Thanks for this

I hold the blessing

in the laugh behind my eyes,

in the warm spots on my cheeks,

and in the warble that burbles

in the place where I might speak

It isn’t mine — it is a gift

passed to me freely, just an hour ago,

not me alone — given to many,

and I imagine

they all took it home

As I assume also it will multiply

as mirrors magnify,

as smiles create a surfeit of good will,

which cascades outward

touching people who

don’t even know each other,

though they’d recognize the kinship

with anyone in whom they saw the light.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 30, 2019

This Changes Everything

Streams of living waters,

rivers of pure light —

we speak of it in metaphors,

for how else can we convey

the feeling, and the importance of it,

the way we’re borne up

in the swift current,

the way it fills us

and lifts us

and becomes that which we are

And if we thought love

was a distant spark

that might or might not ignite,

if we thought love depended on

finding someone, or being found,

if we thought love was anything less than

the fountain of life itself,

or anywhere less than right here,

this changes everything.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 29, 2019

Edges

Frost lines the edges of our days,

encasing them with torpor,

lacing us with eagerness for warmth,

of which there is enough, still, in the middles,

for us to work, for us to dream

And in the morning and the evening,

fire is our friend —

it takes the edge off,

fills us with ease again.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 28, 2019

Gravitas

Life, as it turns out,

is not always instructional —

less and less so, in fact, these days

There is a statement

in the curl and color of a fallen leaf,

the reddened stems 

of blackberry and bracken fern

But they don’t seek to teach,

just to be,

just to let the light of this one

moment of afternoon

glow through them,

just to rest in light gravity

against the cool ground,

or to stand still

in the pauses between the wind.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 26, 2019

Then and now

I tell myself, in those days

I didn’t understand much about love,

though I did love

(as now I see we all do)

haplessly, perhaps,

helplessly at times,

with an intensity that could have been a key

I didn’t understand love’s power,

didn’t know to use it

so the ones I loved would feel encouraged,

safe, encircled, ready to go forth

to meet their own exigencies with love

I ask myself, well,

how much more of love

do you know now?

And are you able

to shine the light in such a way

that it illuminates instead of blinding?

And if I am, and when I am,

then all those other times of love

will also be redeemed. 

That is the way of love,

and love will teach me how.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 25, 2019

Your (formerly) resident demons

You’ll hardly recognize your demons

when they’re sitting, clothed,

at their master’s feet

They may be sheepish about

their former torment,

they may want you to understand

they really only meant to help

They wanted you to get to this point

of peace that’s larger

than any field in which you’ve been ashamed,

and any field in which you’ve been afraid —

a peace in which they have no role at all

They never would have let you settle

for a small corner of being OK —

they wanted this huge place for you,

where you can smile, and rest, and breathe.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 23, 2019

Attended

Before the sun set,

the first silvered wisps of fog

began to form low in the valley,

tending slightly upward

as they drifted south

Five minutes later

the valley had begun to fill,

fog rising between trees

setting off the different distances,

the fall colors  looked more red

amid the rising clouds

Meanwhile, behind the hills,

the sun had set

and the sky was turning red,

marbled and magnificent

And I thought: here, just here,

is exactly where I want to be,

above this valley and on this journey,

upward as I’m led, attended by beauty.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 22, 2019

This Morning

I looked out the window

and thought of how the names

of colors (or lack of names)

affect the way we see,

and prayer and fasting

and what it means to believe

I tended the fire

and drank my tea

and considered what it means

to lose all faith in death,

and what life is

if it’s not temporal

Outside the ravens

were droll and musical,

the cat was eager for my lap,

and if I’m able to cast out demons,

I’m also willing. I take that with me

into my day.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 21, 2019

Clearing

Our enslavement lifts like fog.

Our freedom begins to shine

like fresh-washed air —

Though there may be

many layers till we walk

fully unencumbered,

till we fly

in the manner we’ve always desired,

every little liberation

makes us stand taller,

lets us breathe deeper,

gives us the grace

to love each other

with more generosity and kindness,

shows us that we all are moving

through the same layers of clearing,

our eyelids tingling with the dew of heaven.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 20, 2019

A Truer Story

We are hungry for stories,

for story is the mind’s path,

the promise

that we could wend our way

out of the dullness of where we think we are

to something redemptive, 

something we can almost taste

And we are foiled

by the devil’s practice

of shoving the tails of the stories

into their mouths, of making sure

they only lead us back

to the same place

We are foiled by opposition —

by the assertion

that stories require enemies —

good guys and bad guys,

even if only in our own minds

There is a truer story.

It exists in the place before the impulse,

before the thought. It exists

in searing lifting pure light

of your still unnamed desire,

and if you follow it,

it will lead you home.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 19, 2019

Us in the morning

You: What are you thinking about?

Me: Same thing I always —

You: Oh, God …

Me: That’s exactly right

You: And me, I’m thinking about 

what I always think about, too …

(a pause, we snuggle in)

…the house — how to build it,

what to do next

The wonder of it is

that we can come together,

or almost — good enough

to keep the project going

day after week after year.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 17, 2019

The Work Progresses

Subtly, the palette changes —

bracken ferns to brown,

grasses back to green,

gold and orange along the river,

water vapor’s silver sheen

We raced the rain

all day yesterday

while the sun slowly made room

for more and more clouds

and the cat hunted happy in the field

and the needed tasks got done

And this morning,

rain holding off for just a while,

you added final touches

so now we can look up

and see the colors

and watch the rain.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 16, 2019

Inkling

It may look like death

when someone breaks through the skin

of the world, of the dream —

they may seem to fall out of it

and others may mourn

It’s only when you look closely

at the hole they made,

when, for a moment,

you see the light streaming in,

you might get the inkling

there’s something beyond this shell,

you might start trying

to learn what it is.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 14, 2019

Accompanied

You can find that angels

are walking with you

as your feet step down

the gravel road,

and your heart suddenly fills

with satisfaction

because you’re good at what you’re doing,

because someone made you laugh,

because the air is full of grace

In so many ways

the fundamental fact of goodness

makes itself known to your soul.

