In the vision I saw
the high saturation of Spirit –
it was nothing pale, nothing you could miss
Its color made the daily objects
almost hard to see, so washed out
they were, so ghostlike,
while Spirit filled the whole canvas
with bright rays of power,
becoming the obvious substance
to walk in, to speak of,
to use for all motion and action,
to be for, to be about,
to live in.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 30, 2021
I come around again to peace –
Is it cued by the music?
Or by the still place that I made
from working breath and body?
Or is it sweet forgiveness, knowing all of us
are here, and all desiring
this same sense of release
and homing, and being wrapped in kindness,
and being kindness itself,
ever able to forge its way
across the deep.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 29, 2021
Let Spirit breathe through you
until you notice
you are not a structure being sounded through,
not a flute, not a pipe, but rather
the song itself
And the timbre is not a product
of anything but Spirit,
and the tune is ever Spirit’s own,
and the words –
how much like home they feel!
– for all the song resounds
with what you are,
as Spirit sings your every tone.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 28, 2021
Soft rain, shrouding clouds,
a low solar day
in which we rely on fire
for comforts we desire,
and friendship, that essential connection,
to stand in for the sun
The day began with knowing
where my love comes from,
and now ends in the peace
of love well done.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 27, 2021
Thoughts lick like flames
around new concepts in my mind,
trying to make sense,
looking for ways to get inside
and comprehend the matter
through and through
I find it warming
and a little bit exciting –
maybe when this is all clear,
so much more understanding
will be in reach,
maybe I’ll soar in ways
I’ve only dreamed of till now.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 26, 2021
It is a contented lipity lap
with which the pages of the day
fall layered and random
in my thought – the talking on the phone,
efforts to integrate new things
into the household order,
planning for a gathering a few days hence,
neglecting chores
And gratitude, although I had no urge to force it,
rose like sun-drenched clouds
through moments in my day,
arresting skys commanded my attention,
rays and colors couldn’t help but draw forth praise.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 25, 2021
Look how everything has fallen in,
like sand into water,
look how every way we rated things
is gone –
the structures, the tallies,
elaborate rubrics,
purveyors of influence
all rendered silent
Here we are melted
in the variegated sheen
where each gleam
bears clear witness ,
infinity’s equalization
showing the depth we possess,
all of us needed,
none of us less.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 24, 2021
The demons are put to silence.
They are not permitted to use your voice
to rage. You have control
of your voice, and your thoughts.
And if this is not clear, the demons
may be permitted to rush down violently
and choke themselves. Whereby you can notice
that you are still here,
quiet, untouched.
You can receive
all the goodness offered you.
Hold out your hands, open your mouth
and take it in.
You never ran with them actually.
You have always stood here
like a mountainside,
you have always been this waterfall.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 22, 2021
This is something else – a river of regret,
something we all swim in, however we held ourselves,
whether superior, privileged, clean,
or rebellious, devious, naughty,
justified, victimized,
thoughtless, or cruel,
or having missed out on the party
The river carries us all –
I may notice
who comes up next to me –
how we might never have
been within arm’s length
in our former life
But the tears we flow in
are just the same, and the cleansing
does its work on all of us,
and it takes us to somewhere
much farther down the bank,
somewhere we can’t yet imagine.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 20, 2021
I’m thinking about
all the sorrows of the world –
the big and little heartbreaks,
chasms of loss, and trauma
walled up and sealed away, hidden
deep within the mazes of forgetting,
leaking out at unexpected times,
fluids of shame, embarrassment,
spumes of rage and helplessness
I’m thinking about
all the sorrows of the world,
all the tears that strive to cleanse,
all the keening, calling for connection …
and thinking what it could mean
if everything can be turned,
like a page, like a dream,
if everyone could be released,
allowed to flow home
to their native wholeness,
more than forgiven – rendered innocent –
ultimately untouched by any story,
fully seen, delighted to be known.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 19, 2021