Working Outside

We start to know time

by different signs —

When the crickets get louder

and the turkeys make their afternoon rounds,

there are three more hours of daylight

and dusk will come soon

The work we started

when the day was wide and hopeful

now looms against the light’s boundary

like the shadows that now stretch

across the valley

We stop when it’s too dark to see

and evening’s light show awes us

with its ever-different glory.

Time to pause

and let gratitude rise from within,

about two hours before the stars begin.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 30, 2016

Poise

When you find

the poise with which to hold yourself

and the wide laughter opens up

in your chest

and the whole day rushes in

with each breath,

vistas and light gifts

making you happy

You will do what you can

to hold onto it.

If you lose it, you’ll keep trying

to find it again

and you will,

for it belongs to you

more than years and years

of constricted habits.

It is your right

to move in all your power,

it is your nature

to own your day.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 29, 2016

Commandments

Because we are dearly loved,

we haven’t been left

to wander through this dream alone.

The guiding signs have been written

in the pattern of ferns,

in the movement of clouds

They have been placed

in the throats of birds,

irresistible for them to sing,

They have been given to us in scents

and in the breath of winds

And set down, too, in words

which, though in dream state

we may think of as commandments,

are ways for us to fathom

what we are,

these truths that, when we keep them,

anchor everything,

and with their clearing focus

wake us up.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 28, 2016

History

You can’t even begin

to sort through the layers

of hurt, mistakes,

attempts at compensation,

of slights and their reactions,

things taken and the gaping holes they leave

But maybe you can put in a little seed

and let the rain seep down

and let mycelium colonize,

and perhaps a little plant

will grow up through it all,

strong and clean and straight

and none of the past will matter

as life asserts itself once again,

perfect as ever,

conquering all.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 27, 2016

Heart Country

This is heart country

and everyone here has their tender places,

everyone has the deep hollows

they can get lost in,

and if you step in them you sink way down

Walk easy

for this is heart country,

home of breaks and bruises

and of grateful, boundless love.

All who have hearts can see each other

if their eyes are open

Tread carefully, for each heart is different

and the paths to understanding

have many false turns,

but if you keep your own heart clear

you’ll find the steps

that lead you ever inward

to the common hearth.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 26, 2016

Our Work

Sit with me here

as the glow of golden

settles in around us —

We don’t have to work anymore,

at least, not at this,

not at being together

and keeping space for each other,

not at reaching out our hands

for mutual support

Other work continues —

the work that’s called

the use of self, the work

that’s called calling.

And there is something magical

in how we are coming to where

our only work 

is being,

and everything our purpose needs

appears like deer out of the woods,

silent and ready

to serve.

© Wendy Mulhern

September 25, 2016

Circle Chain

Hand to hand we chain

in intersecting circles,

leaning out, leaning in

we hold each other up,

supported on so many sides

by one and then another,

supporting most, perhaps,

when feeling that we’re falling,

and our reach for help

reveals a trust

that feeds the ones that catch us

This is how we live,

tracing the flower of life

in endless variations,

nourished by the current

of our circuit.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 23, 2016

Light Show

Light escapes —

streams under clouds,

glows on fields,

etches the small blue patches

with silver

Light infuses lives,

each of them,

bursts through the edges of sorrow,

overrides disappointment,

finally settles everything

into the gentle peace

of sunset,

Softening into evening,

preparing to emerge,

bright as mind,

bright as stars,

to shine through the whole night.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 22, 2016

Traveling in Time and Space

We move through the decades

as we roll down the freeway —

canyon-carved perceptions,

memories’ intersections —

long-past things, revealed,

inhabit present time

And how important is it, after all,

to keep track of generations,

to be anchored in any time?

Maybe at this point it’s enough

to gravitate to the wells of kindness,

the sweet spots where you feel

nourished and accepted,

those same places you’ve always looked for,

the ones you’ll always call home.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 21, 2016

Daily Bread

What is given to me this day?

