Connect the dots

The cohesive scatter of the stars,
the elegant tangle of grasses and forbs
in the eager tumble of spring,
the spray of colors across the fields,
red and purple seed heads,
silver sunlit shafts glinting
in the waves of wind

If you can see this,
and can connect the dots of wonder,
it can shake you out of doubt
to reconsider –
aren’t you, too, held
in the same expansive order
that flings light across the day
and stars across the sky?

©Wendy Mulhern
May 22, 2022

To be a child of Soul

To rise up from the cozy rest
where you have been luxuriously curled,
to move with clear, insightful action
snuggled in the very world,
your touch inspired,
your comfort grounded,
sharing strength with those around you,
setting right each place of need,
nourishing the sprouting seed

Oh may you know,
in this and every moment,
how it feels, what worlds are moved,
what things are brought to glorious fruition  –
oh may you claim this truth
and may it shape your vision  –
you are, and ever were
a child of Soul.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 21, 2022

Aspects of love

Attraction to vastness,
a wide open yearning,
adventure to span
a lifetime or more

Attention to tinyness –
however close you look,
something of wonder
is opening up

Something you know
in your toes, in your soul,
something so integral, intimate,
all that you are is exactly enough to give,
all that you give
brings you home.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 20, 2022

The One whose I am

It wasn’t enough to know
my chains were self imposed,
as I fumbled through the keys and locks,
ever more heavy

The sweet release revealed
I have no power to impose chains.
The Principle to which my being moves,
of which I am the proof,
does not allow such folly

What freedom to admit
I am not my own!
What a relief to know
the One whose I am
is kind.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 19, 2022

Blackbird

Still have nothing to say
despite the lushness
of mist-cloaked May,
and the blackbirds yesterday,
vociferous in evening sun

I’ve been treating my mind like a library
of books already read,
feeling no urge
to look at them again

Perhaps more fruitfully
my mind can act as blackbird,
evening sun calm
along my wings.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 18, 2022

Stuffed

Stuff I’m not talking about
piles up, squashing my nimbleness
of speech, of thought

Things I say over top of it
lack the connection to underlying structure,
can’t indicate the muscle, bone, and sinew

They slope off like fluff –
they don’t hold my interest,
I can’t write them down

And the stuff I’m not talking about
hulks in its darkness  –
seems like I’ll need more than words
to pull it out.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 15, 2022

Healing

You talk about healing.
I want you to know
that I will not accept as healing
that which insists that I stuff my rage,
be polite about my pain,
and sets me on a postage stamp of
“seeing the good,”
a narrow strip of positive

To be whole, I need a truth so large
it swallows my complaint,
wraps up everything I am
in its embrace,
silences my howling
in the full-home chord
of welcome,
has space enough for all of me to soar.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 13, 2022