking its place silently

The day’s sounds are muted

in the humidity before the cooling.

Birds still sing, and traffic passes,

dogs bark, kids shout

And then the trees begin their comment,

rustle of approaching weather,

and the volume rises.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 17, 2016

Behold the fowls of the air

Let me fly

in the rich provision for my being,

let me take no thought

for what will hold me,

what will glide me

along the subtle billows of the day,

what will deliver me

glowing and fulfilled 

into the calm of evening

Let me take no thought

but let me know it fully,

let my gratitude warble

in a voice much larger than my form

across the land.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 16, 2016

Clearer Sight

When I see you clear, I see

I don’t need to try to change anything,

don’t need to make you see, and then correct

some inner failing. In the light I see 

the shadows drop away, I see

they never had been painted on your being

When I see you clear, your light illumines

doubts within myself, helps them to fade,

so in your light I find my own redemption

as my criticism falls away

And though a rush of voices may rise up

to try to pull my thoughts back to the fray,

my clearer sight will overwhelm their story,

flood out the stridency, let peace prevail.

I lay aside the old urge to be right —

a worn out battle I don’t need to fight.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 15, 2016

Dancing Again

It can be any music.

It hums through me in currents,

exacts its rhythm in whatever wants to move,

asserts its melody, flowing up my arms

Reminding me

what I am made of,

how I am made to be the music,

be the music’s form,

thrummed into full aliveness

in the waves of its chords.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 14, 2016

Full

This breath will lift you

to the very corners of your being —

nay, for your being is a plane

that extends infinite, far beyond

the page, the canvas

This breath will fill you instantly

although you are infinite —

you will rise at the brim point

of satisfaction, you will fly

in the full power of your wings

For indeed, though your presence

fills the field of all that you can see or know,

you still have locus to express the impulse

of your joy, you still can soar

along the contours of your love.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 13, 2016