September Ends

 

September ends. Early the morning

I saw the smile
of the waning crescent moon
above the hills, between the clouds,
promising a good day later

I went back to sleep.
The sun came up, and later
the clouds crowded in,
the wind came up, and then
the light rain

September ends,
drawing a shade of melancholy
across the evening.
October will have its own tale.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 30,  2021

Reading for much of the day

 

I tried to pull myself away

from images from someone else's life,
considered if another night
of dreams not quite my own
was in store for me

In the end, the tendency
to hang my life like laundry,
to scrutinize it in the light of others' stories
is nothing that can help me

We will all meet up together
on the deeper plane
far more important
than the holes and stains
in my shirts or in my narrative  -
this source we share
that lets us recognize each other,
this source that lets us recognize ourselves.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 28,  2021

The song that I am

 

I'm called now to notice

the kindness with which
the line of my life has been laid down,
the patience with me in the places
where I let fear and arrogance
cast me indelible
to colors and lines I was offered

How I've been given, each time,
another opportunity
to receive the opening
that will render me more alive, more true,
to my intended being. Look,
this isn't a finite page, a finite play,
this isn't a chance I could miss

This is the infinite,
this is its song of me,
these are the colors, the lines and the light,
this is the life that is steadily given me,
this is the song that I am.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 27,  2021

Carpet

 

This time of year the fir needles
provide a tranquil carpet -
if it is disturbed,
they quickly restore it,
as if nothing ever walked through here,
nothing ever scuffed its way
along some unthinking course -

Give it a day
and the vision of peace rests,
unforgettable, on the afternoon,
showing that everything has its own place,
everything falls according to plan.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 26,  2021

Thirty-nine years

 

Thirty-nine years,  and I'm only just
coming to know you.
Fair enough to say I'm only just
coming to know myself

Before that, we were playing house,
impressing ourselves
with all that we knew,
many times confident,
many times feeling adrift

And then the storms came,
and for years, we were soldiering through,
pulling together but feeling alone,
traversing aloneness together

Now there is now, and I hesitate
to say too much. There is wonder
in what we are living out,
day after day, and there's promise,
and the impulse to keep the page
open, and empty,
until it is written each day.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 25,  2021

After Summer

 

The little yellow flowers
that filled the field this morning
have almost all closed up by afternoon,
the clicking orange-winged grasshoppers
continue with their short and busy flights,
the tousled seed heads, dandelion-like,
shake in the wind and sometimes let seeds go

Here at the top of the heat arc of the day,
it could almost be summer,
except the breeze is cooler, kinder,
and there is moisture in the ground,
and there's a poignancy
to the sharpness of the curve,
lending urgency to insects,
brightening colors by bending them down.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 24,  2021

The Knowing

 

There was space in the morning
to allow
for the tiniest of yellow flowers
to open
just half way  - a trumpet bell on a stem

And space,  in that tiny harmony
to account
for all the interweavings, subterranean
and above,
all the ideas that had to be here first
for all this to unfold,
from the smallest to the largest

All of this
had to be known,
and this is our gift,
that we are the knowing.
This we are given,
and this we give, in turn.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 22,  2021

Word

 

I am not the one who tells you,
deep down where the current of your being
runs in the channels of your knowing,
in the certainty of truth

Me telling you this
would just be some line across the surface,
scribbled with a marker,
annoying, perhaps, and easily written off
as ignorant of all that lies below

But you hearing this
from the voice that puts your doubts and fears to silence,
so comprehensive it is,
and so kind -
you hearing this from the infinite within -
that will let you know.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 21,  2021

Riding High

 

Riding the high of the day's beauty  -
clarity of air, and so many
elegant plays of water -
sun rays through vapor,
raindrops on trees,
fog lifting, clouds drifting,
all of the scents wide awake

Riding the high of the day's beauty  -
long worked-for things coming together,
hope coming visible,
the deep anchoring truth of our being
pulling us into clarity,
focusing us in joy.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 20,  2021

Trust

 

Walking down the slope today
I was remembering times of trusting  -
sweet connection, like being borne aloft
on a great swing, feeling the lift

Wondering where I left that behind,
how I came to feel
I was on my own,
earning my trustworthiness
with every step

It has been a worthy journey,
and if not earning, certainly learning
what is required of me,
what is my move to own my desire,
how I can follow it back to my core

But somewhere maybe also,
there's a place for a child's trust -
the willing reaching of my hand,
the eager leap,
to be caught, and held aloft,
to be caught up and embraced,
to feel the lift,
the certain joy, the easy grace
of seeing love so constant
in my Father's face.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 19,  2021

First Rain

 

The long awaited rain
comes down softly,
gentle on the dry grass,
the hardened ground,
giving everything a chance
to open up, to take it in

And we could say we've earned the right
to soften, to rest from all our work,
behind the droplets on the windshield,
becoming rivulets now,
becoming drumbeats,
till they convince us
to make our way home.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 18,  2021

The goodness of life

 

The goodness of life
can't be extracted from the moment,
can't be packaged as a supplement
to take later, or to take
without having noticed
the textures and tremolos,
the subtle but definite
order of everything,
without comprehending
the depth and constancy
of your belonging
and what it means

The goodness of life
requires you.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 16,  2021

