Sight

I give my eyes to Truth.

Truth, train my eyes,

in this and every moment —

let me see straight

Catch me before my eyes

connect the dots in some distorted way,

before they draw conclusions

from some vapid, hapless picture —

help me behold unfolding acts of grace

and hidden harmony,

let them spring up before me,

showing me the universe of good

And if I haven’t seen them yet,

let me hold on, unfazed,

let me hold out for Truth’s appearing

in its own timeless rhythm

throughout my days.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 31, 2019

Jewel

Afterwards, what I kept pondering

was the jewel in the storm,

the calm that could only be discovered

amid the raging, the peace

the storm brought out

by failing to ruffle it

even in the least

This is a thing to know about,

this is a thing to remember

even in lesser storms,

and when there’s no storm at all.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 29, 2019

Student

I am an eager student —

I pore over the text

as meaning pours in

Something deep inside

soaks it up, stretches out,

like roots, like leaves, like wings

This is not something

for me to tuck away,

to tell myself I may use later

This is breath, this is sight,

this is the sense of things,

these are my steps along

the present path of what I am.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 27, 2019

Summit

You come back from the mountain

and what gets you is the day to day,

the small decisions and the interactions

that have the same ruts they had

when you were here before —

you think everything should be changed

but it isn’t

This is the challenge

greater than the summit —

to integrate the things you saw

into the fabric of every day,

to walk the same paths

but go up higher,

to taste the mountain air

right where you are.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 26, 2019

Still

In the evening the wind stills,

and the work, though it continues till dusk,

is quieter — no thrum of generator,

no flap of windblown plastic,

just the intermittent buzz

of the skill saw, and the thunk

of extra rafter tail hitting the dirt

Later, we, too, will be still,

still in the aftermath of work,

still hefting lumber in our dreams.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 25, 2019

This Morning

This morning it felt like fall —

fog through the valley, lifting into powder blue,

night’s chill and sun’s warmth coexisting,

different smells in dampness and in dry places,

readiness in the air

A flock of goldfinches

were very happy with our sunflowers,

exclaiming and conversing 

as they landed, swaying,

on the flower heads

I woke up knowing

the only thing real

is the goodness of everything.

I saw it everywhere,

seeming to rest on things

but actually

being what they are.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 23, 2019

A Book

A book is growing in me like a child.

It bumps against my insides

from time to time

I hum to it

when I think to,

I settle into the gait

of its weight

I sense the course of its development,

chapters like ears of corn,

words like the kernels 

Things remain mysterious,

like how it will all come together —

it isn’t mine to pry the answers out

A book is growing in me

like a poem. It will come out

when it’s ready.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 22, 2019