To the untrained eye, my daily bread

may look like struggles, 

fear and doubt and lack

But as I learn to see

I understand that what is given

is the abundant meeting

of every challenge —

the fortitude, the courage, inspiration,

creative power to bring forth anything,

whatever has been out of place or missing,

whatever is most needed for today.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 19, 2016

Finding Me

I got lost for a minute there —

I could feel myself pacing back and forth

though my body was seated.

I was shaking at the bars of my day,

I needed to move, to scream —

well, I didn’t know what I needed

Turned out I was easily calmed

by cool outdoor air, and you

standing beside me. Turned out

what I needed was you by my side

through the narrow tunnel

of evening’s mundane tasks,

through the design challenge

I was working on.

It didn’t take much —

the subtle weight of

not abandoned, not alone —

to reestablish equilibrium.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 18, 2016

Welcome Fall

The rain is welcome

and the damp breeze is welcome

and the coziness inside the house

is welcome

Time to let the rivulets of life

seep, welcome, into the soil,

time to reinforce the roots

with life connections

Time for design, time for welcoming friends,

time for mending sweaters, making food,

time for preparing 

for our next venture to the land,

time for gratitude.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 17, 2016

My Life

The sigh of waves that reach 

but fall back down

again and again,

the washing back

that comes to seem devoid of hope,

the pointlessness of swells that never crest,

that never swoop and crash —

this is just a story, just a metaphor

The roll of water circles satisfied

underneath the surface,

the wave proceeds across the whole ocean.

The catch along the shallow bottom

that trips them, makes them fly forward

is just another phase of what they do

So rolls my life,

fuller, surely, than I’ve ever known,

the power of this moment

still more or less unharnessed,

not waiting for the vagaries

of bottom depth, of ship’s wake,

but drawing from a purpose of its own

to round out all the edges of what rises from within,

to fill the waiting hollows with its song.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 16, 2016

Heritage

They were lost for a long time

because the invader

had taken away the name of their land,

the name that had placed them,

right as moss,

in the order of everything

It had taken away their rivers,

straightened them, dredged them, drained them

to make way for logs and motors,

so they couldn’t look at them

and know their way home

Years passed. Cities rose, and generations

followed, one after another,

none of them knowing

how they were led by the neck,

how little what was offered

could touch the hidden caverns

of their need, of their potential

It was a revelation how a whisper

could resonate so loudly, could crash

so many stories, unearth so many

roots and bones and memories.

Something secret in plain sight, a code

of DNA, which all those layers of tales

couldn’t bury

It was the power for a revolution

how it spread from soul to soul

until the truth of it

rose like the dawn:

This is our name, our name

and the name of our land.

It can’t be taken from us now

for we are one

and we are whole.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 15, 2016

First Light

My heart comes back from its night of dreams

eager to tell its stories,

rendered quiet by lack of words

as all the memory has faded

My heart, resilient and decorous,

as it has been throughout the night,

waits beneath my morning musings and remembrances.

It might have something to say

when the time is right

Though when I come around to asking,

it is reticent, for I have made my mental scene

too busy to receive its message

Ah, heart — here’s some stillness for you —

beneath the beep of backing trucks

and the squawk of crows,

and the louder blaring of my random thoughts,

a pause, a prayer, a listen —

There. Your turn.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 14, 2016

In the Slow Evening Living Room

What part of my life

would I dwell in

if confined to the world of my memories?

(The old man loops on Providence,

his sisters and the people and streets

he used to know)

Would I choose to hang out in my childhood,

the summer games of hide and seek,

the chlorine-lung feeling from long days

in the swimming pool? Or the scattered

gems of joy throughout the stringent years of school?

Probably not in adolescence, despite the sparks

of spiritual enlightenment, and the strong feelings

too deep under the surface for me to fathom

And young adulthood, though it had its triumphs,

contained too many gaffes for me to want to re-inhabit,

though the growth, a little later,

was quite compelling

There was great joy in having children

and the fierce love that came with it,

but there was also anguish and constricting fears

Considering my rising tide of happiness,

I think I’d rather stay here

in these last five years.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 12, 2016