Stories of the Light

 

 

These truths are told in riddles,
because any of the words,
if taken without the whole,
would miss completely,
would lead thought
down a cramped and narrow maze
with no conclusion,
just a looping back
to the same old tired illusions,
cause and effect trapped
to serve the ends of lies

But once the whole is grasped,
its presence becomes obvious
in every story, every hope,
each earnest effort,
and the light, which, after all,
had to be there for us to see anything,
turns out to be the substance of our being,
and we'll  be no longer duped to think
it has to serve the shadow  -
the shadow disappears, and we are free.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 30, 2021

Anticipating

 

I'll probably sleep well tonight,
long day's work spreading itself oddly
into my dreams,
working with tools, solving problems,
being caught aloft in a gust of wind

There may again be waking moments
when the waning gibbous moon
peers piercingly
through our little window,
or the cold and hot of things
requires adjustment

But there is a rich blanket of peace
that billows like a magic carpet  -
it will carry me through those moments
right on till the early dawn.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 29, 2021

Pleasures

 

These days it seems the best pleasures
are not the ones we plan,
but those that swoop upon us  -
hot shower in the rain,
gust of cold air as I walk
back to the cabin, fire-warmed within,
small expressions of appreciation
for our work, each with our separate tasks,
mutual understanding,
the sweeping sense, at wee hours
of the night,
that all is well, that goodness reigns
and never lets us down.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 28, 2021

Journey of the Mind

 

I am not alone,
for in this journey of the mind,
I bring you all with me -
you who I have known a long time,
you I see in these most recent days,
you I knew before but lost contact,
you I've never met

I bring you all with me
because, in truth, 
there's no way I could go alone.
My mind and yours,
like one fish seen as two
in the refraction of the glass
must move together

I can't go there alone,
for we are one,
and will rejoice together
in every glimpse of truth and beauty
all along the way.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 27, 2021

Taking a lesson

 

These trees don't ask
who will inhabit
the forest they will become

These trees don't plan the canopy
or what will change
when their limbs join at the top
and seal out the sky

The undergrowth responds
to what's here at this season,
this place in the cycle of succession

They will meet the changes
in the full on way they live,
as will I, as will I.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 26, 2021

Inner Work

 

I will not settle for the sad reaction,
the small dismissal of my hope,
the putting off, till some unknown horizon,
of what I claimed as truth for here and now

Instead,  I challenge
the hidden supposition,
the buried barb,
the lie that, if believed,
would lead to every minor sorrow,
and the major ones as well,
collectively would sap
the joy of life, the will to live

Instead, I recognize the harmony
that rings so clearly,
instead, I lift the latch
and set the story free -
down in the smallest place,
I find the catch and let it go,
and feel the amber peace come rolling in.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 25, 2021

In Due Course

 

When you ask a question like that,
do you listen for the answer?
Are you willing to let the question
seek its course, like the tendrils
that reach into memory,
like the seeping of water
down and down, through the soil?

Not hearing an answer
is often the result
of speaking again too soon,
throwing your voice against
what sounds like nothing
but is really the seeping and seeking
of the question,
which will bring back it's answer
in the fruition of your patience.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 24, 2021

Hope

 

Hope rests on our days,
it takes the light like morning fog
after the sun has freed itself,
sifts and accentuates the rays,
makes us look up

We've given up counting on things,
given up counting altogether,
learning to let hope rest like rays,
felt but not sat down upon,
seen but not grasped.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 23, 2021

All ye in free

 

I wanted to comfort
my seven year old self
as she walked the asphalt playground
singing a song to herself
to provide a good story
for why she walked alone,
never dreaming
what lines she had crossed
in the effort to excel
at a game with broken rules,
how her own scoffing at others
was what condemned her to her solitary lot

In comforting myself
I wish to comfort
every lonely one
(in their past or in their present)
who was skewered by the twisted rules,
tricked into condemning,
then finding themselves caught
on one side of the story or the other

I wish to tell us all
the game and all its rules are over  -
all ye all ye in free -
come on home!

©Wendy Mulhern
March 22, 2021

Dost thou say dust?

 

Dust cannot cry,
so I must not be dust,
for I have cried out  -
cried out in my desire for home,
and how could I know home
if not for this desire,
that which yearns me ever
towards its finding?

Dust cannot praise,
so I must not be dust,
for I have praised this life in me,
and I have praised it
in trees and buds
and in the eye shine that I see in others

Dust cannot declare the truth,
so I must not be dust,
for I have declared this being
to be true. Down to the core of it,
down to its crystalline ring,
out through the reverberation
clear across the bright air,
across the land
and up to heaven.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 21, 2021

Forgive us our debts

 

I strive to forgive
as I would be forgiven,
because it is the same debt,
the same fault -
what I see in the other
and what I find in me

And it's the same grace
that lifts us both,
erasing the offending image
from my perception,
as criticism in myself,
as what I criticized
in someone else

We both are free,
and I have done
no more than what's required  -
no great act of virtue  -
just what saves me
and may save
someone else as well.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 19, 2021

Promise

 

Early spring brings musings
on the nature of promises,
and the nature of promise

The first are given,
the second held within

And if the giver is reliable
the promises are kept,
and as the holder learns what's in there,
promise blooms.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 18, 2021

Seven days of manna

 

One is eating daily of the manna,
Two is understanding what it means,
Three is being nourished by the bright truth
of being loved too deeply
ever to be dropped

