From the place we ride
along the contours of the story,
high along the climax
or underneath,
fading into background,
rolling up to stark relief

The roles we think we have, the destiny,
the share of light or grief or glory,
the way that we may try to parlay
one place for another, one situation
for something we believe
will gain us more

We've called these things our lives
but we are learning
these are just distractions,
these are misplaced vectors
sending hopes careening
along the sides,
never getting closer
to their desires

We start to see
another gain, another goal,
standing still, letting the whole story roll
away without us. What we want
was never there.
It's always been here.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 31, 2020

Rain Frame

I look for what is framed
in the constancy of rain -
the trees down by the river,
the box that shelters us

We may trade it in
for a surfeit of sleep,
a slacking off of work
(on cue from the sun)

We have music
in lieu of warmth,
warmth in lieu of light.
Robins and deer and turkeys
have what they need
in the wet expanse
of the wide outside.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 30, 2020

Names

In the ever vibrant presence of the Spirit
comes the gradual loosening of names -
names that were given roughly
to the rough shapes reflecting
our rough understanding

Spirit shakes things finer,
like motes, like ions -
we recognize so much more
than the old names could capture

We give up the arrogance
of being namers,
wait tingling and yearning
to receive our names.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 29, 2020

The Substance of Everything

Grace grows
like moss, like grass,
between the counted milestones of a life,
the things we hoped and strived for
laid out, summed up, empty,
except the grace that fills in everywhere,
becomes the reason, becomes the joy,
becomes what overflows in memory,
the gratitude of being

Things we built may stand like ruins,
listing in the shift of time,
moss and flowers and trees
will be their counterpoint ,
as the substance of everything
turns out to be quite different -
luminous glisten of grace,

©Wendy Mulhern
March 28, 2020

Comfort against the Wrath of Last Days

You may remember
words about divine wrath -
you may have trembled,
and you may wonder
at the troubling signs
of these emergent times

Wrath"s image, and its roaring fury,
express the power
to take down everything,
to burn up everything
that it opposes - not surprising, then,
that earth should tremble

Fear not, dear earth.
There's no wrath here. Wrath kindles
when it sees something that opposes it.
But nothing can oppose the All,
and nothing stands
outside the Allness

Fear not, dear souls.
Nothing that is real
can be consumed.
And you are real,
for you are here,
and since you're here,
you are beloved.
And since you're loved,
you will stand pure,
untouched by anything that seems to fall.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 27, 2020

Reining In

I had to rein myself in.
My thoughts kept trotting down,
happy enough,
the old and well worn path,
the path of being right,
and maybe funny, imagined approbation
from imagined others,
who, presumably,
shared those sensibilities
of right and wrong,
clever and in

I had to stop.
The juice I thought I gained
from such a posture
cannot sustain me,
doesn't have the nourishment
I need, will not ultimately lift me
in the way I am
when I am still,
when I am still and listen.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 26, 2020

Tiny and Huge

There may be signs in heaven
and there may be signs in the earth,
and in the end all the little things
that people thought should blow over,
that people told themselves and others
shouldn't matter
will turn out to have weighed
a great deal,
shaped the bends and twists
of a life,
a way of holding oneself,
a way of talking,

and these tiny huge things
will be brought up for consideration,
these tiny huge things
will be healed.
There will be forgiveness,
there probably will be tears

And there will be
a new lightness
about the shoulders,
a new softness
about the eyes

All the predicted signs
will turn out not to matter,
but these tiny and huge redemptions will.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 25, 2020

Who and Where

Because you came to me in a dream, you have me asking, What of you do I know? And what do I know of anyone? This dream appearance - the way you laughed, subtle irony in your observations - where does it reside that I should know it - Where are you now? And what does where mean, anyway, in the everywhere of thought, the every here of presence? What will our knowing be, when freed of time and space? For this my daily practice strives to find, each day, a little taste. ©Wendy Mulhern March 24, 2020

Present Spirit

I look out through the rain to see the way that things are here, to feel the exclamation of their presence - each leaf, each cell, comprised of an intelligence that fractal-spirals deep, the more I look This tree, still young by estimation of others, between whom it rises - the aspiration of its yearly growth, the buds that punctuate its branch tips This tree, though one of many others, can be enough to show me present Spirit, of which everything is made, in which everything exists. ©Wendy Mulhern March 23, 2020

The Why and the What

Don't ask people
the why of this
(whatever this you have in mind -
the news, the views, the cosmos) -
They would like to tell you
but they can't know

Don't ask the what either -
The few of them that have a sense
most probably won't have the words.

Ask yourself instead .
And wait till all the voices
that speak in second person,
and those that speak in third,
have settled down

When they are done,
you'll find the I Am,
and that will tell you
all you need to know.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 22, 2020

Infodemic

Match lit, the fire flares
down tinder vectors of belief -
The dots connect
as we expect -
motivation, cause/effect

We could be caught up once again,
we all could burn,
or settle for some suffocating blanket,
or in the deeper quiet we could turn
and find a lens to see in clearer ways

The fire within
that needs no fuel,
that burns but never is consumed
can guide us now
and set us free
to shine our radiant truth.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 19, 2020

Mother Wave

When the mother wave comes for you,

you will be cradled,

you will be borne up,

you will be bathed and buoyant

You will not miss

what you are swept away from,

you will not mind

how naked and how new

you feel, how far away

from your tongue are any words

When the mother wave comes,

you will delight in stillness.

all your worries gone,

your heart at home.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 17, 2020

