This is proof
that there is no arc of death,
that death is not a place
where life ends up
This is proof that life
is always what’s here to notice –
that in spite of death sentences,
life is what speaks to us
Before, it seems, all we could notice
was that the tree was dying,
but now, each spring, each year,
we celebrate persistent life –
these leaves, as fresh as ever,
coming out gracious
beside the hollowing trunk.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 12, 2021
The sun will be laughing at us,
as it goes down, for all the things
we missed doing today,
although we were working straight along,
sun-roasted, wind-cooled, not stopping
to rest or eat
The sun will be laughing
but we will be laughing too,
for we did well, planting trees, not stopping
till we wanted to sink into sleep,
and we came into town
and got what we needed,
and may even get home
before the sun goes down.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 11, 2021
The path at this point
turns out not to be
an easy one to explain
I’ve gone too far
through the wilderness
for a facile reference
to register
(which means I see
you don’t know
what I’m talking about)
I would have to take you along
the whole history of my journey
or lead you through the whole logic
that comes to this conclusion
Or otherwise, I guess
it’s just better for me
not to talk about it much.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 9, 2021
I’m here to celebrate
the transition into laughter,
the place frustration gives way
for something less mired,
that sees, perhaps, the same situation
but doesn’t sense a horrid consequence
Knows, somehow,
that it cannot be sunk,
bobs up, like a float,
rockets up, like a kick board,
gaining elevation from the downward push,
buoyancy launching it skyward.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 8, 2021
I start to see
that what’s forbidden
is a directionality –
seeking out what’s good for me
And that what satisfies
inclines the other way –
I find myself in seeking
what I’m good for
And what I’m good for
is being what I am,
and what I am
bears witness to what’s true,
and what is true is Life –
its uncontainable exuberance,
and Life is what I love,
and what loves me.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 7, 2021
In the most intimate place
where all the entrances are so small
most sensors don’t pick them up
In the most secret place
which you have fiercely guarded,
sensing the precious essence
that lies within…
If you touch that smallest place
you tap your power,
for concentrated there
you find infinity
And what is infinite
will always well up,
an eternal spring –
ever-renewing,
and therefore always pure
You will never fear,
once you have understood
what dwells most small,
most intimate, within.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 6, 2021
I ask myself, why should I be tempted
with sorrow? – as light rain joins with dusk
to dim the sky, and I walk down to cook supper
while I can still see a little,
and before everything gets fully wet
Why should I let this unnamed mesh
put up a catchment for impending tears?
– while I hold back reasons, noticing
that one or several
could launch me into self-indulgent sadness
It is written
that sorrow has its reward,
that if kept honest
(free of self pity’s stories)
it makes a basin to receive comfort –
comfort flowing in, cascading
all over the rims,
filling me up with acknowledgement –
how infinite its source!
©Wendy Mulhern
May 3, 2021
Since everything is Spirit-breathed,
nothing is unchosen –
the breath of Life moves
in its exuberance
in all you can behold
Behold – how much love rests
in every blade of grass,
in every petal,
and all the birds and frogs
sing it out –
it’s true of you, too –
it’s true of all of you.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 2, 2021
And if the aging princess,
well kept inside her palace
(for her protection)
all these years
Were to find her way out,
and see, on the street, whole tracts
of identical palaces,
a suburb of princesses
all locked away,
assured they were singular, royal, and precious,
what would she think?
What would she think of the ones
who had told her, each day,
how special she was?
What would she think of the system that held her, what would she think of her luxuries?
What would she think of her life and its purpose? And more importantly,
What would she do?
©Wendy Mulhern
May 1, 2021
Oops – forgot about the taxes –
dropped like so many things
in the sprint where we keep thinking
we’ll get to a place we can pause
It feels good to be exercising
our marathon powers,
pure and singular to be streamlining
our lives to do as much
as we can. But irresponsible
to forget the taxes
and have to do backflips tomorrow
to get things back in line.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 30, 2021