Four is growing with the promise
that every wilderness provides -
that you are never empty when you look up,
that you can trust your ever present guide

Five is the steady rain of blessings,
Six, unstoppably, is the desire to share,
Seven, resting as the gift multiplies  -
the shining truth of substance always there.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 17, 2021

Pep Talk

 

I will not give up, because,
in the matter of allegiance,
I give myself to one thing or another,
and giving up means giving in
to that which doesn't care a whit
for me, or who or what I am

I will not give up.
Either my daily service
is to life, and joy, and all I love,
or I've bowed down to the enslaver,
the thrice removed from mindfulness
insertion of a clause designed
to hide what's true and right
about my being

That argument
is as old as time,
but my being is eternal.It was here before,
and it will be here far beyond
the scope of self-important petty rules


Under whatever guise,
whatever seeks to hide
the brightness my desire shows me to be,
however boastful are its claims
or how official sound its names,
it has no foothold for constraining me.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 16, 2021

Conversation

 

This evening features
the soft conversation
between the stove and the roof,
their metals interacting respectively
with fire and rain,
a series of clicks and taps

I was thinking this morning
how little is random,
how hard it is, for instance,
to generate random numbers  -
in this case the sounds
are not random either,
though they defy prediction
as they lead me, pitter pattering,
towards sleep.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 14, 2021

Some kind of prayer

 

This morning, I named as prayer
the moment of waiting
for what I recognize
as the meaning of everything,
the source of my sense of purpose,
the spring of my joy,
to come to mind,
to establish itself
as my illumination,
my balance point,
on which I will weigh everything,
from which I can determine
what I love,
what is true

This morning, first thing,
while I was tending the fire,
I noticed that everyone
must be able to find this -
as sure as everyone has breath,
everyone must have
some kind of prayer.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 13, 2021

Seasonal Facts

 

We are reminded that, this time of year,
starry nights can still mean frosty mornings,
pipes can freeze,  precautions should be taken

Which seems hard to remember
in this last glowing part of afternoon,
the sun, hovering above the hills,
soaking everything with gold,
here where I've tucked the north wind
behind a corner
for the full impact of warmth.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 12, 2021

Praise

 

I greet the morning ready
to be taken like a kite
up with the lift of praise,
aloft where brambles
will not scratch
and where my gaze
sees far beyond
the catches of complaint,
to find the ways
where we can soar together,
harmonize,
and all our days
will fill with fragrance
and the wisdom of the wind
and each will yield
a gracious glide back home.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 11, 2021

they that mourn ...

 

The torn edge of paper
takes to the fire first,
leaps up in transformation,
starts the heat
that lights the kindling
till the logs ignite

Being torn can have its function,
for the comfort is right there
ready to leap up
and warm  the whole place.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 10, 2021

Adventure

 

In the adventure of immortality,
I leave behind the currency
in which I used to deal

Instead of tokens,
the true object of desire,
instead of rules for the exchange,
a clarifying harmony

Yes, it impels me to be still,
for how, otherwise, would I take in
this light? - that settles
everywhere around me

How else would I follow
the infinite dendritic reach?
- always inward, always where it nourishes
the deepest recognition of identity,
and cherishes
every thought its touch impels to rise.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 8, 2021

On heating a house

 

It's not that the cold
wants to come in.
Though it may seem so,
it's not prying at the edges
of the doors and floors,
seeping in through all untended cracks

It is that warmth is drawn to cold -
wants to share, wants to fill the hole,
to wrap itself around the cold
and bring it home

And so it looks for places
where it can get out,
where it can spread its fingers
and reach them to the cold
and warm it just a little
as it drifts out thinner
into the night.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 7 2021

Thank You

 

Thank you for the fullness of the day -
full, in forward progress and in
cheerful sharing of the work,
and working out the problems,
heads and hands close together

Full in feasts of beauty
presented by the land,
and coziness of fire-warmed space
and warmth of smiles

Full, finally,  in that great vision
of the harmony that holds us
and its tangible fruition
in unasked for grace

I've been a long time approaching
this starting place,
now finding myself,
wonderingly,
already here.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 6, 2021

Vantage Point

 

From this vantage point,
Look. The wondrous still point
of present perfection.
Here you sit royal, here you command
the whole realm of your consciousness,
all you can perceive

From this vantage point you see
you have no need to flail
amid the scramblings of the world,
no need to quaver (strong but small)
against colossal evil

Notice the power of your focus:
Your insistence
that only what is true
can be played out
in this realm that you command
does so much more
than steps to fix what tells you it is wrong  -
a different, a more potent kind of strong.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 5 2021

House

 

My house, my lineage,
my house, my home,
my house, my consciousness
and everything that flows through it

If this earthly house were dissolved,
it would just prove
the underpinnings of the place I dwell,
unmoved, ever restoring
the self-contained interior
of what's infinite.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 4, 2021

Exchange

 

As if coming, after a long hike,
to the banks of a strong river,
as if taking off my shoes,
as if feeling the rapid daunting coolness,
and considering immersion

So I come
to the certainty of knowing
that all my temporality
must be turned in, given up,
exchanged for the existence
that precedes and follows time,
a state of being
too large and bright to be confined
in narrow, time dimensioned channels

I start to see the things I must give up  -
some dear, some foolish  -
and I feel,
if not now, soon,
I will be ready.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 2, 2021