Angel

I sat still 

so I could

consider the angel —

that rift of my daily perception,

that tearing away

of the predetermined

course of things

(the slowly wilting fading picture

with all its hopes diminishing,

its outcome possibly horrific

or ultimately, in the best case,

sad)

The angel was like

a ripping of that scene in two,

revealing, where the picture was,

a vast expanse,

a light above the sun

I had to stop,

for everything is different,

have to watch

to see how I’ll be led.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 30, 2019

Taking a Stand

When I take a stand for kindness,

a straight and square stand,

no wobbly plea

When I take a stand for fair dealing —

no drama, only honesty

When I take a stand for goodness —

not tomorrow, or at some

vaguely gestured at

contingency,

These things will win,

for they are solid —

not found in the elusive

posturing of quid pro quo,

but simply what they are,

ever here, frame and bulwark

of our home.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 29, 2019

Before the Rain

I sit on the cabin porch

and wait for the rain,

listening to thunder

and the rattle of the neighbor’s tractor

as he tries to get his grass mowed in time.

The wind comes up, the daisies and the firs

send message —

I can smell it, I will see it soon

A doe is nonchalantly

grazing in the meadow,

little birds are quiet

while trucks keep rolling home,

and the rain is here

fresh and rhythmic on the roof,

the place we are suddenly grows small

but we are dry

and there is room enough.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 27, 2019

Mice

Mice tease out the seeds

from grass heads, and they weave

the soft chaff into bedding

(I know because

when we moved lumber

we found a stash)

I don’t know if they camp

or homestead. I don’t know

if we uprooted them

or if they were long gone

I know they have busy hands

and keen noses, and they seek heat

and water, and soft fiber, 

and they get around.

I know they can live without us

but I think they would rather not.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 26, 2019

Grace, Given

Let me pause and consider

how grace is given us,

moment by moment,

day after day

Not as some rare prize

we came on by chance

or earned with great virtue

or masterful play

Grace is given —

it blesses us,

though we’re confounded

by how we occasioned it,

how it arrives

Grace we live in

will bless, too,

the others around us –

in blessing us, they, too,

will graciously thrive.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 25, 2019

A kind of lostness

There was nothing substantial

to make a poem with

in that squid-inky mass of emotions

that squished around on the currents

of deep sighs, and a breeze

a little too cold to fall asleep in,

a state that could pass

like the swing of a hammock

or an adjacent snore

of exhaustion, late in the afternoon

of a day so unabashedly brilliant

that no kind of lostness

made any sense,

yet there it was,

waiting to be redeemed.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 23, 2019

Everything

Everything comes when we need it —

help, visitors, time on our own,

and someday we may learn to trust

the Principle which brings this all in line

Someday we may understand

that what is given

is not the things that meet our needs,

but our identity, our heritage

as ones who are provided for

with richness and bright whimsey,

with thoughtfulness and boundless generosity —

given this place in Mind where

we sing and delight and are loved and delighted in,

just like everything is.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 22, 2019

The first day walls went up

We found ourselves moving

through a haze,

a sun-bleached, wind-burned, work-worn haze,

moving, because we weren’t clear

how to stop,

asleep on our feet, not sure

how to find revival

We felt nomadic, rustic, almost homeless,

though our home is growing,

though our home is vast.

We will sleep, we will rise,

we will work again,

we’ll count this all for joy

after we’ve rested.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 21, 2019

Full

The day fills up with

the bobbing of grass shafts,

their heads identifying

distinct natures

above the blades

The day fills up with

winds that rise and fall

and the clicks and tocks of ravens

and the crystal-colored calls

of blackbirds

The day is full of

the presence of Spirit

rising up through everything,

causing and being everything,

each seed head and foot fall,

each breath, each perception,

each grace.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 19, 2019

Hollow Spaces

Is it OK to take a moment

before I step back

from the dry path of sadness,

to feel the desolation

before turning back to green?

It isn’t forbidden

but why I seem to want this

eludes me. this path was fruitless

even before the hope died,

it was a way I would have wasted

life energies and time

Well, being here, feel it —

feel the hollow wind

sucking at the dry rocks,

feel the hunger, feel the sorrow,

feel it for as long as you may need to

Then you can turn yourself,

and live.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 18, 2019

Open Field

And if you didn’t think

you had enough,

you could always

open all the doors,

especially the ones

you thought were locked,

especially the ones

you didn’t know were there

A willingness

to allow for their existence

will help you see them,

a humbleness of mind

will help you find them.

What you need will flood in

without disturbing anything —

a dawning of awareness

of what’s here.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 17, 2019

All Things New

Not even time is exempt

from the rushing wind of Spirit,

not even the past can harbor wrongs

that don’t get swept away

All things are clean —

no atonement is demanded,

no punishment required

before you enter

the liberating kingdom

of the law of Life

Right now is when you’re governed

by that which has no adversary,

that which holds as sole demand for you

that you be subject

exclusively to Truth.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 16, 2019

Outsmarting the Devil

In the story, the devil rubs his hands

and says, “I got her!”

but I will slip free —

I will not allow sticky webs

to be built in corners

anywhere in my mind

I will not allow any compartments

to limit the luminous goodness

I see in the face of my neighbors

and sense in the love that I feel

I won’t be drawn in to complaint,

for it hides the brightness inherent

in each one’s desire to be loved.

