Bars

Though you may fall and fall

through the bars of memory,

hitting at moments, going back and down

Though you may feel

striped beyond redemption,

branded by the light and dark,

strobed to instability

You cannot fail.

This is not about you —

it’s about your Maker,

and your Maker knows you whole.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 31, 2018

A Touch of Grace

And if you feel you can’t forgive,

can’t be forgiven,

if barbs from old stings

tear at your flesh,

let that body go —

it was never any more

than just a dream

Whatever scars it has

will melt away, along with

all its trappings of identity.

The memories it holds

that waited to be triggered

will melt as well, giving place

to what has longed to waken

to the touch of grace.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 30, 2018

Joy

There is a way forward.

Joy, it turns out, is unsuppressible —

it pushes its way through rocks,

through roots,

it moves sideways, as it needs to,

but ever up — it finds the surface,

it emerges

Joy, it turns out,

changes everything —

past, present, future —

brings the sense of things

into startling focus,

into sparkling view.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 29, 2018

Light Rules

Having walked once

on the shore where light rules,

we see it everywhere,

and in the quiet of the scrish of sand

give up our battles

There is no need to fight

over the relative presence

of light — no person or way of thinking

owns it. It owns every landscape

where it appears. It will always,

effortlessly,

bring itself forth.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 28, 2018

Like Water

There might be other rhythms here,

rain in the gutter, metallic tick and trickle,

rain on the window, the hum

of spaces in between —

rhythms to hear when the stereo’s off,

music against the quiet

You get your message across

by listening, more than by speaking,

by finding, like these raindrops,

the place where understanding trickles in,

and where it glances off,

and needs to be collected, redirected

You listen, and your message finds its way

like water, into the waiting ground.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 27, 2018

Indoors

We can also find pleasure

in aesthetics, colors combining

in journals, in fabrics,

musical artistry, broadcast for viewing,

planes of reflection, hum of appliances

One could spend time indoors

in a place like this,

hardly missing the somewhat tame outdoors.

There is time for this

when the rain pushes in,

and there’s gratitude,

gratitude for shelter.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 26, 2018

Coming Home

There are many ways to come home —

driving a truck north through the rain,

building a fire, centering thought 

In each place called home

there are needs to meet

and ways we are met

So we have come home,

today, as many days.

Tomorrow we will come home again,

from where we have been,

in tomorrow’s ways

We seek the same thing

and we find it,

ever the same, ever new.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 26, 2018

Heather at prayer time

Blessed and at peace

in the sweet time of closure,

end of day, work done,

I feel you near me,

droll and kind

We have come along this way together,

you, of late, making your presence known

as light, as gentle impulse,

as patient humor at my dim grasp

of what you know so well

We will be together

now and continually,

and more fully,

the more I comprehend.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 24, 2018

The Rains

Week after sunny week

we raced against the rain,

and tasks opened out

like walking to the mountains

(the destination never getting closer)

We thought we were almost done

for weeks and weeks (well, I, for one,

had ceased believing), finding reserves

for yet another day of all-out grind

And when the rain finally came,

ptick ptick against the plastic,

oval drops appearing on the wood,

we still thought we weren’t ready,

but maybe we were

Or maybe we are really close,

and maybe the rain

(what fell was just a sprinkle)

if we can find the strength

will grant us one more day.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 23, 2018

Noticing

In this autumn time

when hours put forth

their ever-changing views

as light dances with fog and leaves

and birds we haven’t seen before

make their appearance

We can breathe wonder,

we can breathe hope,

we may notice

as often as we notice breath —

not all the time,

though it, too, is continuous.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 22, 2018

Spaces

A big part of us

is the space we make for others,

the shape of them

we hold in our hearts, 

large enough to encompass

all their potential,

cozy enough to hold them close

We enlarge ourselves

the more we understand —

the more of others we take in

and hold dear.

We become what we love

and so we love what we become.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 20, 2018

Out the other side

The sun looked down

on the wheelbarrow

trundling in front of me

on the rough road,

me crying and crying

where nobody could hear

Me crying and knowing full well

there was no good reason for it

and no getting my way

that could result

(if I even had a way)

There was nothing to do

but roll the wheelbarrow

and cry and cry

and be done with it.

Nothing to gain

but nothing to lose either,

nothing to do but go through

and out the other side.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 19, 2018

When you move on

Don’t worry — after you’ve left behind

everything you thought you were —

your quirks and your requirements,

your suffering and dearly held delights,

after you’ve abandoned

all the things you once described as “me”,

you’ll still recognize yourself

It won’t be like a distant memory,

vague and foggy, held as maybe true,

or it will be that way for just a little while

like fog at dawn

And that clean brilliance,

that sun-on-dewdrop freshness 

of your being,

that young and smooth

as eucalyptus bark

essence of yourself,

will be the meaning of your name,

will be what you have always known.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 17, 2018

Another day of work

I notice

it is my choice

if I am wimpy,

if I say, mixing concrete

is too much for me,

or at least, I sure dislike it —

the heaviness, the dust,

the scritchy sound,

the muddy mess of cleanup

If I say so, I will be weak

at the prospect of moving the bags,

I will express my distaste,

my visage will be sour

I may become emotional

and tell myself I’m played out,

and tell myself I just need to go home

But if I do that,

it is my choice. If I prefer,

I can choose strength and sunniness,

and growing capabilities. 

