This seed I am to sow
I need to plant where your soil is deep,
in your honest and good heart
which anchors your intentions
and will defend against
any false impressions
or dispiritedness
Your honest and good heart
will keep the seed,
will feel it, tend it, feed it
with its fertile warmth,
and hold the tender net – water and air –
that lets your life grow strong
and bear much fruit.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 22, 2023
Mortality rattles along
like an old cart.
Wheels may fall off,
or a side, or the bottom
may fall through
And we are asked to think about
where we will take it
before it fails utterly –
if we will trundle on rough roads,
or seek out asphalt, or park ourselves
in some garage
But there are no choices here.
It’s all the same. Mortality lacks
the spirit of what we are,
so it can never satisfy
or even be relevant
Day by day I turn away
from these questions.
Day by day I walk my feet
in steps of freedom.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 21, 2023
Evening comes. Red disk
sinks behind an invisible hill,
showing its trees’ silhouettes.
Smoke sits between us and them,
flattening and fading the landscape
I seek refuge in humility,
so I can feel the lift
of the Mind that breathes all things,
the Life that lights awakening,
that leads to where we all forgive
and are forgiven,
and so relearn the way
to reestablish heaven.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 20, 2023
Beauty returns –
smoke dispersing overnight,
welcome coolness
blowing in from the north,
real clouds and real blue
supplanting yesterday’s haze
And I feel fine,
as if I’ve been forgiven,
as well may be,
as promised
in proportion to my love.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 18, 2023
In this meeting,
the fountain which comprises me
thrills up. I find my shape
entirely within this flowing –
constant surge and free cascade
All of me voices my satisfaction
at being this outpouring gift,
letting the infinite be
what fills me continually.
All of my being rejoices
to be evidence
of its presence.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 16, 2023
What is true about this day –
smoke filled, a sullen oven,
suffocating yellows, wan sun
still punishing?
What is true? – the conflicts
and the inner raging? A sinking sense
of falling down in flame, face of futility,
large numbers of enumerated fears?
Or is it the intelligence I see standing
in the stands of trees surrounding our abode?
And every living thing, which,
with its being, affirms the present mindfulness? – And so remains alert,
and can’t be swept up
in mindless conflagrations
In this awareness, I briefly glimpse
the basis of true fearlessness –
Love which is Mind
holding every mote in place,
intelligently placed
to form the priceless whole.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 14, 2023
Well, if I don’t tell myself the truth,
who will? And yet this truth
is not the stuff of petty disappointments,
layers of them, self-hidden by my self-image,
the sense I should know better
than to feel this way.
No. This truth must embrace
stepping outside the borders of myself
to look around. Losing sight, thereby,
of any self-sense. Picking up, instead,
kind eyes, eagerly receiving
all of these most interesting beings,
offering acceptance, and coming back around
to be accepted,
in the easy way where none of us is judge.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 11, 2023
Your presence compels my steady attention.
I take a half step back from myself
to align with the sensing
of what you are,
this cause of me, this Principle,
that which my full being must express,
here for me with all its surging prospects
I notice the iridescence
at the name of you, the name of me,
the place where what I am
is wholly redefined by you,
who, after all, defined me in the first place.
I need to learn to keep this promise,
to keep on knowing you,
knowing myself, this way.
I need to stay with you
and know you with me, too.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 10, 2023
Little tree,
I thought I came to see you better
when I glimpsed the sprite within,
bright energy that spreads out
in your growing roots and limbs,
which then contracts in winter –
sentient strategist,
choosing your way to grow
But then I got an even clearer view –
how you are emanation
of the one intelligence that thinks us all.
Your sentience
is no more separate than mine,
your joy as much the thrill of life’s ride
as mine is.
The rush of being so precisely what you are,
as much a gift as mine –
proof of our common Principle,
our parentage the same.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 9, 2023
The picture that I drew
didn’t look like him,
and yet it somehow captured
something of his voice while reading,
something of humanity
in deeper tones than casual good will
She drew my foot –
I didn’t see her work
but my foot felt it –
all its surfaces in high alert
We took turns reading
while being drawn,
ideas and images joined the room,
different people picked them up
and held them close
Afterwards I found my affection
throwing a fond net
to draw everyone in –
these artists, their experiences,
points of view, ideals,
and the mutual respect
that holds us
bright and safe
in this salon.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 8 2023