It’s easy enough to just love them

and let the devil lose.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 15, 2019

The look of love

You wear the look of love

on your face. It’s easy to see

that someone lets you know

that you are cherished, every day.

It lends a sense of comfort

to your gait, your smile,

lets you move easy

through the changes in your life

If I can help someone —

—anyone — to look that way,

I’ll surely do it. It’s worth considering

in what small ways, and in what kind

of continuity of care, I can convey this

to people in my life,

so they will have the comfort they deserve.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 14, 2019

Early Afternoon

The wind sings through the fence,

tousles daisies, sends waves

of wheat-colored shimmer

through otherwise green grasses,

lends a gentle respite from the heat

We work on tasks for the mind —

how to see things, how to count,

what to count as real, what counts,

cicadas keep us company –

the welling and receding of their song

is counterpoint to trees’ rustle

and drone to melodies

of distant birds.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 13, 2019

By Virtue of Your Being

By virtue of your being, you can know

(before any assessment,

with no need to take your measure)

by virtue of your being —

just because you’re here —

you can know

that you are good

Good for your surroundings,

good for the ones you know,

good for the rolling out of time,

along the course of things that happen

Don’t ever think your being

is just grudgingly allowed —

you’re not a stand-in

for something that would be better

There is no way for you

to be any less than perfectly designed

and implemented

in the universe of Mind.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 12, 2019

Summer Sounds

It is a time of baby birds,

tiny choruses at intermittent times

from hidden places somewhere in the trees,

parents busy nabbing bugs

from fir and fern,

a flit that finally reveals their home

There is a joy in knowing without seeing

the daily hum of life,

hearing it move between the glimpses,

within the rustle of the wind,

sensing that, the longer we are here

the more of it we’ll understand.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 11, 2019

Feel This

Sweet child, feel this:

your source that holds you —

the depth and richness

of what it always offers

This well of sustenance

is your pleasure to pour forth,

in infinite, sparkling refreshment.

Nothing can hold your essence back,

nothing can stifle or wilt it

Dear one, in this

you are never alone,

and the path always opens before you,

bright as a river course,

full as this moment,

gathering others

to dance in its bliss.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 10, 2019

Life Size

I’d come to think of my life as small —

small circles, small desire,

small prospects, small needs,

and it felt truer, certainly, than

how I used to wave my hand, 

and utter grand plans,

and watch, with something less than confidence,

for some great wave to come along

and bear me up to what I felt

was a deserving height

I recognize that humbleness

is both the starting point

and the essential stance

for riding on the arc of being.

I notice, too, that service to infinity

does not make me small

And so, though I don’t know

what it is for, or how it will work out,

I now am willing

to enlarge my tent.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 9, 2019

Flow

The river calls its tributaries —

they are drawn to the flow —

all water follows

by virtue of what it is

Of water moved by Spirit

we are formed, we are born,

we are borne along the course prepared

Of water and of Spirit

we find ourselves

new as this breath,

steady as the presence of the infinite.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 7, 2019

Paradise

We’re building a house in paradise,

building it much more slowly

than winter peas which finally flower

despite the constant munching of them

by me and deer

We’re building paradise

with each instance of persistent care,

with our attention, our humbleness,

our patience,

and the quick moments of looking up

to notice the wonder of the day.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 6, 2019

No Future

Here I am, in this day,

in this project,

with no future to think of, beyond

it may rain this afternoon, beyond

we may get this house built sometime

Not sure of the purpose of future anyway,

with days as full as they are,

clouds coming in across the hills,

new mom turkey walking with her brood,

little nuthatch heard before sighted

flitting among the firs.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 5, 2019

Life as Tree

Nobody’s life is a straight course —

they all have their crashes,

public and private,

they all have their changes,

complete uprooting

of what they thought was true

The various chasms

may not be seen

on the paper veneer

of a life’s facade,

but we can understand

they are there

Nobody’s life is a story,

however much we’re trained

to think they are —

our lives are more like trees,

branches broken, other ones grown in,

taking every path that puts forth green.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 3, 2019

Sturdy

It is a time of sturdy growth —

bracken fern at chest, head, height,

grass still green but growing purple heads,

tender bright new needles on the firs,

daisies lifting white across the fields

We, too, are feeling sturdy,

nourished by the land, the ground,

and by the care we give.

Some roots we never knew about

are taking hold,

making us steady, stable,

here where we live.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 2, 2019

The Sacred Offering

I consider the faces of gratitude

and notice

they don’t include

a feeling of not deserving

what has been given,

though the gift is immense,

though I have longed for it

all the way down my memory

as far as I can see

When I see that I have it now,

I can’t say I shouldn’t want it,

or that I haven’t earned it,

or that I have.

Gratitude is exactly the price

for the beauty of my days.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 1, 2019