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