It’s not so hard
to be of the tribe of yes,
the ones that make you glad you’re here,
the ones that want you
and everything you are
It’s not so hard
to hold the yes till it soaks through
any layers of worry and self doubt,
and proves itself to be
the only thing that’s there
Look how we soften,
look how we shine
when held so easily
in the glowing yes
of the tribe.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 6, 2022
In my image of you,
your toes and wing tips
are dipped in gold –
you have a sheen about you
And you are held
in high regard
by all the threads
that weave you into place,
that hold your context
and your community
In my image of you,
you are blessed – it is a buoyancy
that lifts you clear above
any kind of judgment –
your very definition
is safe.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 5, 2022
Today I take a stand
for solid ground.
And anything that seems to be a wobble,
a thing to be grabbed quick before it falls,
and anything that’s built on fear,
or anything that’s built on lack –
none of these can sway me in the least
For I am set to be here,
and I am set to witness,
and I am set to show
we are more potent than we knew
We are here to show
that nothing topples what is true –
We are here to stand on solid ground.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 4, 2022
I’ve given up knowing
what should be in my days,
what should be in my years
(having come up with terrifying emptiness
one too many times)
I’ve given up thinking
I could choose this, or steer
my world to any kind of outcome
My faith, then, is in the daily gifts –
the promise in bright sparkles,
the sparkle of bright promise,
that which comes steady and confident
into my mind, and shows me what I’m here for,
if only for today.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 3, 2022
We name it an adventure,
we let the hours accumulate
until they rattle
in the darkened house
The outside weather
has some say in the matter,
but we are quite comfortable
even with less electric
We name it an adventure,
and that’s important,
for that naming gives us what we need
to get through darkness,
to power on.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 1, 2022
As I seek a way
to smooth the river of your voice
so it runs clear,
the way I’ve always heard it up till now,
I know it can’t be words I use
(for stones, however well placed,
won’t stop the rush,
won’t still the turbulence)
Instead I lean in to our source,
the Principle, the essence of our being,
I name that as the cause
of everything we hope,
and all we strive for,
and all we do –
I let that be the course
for all our currents,
and all that runs
must hence run true.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 30, 2022
You don’t need to ask yourself,
What can I bring? What thing to carry
would make me worthy
to walk in this parade?
No one is watching,
and no one is judging,
but the light of blessing
that falls, just so, upon your head,
the light that graces you, and then reflects
in every face with whom you interact –
it is the thing we all are here to walk in,
and all of us can tell that it’s enough.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 29, 2022
Now it’s evening. The light show is over,
its last act, some pinkness in the clouds …
The light has gone to gray,
the gold is gone –
though dark has touched down many times today,
this time the rain will not blow through
with sun fast on its heels,
brightening the rain drops,
nestling shimmering clouds among the hills
Now the clouds have tucked themselves in,
pulling darkness over their heads,
letting the last light slip away
into the west.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 28, 2022
I came up from where
it was raining inside my ears,
I came out from where
everything was melting,
I closed that scene like a book,
the characters no longer marching
their abject stories
through my halls of mind
There is a truth
that nothing can be written on –
no ink, no etch, can mar its face –
it fills all consciousness,
so nothing more or less
is seen or felt or thought,
and everything abides with it in grace.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 27, 2022
We all curl back from everything
we have called our days,
we all roll up in recollection,
in gratitude or in misery,
in peace or in regret –
at this grand reckoning
none of that even matters
All the names we called ourselves,
and what, reflecting those, we called others,
all our fears, facades, and tears
fall together, tumble in
to be smoothed, to be cradled,
to be rendered
And what we all become
is all we’ve ever been
and everything we’ve dreamed for –
what we are has proved itself to be
our ticket home.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 26, 2022