Something to remember,

something to put to use.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 16, 2018

The day we live in

The day we live in
as we walk side by side —
is it the same day? Or is each day,
for each of us, the color mixing of
our outlook and our observation?

The land we walk on —
does it speak the same,
up through your shoes —
do you feel the message
in its ancient language,
the calming reassurance of belonging,
the fleetingness of time
and its irrelevance?

Certainly we both feel
the uplift of the crickets’ tireless chorus
and that exhilarating quality
of sun-warmed air through fir trees

The day we move through
may not be the same
but there are signs
that both of us receive.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 15, 2018

Rounding the Corner

Frost greets us —

silver gift, celebrated

by morning birds —

singular recipe —

beauty, severity

Much as the early chill

made luscious the warmth of covers

and each other’s bodies,

though soon, work demanded

that we rise

The climbing sun brings warmth,

first in its radiance,

later in the winds

which started frigid

but soon were balmy

Tonight we’ll drain the pipes

against the freeze,

the crescent moon will set,

the stars will send their cold light down,

tomorrow we’ll await

the same steep curves,

seasoned by season’s turn,

well met in grace.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 14, 2018

Neighbors

We will be neighbors,

we will not pick and choose,

we will be glad

at those that live near,

those that drop by

We’ll still be neighbors,

though some will leave

and others will move in,

though futures we imagined

involve a different cast

The distance teaches us

to value every face,

the land’s benevolence

becomes a part of us.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 12, 2018

Within

All that we own

lies within us,

all that we build

patterns that form,

We may discover it

bringing it forth,

we may recognize it

as always known

All that we love

lies within us —

the kingdom of heaven,

our hope, our home.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 11, 2018

Endless

Some things, certainly, are endless —

the variety the sky gives — this morning,

fog turning blue before it lifted,

day stretching sunny and kind,

sunset (though we were almost

too tired to look) graced us 

with its colors through the trees

I had, perhaps, ten minutes

to sit down (after I made the meal,

before the cleanup)

and at one point, in the golden, royal evening,

I thought I might run out of joy

but some things are endless,

they dish up infinite variety

when I am willing to let them in.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 10, 2018

Back to Work

With a small sputter

we swing back into work,

finding our rhythm,

finding the feed of joy

that comes from being mindfully engaged

The tools have secrets

they can teach me —

the crowbar and the hammer

can be artfully employed —

nails squeak and creak

and give up, and come out,

bent and spent, to throw into a bucket

We work till dark,

we put the tools away,

we rest, rewarded

by the progress made.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 7, 2018

Home

In this damp afternoon

you long for home,

and it seems so far away —

removed in space

or else in time

And the memory

(or is it imagination?)

of walking into a place

and feeling you can relax

since you belong here,

since you are loved,

is as palpable as thirst

It can feel like

we don’t understand

our place in time, in this time,

with these currents of culture

so profoundly disconnected

The big trees that thrive here,

trunks heavy and mossy,

leaves fluttering, turning,

have their own sense of time and place

that we could take shelter in

if we knew how.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 6, 2018

Building

With rain comes rest

and pleasure at work well done,

and the realization

that it’s been a long, hard grind

and we are just beginning. It’s not clear

how long it will take

till the tiredness lifts

or if we can afford to let it

before we dive back in again

Meanwhile, on another plane

(as fall rolls in, all drama and color)

unfolds a sprout of inner knowing,

small leaves hardly hinting at

the vastness of the world

its presence indicates exists.

It is an invitation

to pause here and consider

what we are really building

and where it really stands.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 5, 2018

There is a Calm

There is a calm

that stands against the flurry

of all the thoughts about what must be done,

there is a current underneath the worry —

it bears you down in silent swiftness

all along your truth —

a stream to drink from

and fill with gracious power,

a stream to cleanse away

the images of lack,

there is a calm

that you can find and hold inside you

as you go out

and come, triumphant, back.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 4, 2018

Illusions

On the train again —

rolling motion, light and landscape,

fast change of parallax

lulling and nourishing

I take in

the illusion of movement

and the fact of stillness,

of being always here

riding along in the illusion of time

where neither past nor future

has any say in the unfolding

of the gifts of now.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 2, 2018

Early Fall

The rain is gentle

and the early fall is gracious,

leaves on the ground and in the trees

fringing the streets with color

Artisan spiders weave raindrop gems 

into their webs,

coziness settles in 

with the darkened sky —

I may be solo

but I’m not alone.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 1, 2018