Life Work

I start to see

my life is more

than finding ways to feel fulfilled,

more than arranging energies,

emotions, thoughts, and movement,

metabolism, focus for my days,

more than finding ways to feel OK

I was made to bear fruit.

My life feels good when,

in essential interaction,

I engage cooperation

with the life around me

and we all thrive

My life is working

when Life’s work

is manifest in me —

The works define

what I’m meant to be.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 8, 2015

Artwork

Reality

sets up like paint —

things are blocked in,

they change,

refinements are added

in color and shadow

and things dimly glimpsed

become clearer,

remote possibilities

suddenly seen

as the way things are

and had to be

(wasn’t it obvious?)

We walk by turns

entranced, bemused, euphoric,

through the colors of becoming

Reality

sets up like paint

beneath the artist’s hand.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 6, 2015

Mind Like a Steel Trap

OK.

The fierce attention

called forth by this challenge

has crested,

and I feel the bead-like pulse

in my armpits,

and the sensation that

my body lags a few steps

behind my mind

so I might stumble or fumble

or mumble

And yet the pure power surge

has forged such an incisive

trail through thought

that there is no question

how I must proceed

and there is no doubt

about the force

that sears through all obstacles

and wins its goal.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 5, 2015

Fishing

When I came back

to my old haunts

they didn’t fit anymore —

The old hauntedness

could still ring through me

but the old exorcisms 

— industry, to do lists —

were completely useless

and the old stories

made me tired

I must remember

how I learned to cast my net

on the right side,

how the emanation

of Spirit within

brought forth so many

bright shining fish

full of life and the flow

of continual offering,

turning and flashing

and flocking in sweet laughter,

filling me up with

everything I desired.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 4, 2015

Purr

I curl in the domestic purr,

the gurgling dishwasher,

the music in the other room,

the goldening of light around the lamp

as evening falls outside

The coziness breathes through these

but it is made of the collected warmth

of this day’s gifts —

the affluence of feeling

they have been enough

to sustain me through this curve of time,

to stoke my inner lights

and this day’s grace.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 3, 2015

Wrestling

I was wrestling my mind —

Oh, it was stubborn

and tenacious and strong.

It fought like something wild

struggling for its life.

I pried a finger up

but it grabbed back again,

harder, in another place —

It didn’t want surrender

I let it run awhile,

pacing like a caged cougar

along the old trails,

assuming, soon, the steady

disconnected trot

of one who must keep moving

but has no place to go

I challenged it: This is not

what you want, I said.

It turned to cling to me —

It would not listen

or let go

Till finally I saw

neither of us could win this battle

(so equally matched we were)

We had to give it up

for something higher,

Let ourselves, together,

be embraced,

be washed,

be tickled,

be home.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 2, 2015

photo by Jennifer Lopez-Santillana

The Halftime Show

How dearly did you pay

for this chance

to be the moth that burned —

everyone watching. gape-mouthed,

your breathless splendor —

many wishing they could be so graced,

not knowing

you were passing

so very quickly

from flame to fluttering ash,

swept away to the oblivion

of all who let themselves be mouthpiece

for the machine.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 1, 2015