 

We are coming together

in the knitting of things that grow
from different directions
and converge
like edges on the opposite sides
of a wound,
like native blackberry
weaving a mat to cover the bare ground

Don't despair at the distance between us -
we are coming together.
You may feel appalled at my position,
but don't worry  -
we are all pulled to the same thing,
and though my yearning seems to come
from a different place than yours,
it seeks the same goal, and so
we will come together.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 15,  2021

Sky Angels

 

Already the ice-tipped sky angels
have returned  - they herald
the crisp edges of the days,
which we have both longed for and feared,
since, once the slide starts
towards the rainy season,
everything falls fast

We know the trees want it,
and the land. We want to be ready,
we want to ride the joy of it
all the way to cozy,
want our trees and ourselves
to make it through.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 13,  2021

Bring me home

 

Bring me home  -
I am willing to come contrite,
I am willing to come silly,
I am willing to be seen as I am,
however long I have resisted it

Bring me home  -
I am willing to be cleansed
as I go, to let these crusted edges
fall away. I'm tired of pretending
that I know stuff,
I am willing to be led by the hand

It's been a long time in this hamster wheel,
driven by illusions of progress
and falling behind -
I'm ready  to be done with time,
to have all of its structures
proved to be nothing -
no huge monstrosity
needing to be corrected,
no pit we can't dig ourselves out of

I'm willing to be part
of the great awakening,
eager for you to bring me home.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 12,  2021

Crescents

 

We walk in the smile of the day,
feet touching down along its curve.
Songbirds and crickets,
turkey and deer -
all the usual inhabitants  -
move in the same grace

We revel in crescents  -
the arc of temperature,
the waxing moon,
the hammock of tenderness
we offer each other
during and after
the easy swing of the day's work.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 11,  2021

Thursday

 

Every week it's suddenly Thursday,
and then Thursday's gone

But all.of this tumble has nothing to do
with the progress at hand,
which rolls out like sine waves
from the turning of the wheel
and goes forth like thistle seeds released

I keep learning the same thing.
Every day it's new.
Every day I am amazed to discover it

I'm like a spaceship setting off
across light years,
the universe unfolding and enfolding,
stars in every direction,
heartbeat present and insistent.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 9,  2021

State of the World

 

The dream state of the world
convulses, rolls in chains,
roars in pain at their constraining,
rumbles and crashes, trying to rise

Its ripples murmur
through every earthbound life,
and each one feels it -
a nagging from afar,
a rage within

The beast in each
has been, thus far, contained
by shunting off to frame another's blame,
where, in our ignorance,
or by some monstrous plan,
it will explode to burn
in someone else's land

So it will be, until we learn the name
of that which sparks us all, so we can claim
the gentle power
that gives us each release,
resets the primal hour
and soothes the beast.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 8,  2021

Press

 

Tears can cleanse
and tears can mend -
waterfalls cascading down,
smoothing rocks beneath,
filling in the crevices,
rendering me meek

Lord knows I need something  -
I am willing to cry and cry
and cry and cry,
but will it be enough?

Not in the depths of my own chasm,
not in the shallows of my conclusions.
Let me press myself
up against the infinite
so that its light shines through.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 7,  2021

Rock and Stone

 

The father doesn't give the son
a stone for bread, so why
all these stones, these chipped teeth?
Why this gnawing hunger?

The father doesn't give the son a stone,
so why, father to son,
down all these generations  -
all these walls, all this rubble?

Picking up the pieces, looking,
distractedly, for something
that would lock this life together,
a lodestone, a keystone,
an ancient way

The father loves the son,
but how is this made known?
How do the living rays of Truth
that shine through consciousness
reveal this longed-for bond?

They are the knowing.
Sit in the shade of this great Rock
and share the feast.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 6,  2021

In Balance

 

There is no imbalance in this:

The gift comes forth, it is received,
the need is felt, then met,
no debts pile up on one side of the scale,
no offerings untouched against the door

The blessing finds its level just like water:

What you bring is just what is most needed,
what you receive fulfils another's joy,
what you have honed for barren years
will prove the perfect tool,
the fruits will multiply to match your labor

This is the law - you'll find there is no other
(though many lies have tried to hide the truth)
anythong you thought was lost
you will recover,
with all your moments put to perfect use.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 3,  2021

 

You talk to the trees.

They won't preside
over your rush of memories  -
if they hear them, they don't judge

Some of them have been here
a long time. If not as long on the earth
as you, still long enough
to keep on reaching up,
to have lost branches
but not the branching impulse,
not the surging
expression of their being,
not their place among the living
or in the land

They may have things to tell you
about roots, about service,
about the inevitability
of being true to the seed you grew from
and true to the seeds you bear.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 2,  2021

Reverence

 

The lessons of the land
seep in wordlessly
with no taint of instruction,
no directive to change

They seep into my hands, my gait,
my consciousness, they become
the way it has always been,
the way I've always seen

When I try to think of what has changed,
how I used to think, in contrast
to how I now perceive,
the whole thing goes out of focus

But I can find it again,
just like I found the cat
who rolled in the dirt and then
almost disappeared in the grass

I can find it again
by setting myself to receive,
to take in and hold in reverence
each life in its singular sphere.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 1,  2021