You could call them angels

for how they translate truth

into a feeling you so deeply

desire and understand.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 13, 2019

Visitation

I say no to this cat

but she proves I’m not serious,

pushing her way nose first

into my lap,

waving her tail in my face 

We compromise —

she gets to stay here

if she sits still,

if she lets me write

As for the mind of cats —

she must think it very strange,

all the little things I find

to busy myself — pointless things,

when I could be affording her a lap,

reveling in mammal warmth,

feeling the sunshine

There is a place

for butterscotch fur

and a tail that waves just so,

and a secret hunting side

to keep sheathed,

except for a touch of needle claws

against my thighs.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 12, 2019

Tone of Voice

The verdict of defeat

is not the final word,

however hard and flat

the voice intoning it

Nothing said in hard, flat tones

can be the final word,

for truth has joy, and truth

is ever singing

When you hear truth’s voice,

the ringing of it

will make you sit still.

You won’t want to do anything

but listen

When you hear truth’s voice,

all that’s hard and flat in you

will melt —

all that speaks to you in cruel tones,

all that is vindictive and contemptuous

will turn to dust and wash away,

and leave you sparkling clear and true,

toning in the voice that knows your name.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 11, 2019

A Way of Seeing

I start to believe

that this is not a matter of

evolving, not about

some distantly perceived

far off enlightenment

This perception has run

like sheen on fabric

all along the weaving of my life,

in my waking moments, in my memories,

in my hopes, in my assessments of my days

Everything Spirit — the spirit of everything,

everything held in its essence inviolate,

everything formed in the Mind that conceives it,

nothing whose essence can fail 

Yes, this has been a thing I didn’t know,

something whose knowing now saves me from fear

but in its perception, I see that it has to be

something I’ve always known.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 10, 2019

Forgiven

In my dream I said I was sorry.

You said it was OK,

and your forgiveness

lifted my spirits mightily

This is the case with much that I remember —

I’m sorry for what I didn’t understand,

but forgiven, for I didn’t understand. There is no need

for dwelling in regret —

new perspective brings a brand new page

So in the light of day

as in the dreaming night,

forgiveness wins —

there’s nothing more to pay

except attention to what is given,

the grace to love,

the fresh-washed day to live in.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 9, 2019

Sleeping

I’ve been sleeping for a long time —

sleeping as I walk through my day,

some old tune looping through my mind,

sleeping as I do the needed tasks

without feeling much of anything

I started thinking how it might feel

to be awake to see and notice

the living forces moving through the moments,

the swift imperative impelling every life

The world could open out in color,

the sky would sing, the air would dance,

all things would celebrate each other,

all breath would praise,

and all the earth would laugh

Now when I think of it,

I try to wake myself up,

at least a little,

at least for now.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 8, 2019

Footing

If I find you before you set foot

in the world, before its quick traction

grabs your steps, flings you

on an unintended path

If I find you in the impulse

of your desire, in your wish

for all the beauty and perfection

in all your interactions

Then I will see you as you are,

and hold, perhaps, a beacon

to help you find your footing

in this day.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 6, 2019

Holding down the world

Let’s hold down the whole tarp of the world —

you at your point, me at mine, each of us

scattered like stars, like pin pricks in the fabric

There are enough of us to hold things steady,

to help them settle,

to calm the raging wrinkling crackling rippling,

keep it from being tumbled, over and over,

in the wind, keep it from ripping ragged

We hold it down in peace. We hold it

in unruffled knowing

that everything opposing

just really wants

to curl up and be cuddled,

just wants

acceptance in the Allness,

and the confidence

that there’s no need for fighting anymore

We’ll hold down the world

until it lies still,

until it rests velvet

along the contours of its love.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 4, 2019

Storm Ride

The weather came through fast —

one moment, charming warm sun,

the next, a rolling dark cloud,

a strong cold wind,

rain visible across the valley,

trees on the east hill

making a rushing sound

The task we were doing

in peaceful progression

became urgent, rain rolling down 

the roof we were trying to cover,

ladders getting muddy, footing slippery

I rode the rush of excitement

through the storm,

not minding the wet and the cold

or the need to persist with our task until done,

since we’d be there to see and to feel it.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 3, 2019

After Work

It’s twilight and the colors fade —

the cat I’m petting

now the same shade

as my hands, my sleeve

She doesn’t like my writing

so she pushes her cold nose

against my hand, my pen, my book.

The visual texture of fur, of firs,

blends into similarity,

I can’t see my words

The turkeys in the trees are quiet now,

I hear crickets, and homebound traffic,

this cat is warm but the air grows colder —

time for a transition.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 2, 2019

The Season Turns

I lit a fire this morning,

up before dawn,

before the sun slowly glowed

through the fog

Hot water rippled from the kettle

for my tea, the cabin

filled with warmth by then,

daylight peaking in

Later, for awhile,

the sun warmed everything it touched,

but evening finds us hoarding warmth,

holding close to heat sources,

seeking to absorb enough

to ease us through the night.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 1, 2019