Clarify

I call on the ever-present

nature of all things

to speak up clearly

as the inner voice

in all of us

to let us each feel

how grounded we are

in the sovereignty

of that which is

and all these swirls —

tornados and manipulations

barking out conformity,

herding us to fear

may roar above the surface

but don’t come where we are,

don’t change a thing

except  perhaps

to clarify our truth.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 16, 2020

On further thought …

I’m practicing

this way to be small,

to be nimble:

to leave behind me any armature

that could be jousted at, could topple

(divest myself of it whenever it is sparred with

or whenever it kicks up the urge to spar)

to leave behind me any burdens,

any worries,

to ask the big question

that wipes them all away

and so define myself

not as a big structure

but as a small point of light,

one that grows brighter

the more that it reflects.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 15, 2020

The End of the World

I reckon many of us

would not mind

the end of the world —

The un-quibble-able finality of it,

the sudden change,

the necessary dropping

of the hundred little burdens

we each carry through our days

The excitement of it,

the call of something deeper,

long sleeping, in our beings,

something that would rise up

if only in that crashing moment

The hope is that it would be quick,

not some drawn out monotony of suffering

(though even there we would be honed,

and even there we’d mount the struggle

to survive)

The hope is

we would see

our loved ones again,

and laugh together

about the long strange trip.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 14, 2020

This Kind of Home

The evening air is sweet-
scent of raked weeds
and walking on the land,
carrying water

 Ravens and robins and blackbirds
fill the gloaming with their joy

This is better than comfort -
The warmth through working,
the togetherness that stretches out wide,
and these birds, this land, this sky.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 8, 2020

Openings

Every place has an opening.
There is no scorecard
for whether you take it
or not, whether you glide over
or whether you founder

People who’ve been there will tell you
there is great value
in the most hopeless place –
they will tell you how they found a door there
thar opens unimaginable light

And some may note
the value wasn’t in the circumstance
but in its inability
(although they thought it would)
to snuff them out
and how that helped them grasp
what they are made of.

Wherever you may find yourself,
take heart. Ultimately,
there is no way that you can fail.
Every moment has its opening –
When you’re ready,
you’ll go in.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 10, 2020

On Faith

It only takes a grain,
for if you even once
sense one true thing,
you won’t forget it

It will be there in its difference
from everything you’ve ever thought,
and it will trace itself
like light lines
all along your consciousness
until you realize
this is something you have always known

It will keep claiming your attention
till it changes
all the ways you think,
till its new logic
renders past assumptions
foolish and absurd

You won’t look back,
for you will find this new perspective
so precious as to be your very breath.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 11, 2020

Pre-Dawn

Morning has its faithfulness,

and even before dawn

as the gibbous moon still shines,

the turkeys are set off

by any other sound — the geese,

another flock of turkeys,

tiny songbirds, the occasional duck

Even before dawn

cars and trucks are trundling

down Marcola road along the river

We are up earlier

than our rustic lives would order,

preparing for errands in town

and to get back to planting

before the rain.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 13, 2020

Seed

Left once again

in the detritus of dysphoria,

ripped, deflated,

rendered helpless by its flat words

(give up, you can’t do it

and you don’t want to anyway

(take that palliative, don’t complain)

you don’t have whatever it may take

and don’t deserve to either)

You are not alone,

and though you feel

no one could approach you,

look again

As you let the stillness sweep you

as the ebbing wave subsides,

you will sense, inside, a tiny seed,

its threadlike roots extending,

pulling you together

till the sprout can lift its head

It will tell you

nothing overcomes you —

you will blossom, and your voice will soar,

you’re made of life —

that old voice isn’t —

it falls to dust, but you,

you still shine clear.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 7, 2020

Reins

Here is a dream of sweet movement,

something to find in the time

before attempted sleep,

something to bind myself to,

to embody, to walk in the steps

in which my feet rejoice

Here before lethargy paints

a bland blank wall,

let life bound up in me

and take the reins.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 6, 2020

The needed touch

This fierceness is needed,

for to allow the stain

to fall on anyone,

to let it shame them,
to let it shape them,

is an injustice

that can’t be allowed

This tenderness is needed,

for the washing clean

must deftly leave

all natural color intact —

all of it needed

to form the spectrum

expressing the wholeness of life.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 5, 2020

My Daily Belief

Time and again, I have to ask myself,

What do I believe? And under that,

What must I believe to allow me

to believe what I believe?

And are those underpinnings solid —

can I stand on them?

If not, let them fall away

along with everything built up on them.

Let my belief stand

on the ground of truth.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 3, 2020

The present ground

I keep finding myself going back

to the image of the blessed ground

and how, before anything has yet appeared,

the light plays on it,

and in that light, a silent warble,

a bright impulse of joy,

a calm

In that calm, the sweet assurance —

the presence of the law that guides all growth,

the way that everything that is

shares all these properties —

all that develops

will always bring them forth.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 2, 2020

Temporal Tumbling

I reflect on the present times

when I’ve run afoul of the temporal —

burning the chicken,

letting mold destroy the car —

things are fine

until the moment when they’re not,

and then there is no turning back

All things temporal

can tumble …

There is a grace that rides along the top

of all events,

and cooks things perfectly,

and cares for all things well,

and, centered in the present,

is not slave

to how things fall

And though I stand here in this shambles

(such a mess to reckon with)

my next step

is not from here.

All things in time fall down

but grace will stand me on the ground.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 1, 2020