I strive to forgive
as I would be forgiven,
because it is the same debt,
the same fault –
what I see in the other
and what I find in me
And it’s the same grace
that lifts us both,
erasing the offending image
from my perception,
as criticism in myself,
as what I criticized
in someone else
We both are free,
and I have done
no more than what’s required –
no great act of virtue –
just what saves me
and may save
someone else as well.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 19, 2021
Early spring brings musings
on the nature of promises,
and the nature of promise
The first are given,
the second held within
And if the giver is reliable
the promises are kept,
and as the holder learns what’s in there,
promise blooms.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 18, 2021
One is eating daily of the manna,
Two is understanding what it means,
Three is being nourished by the bright truth
of being loved too deeply
ever to be dropped
Four is growing with the promise
that every wilderness provides –
that you are never empty when you look up,
that you can trust your ever present guide
Five is the steady rain of blessings,
Six, unstoppably, is the desire to share,
Seven, resting as the gift multiplies –
the shining truth of substance always there.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 17, 2021
I will not give up, because,
in the matter of allegiance,
I give myself to one thing or another,
and giving up means giving in
to that which doesn’t care a whit
for me, or who or what I am
I will not give up.
Either my daily service
is to life, and joy, and all I love,
or I’ve bowed down to the enslaver,
the thrice removed from mindfulness
insertion of a clause designed
to hide what’s true and right
about my being
That argument
is as old as time,
but my being is eternal.It was here before,
and it will be here far beyond
the scope of self-important petty rules
Under whatever guise,
whatever seeks to hide
the brightness my desire shows me to be,
however boastful are its claims
or how official sound its names,
it has no foothold for constraining me.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 16, 2021
This evening features
the soft conversation
between the stove and the roof,
their metals interacting respectively
with fire and rain,
a series of clicks and taps
I was thinking this morning
how little is random,
how hard it is, for instance,
to generate random numbers –
in this case the sounds
are not random either,
though they defy prediction
as they lead me, pitter pattering,
towards sleep.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 14, 2021
This morning, I named as prayer
the moment of waiting
for what I recognize
as the meaning of everything,
the source of my sense of purpose,
the spring of my joy,
to come to mind,
to establish itself
as my illumination,
my balance point,
on which I will weigh everything,
from which I can determine
what I love,
what is true
This morning, first thing,
while I was tending the fire,
I noticed that everyone
must be able to find this –
as sure as everyone has breath,
everyone must have
some kind of prayer.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 13, 2021
We are reminded that, this time of year,
starry nights can still mean frosty mornings,
pipes can freeze, precautions should be taken
Which seems hard to remember
in this last glowing part of afternoon,
the sun, hovering above the hills,
soaking everything with gold,
here where I’ve tucked the north wind
behind a corner
for the full impact of warmth.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 12, 2021
I greet the morning ready
to be taken like a kite
up with the lift of praise,
aloft where brambles
will not scratch
and where my gaze
sees far beyond
the catches of complaint,
to find the ways
where we can soar together,
harmonize,
and all our days
will fill with fragrance
and the wisdom of the wind
and each will yield
a gracious glide back home.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 11, 2021
The torn edge of paper
takes to the fire first,
leaps up in transformation,
starts the heat
that lights the kindling
till the logs ignite
Being torn can have its function,
for the comfort is right there
ready to leap up
and warm the whole place.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 10, 2021
In the adventure of immortality,
I leave behind the currency
in which I used to deal
Instead of tokens,
the true object of desire,
instead of rules for the exchange,
a clarifying harmony
Yes, it impels me to be still,
for how, otherwise, would I take in
this light? – that settles
everywhere around me
How else would I follow
the infinite dendritic reach?
– always inward, always where it nourishes
the deepest recognition of identity,
and cherishes
every thought its touch impels to rise.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 8, 2021