Walking Meditation

I walk like a whisper

in the time when dark

is turning light,

when people are up

because they have to

(so it seems to me)

lights on, cars starting up,

while other houses sleep

Around my hands and arms

and in my breath, the gift —

the gift of presence

and the almost-tasted promise

of being dearly loved

Along the sidewalks,

in the grass, and in the street,

my feet step dutiful —

not yet tuned in, perhaps,

to the day’s blessings.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 17, 2017

Focus

And if it feels like a fierce effort

to come into focus,

to actually see

all the way to the end of my thought,

to make the conclusion,

to set the course

according to what I now know

(instead of vague conjecture)

If it takes a fierce effort

so be it —

better the sharp blade of awakening

than suffocation by fluff.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 16, 2017

Sky Writing

Aghast at the clunkiness 

of words, I sit down

on a block of them,

unwilling to lift any,

unwilling to make a wall

Whatever it is

I may want to have said,

it’s better that I let

the surprise blue

of late afternoon sky

convey my meaning.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 15, 2017

Weight

It was a light task

picking up the ashes

though they are heavier

than they look like they’d be

It’s not so surprising, however,

that a lifetime of stories

would be ponderous

and besides

There are roots that go down

that must be still connected

where we can’t see them

that would also render

a package like this

hard to lift.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 14, 2017

Windfall

Plum colored plum leaves

swirl over each other

up the road,

gold leaves of birch and cherry

hold on against the wind,

windfall of fir branches and pine cones

half cover the street,

wind sings like traffic

It’s not so much a scatter

as a recombination,

this convocation of wind

and colored leaves, rain

and rays of sun —

release from former service

to the next gift,

coming into being

with the current of seasons

and moving onward.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 13, 2017

Lines of Light

I start to define myself

by the lines of light streaming through,

I start to feel their lift, their strength,

and to be less impressed by clay

If Mind doesn’t hold me here,

what ever could? What, possibly,

except idea, could hold this form in place?

What but Mind could let me move

in grace, and with intention?

Look at me dancing —

look how the music lifts and moves me.

Surely it is clear

that I am made of lines of light

for clay could never move me,

clay could never move like that.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 11, 2017

Rainfall, Leaf Fall

Leaves at our feet

have fallen among each other

like returning to family —

short swirl of togetherness

before the serious settle

into rain and dissolution,

the dark wet phase

along the turn of life

This splendor of colors,

this profusion of soft shapes

and subtle hues, feeds us

like laughter at remembered stories,

the lift of perspective,

leaf glow like sun glow,

luminescent

against the dark sky.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 9, 2017