Tag Archives: God

Take This In

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lake-washington-morning-november

Here is a secret:
Being is not something you can fail at.
This despite the very loud
opinions to the contrary
and their constant repetition,
throughout all your years

Here’s a truth to take you by surprise:
You didn’t make yourself. And what did make you,
what makes you still, in each moment
of your breathing, each eye-blink of awareness,
is no podunk show, no lazy shop, no third rate joint

The enormity of what you are
(broad as the stretch of your imagination)
bears witness to the size of your creator,
which, besides being too big to fail,
is also the only thing in the whole stupendous
here of consciousness

And it doesn’t let you fail. Not you,
not any of these others.
If you think you stand in opposition,
think again. You are given, after all,
a deep enough understanding
to take this in.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 23, 2016

Splendor

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sunny meadow

A day this splendid
deserves a big idea,
one you can pick up
by grasping anything
and following along the chain of life
until you have the whole of it

The dance, for example,
of leaves in the breeze —
its connection to sun-impelled currents
(heat rising, cool air swooping in)
and to the limbs, supple with water,
bending to wind and light,
and the thought shimmer
that comes from watching

Or the certain conviction
that everything, everything,
is the thought of one Mind,
moved by the same desire,
born to love every tendril,
every flicker, of life, of light,
born to bring its gifts
in gratitude and brilliance
to the day.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 15, 2016

Alignment

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katama morning

After the tentative approaches
we slip into comfort
sleek as magnets
finding their close alignment

From here on it’s easy
to enter our connection,
easy to feel how our colors
have blended together,
easy to notice other touch points
of our proximity

The city, of course, is spiritual,
the I Am in which we always dwell,
which holds us in perpetual peace,
receptive vessels of constant blessing

We meet each other here
because it is the only place
where we can really touch each other,
the only place
where we can truly be ourselves,
the only place where our embrace
is ordained,
ultimately, the only place we live

We slip into a comfort
that regenerates
and fortifies us
for the work at hand,
we walk forth
never leaving the holy city,
so we bless the land.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 14, 2016

Still Small Voice

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morning with old fence

I lay down to sweet sleep.
It surprised me, arrayed, as I was,
against the fierce and ragged monsters
of the night, prepared, as I wasn’t,
(despite my frenzied efforts)
to battle them to the death

I had resigned myself
to creeping failure,
to the dark and desolation
of the coldest hour.
Instead, I woke to morning peacefulness,
the early waking of birds
and the first, pre-color, entrance of the light

Still small voice, so clear, so clarifying,
saved me when I couldn’t save myself —
Bright light to everything,
even departing monsters,
showed me who and where and why I am,
And the sweet direction —
what I’d madly thrashed at in my waking hours —
remains, a shining beacon for my days.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 27, 2016

At Play

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grass and dock

We take turns, playing this game —
It’s called “I can’t hold myself up”
We fling ourselves to the center,
to the mercy of the circle,
to the ready arms
that join to catch us

It’s a good game. It helps us feel
the web of care that gives us all our power,
the substance of the arms
that never let us fall,
that hold us, even as we hold each other

When the long arced summer sun
finally recedes to twilight,
sky going blue to sunset to gray,
we’ll leave these grassy fields
and go home for supper
and the lights in which we are sustained.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 23, 2016

Arc

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arc

Arc of the day —
the silvered breath of early morning,
dew-clad ferns and grasses,
the warming climbing sun,
Arc of sounds — rousing calls
of turkeys, ravens,
mourning doves chiming in later,
cicadas at mid day, blackbirds
all day long, tits and finches
at intervals

Arc of the year — grasses
turning green, then pink and purple,
darkening heads, the onset of golden,
arc of their stalks, bending in the wind,
Arc of blooming — iris, ox-eyes, self-heal,
blackberry, roses

Ark of the covenant —
yea, verily —
all these moments are held
in the perfect curve of joy,
graceful bend of honor
and humility,
softly domed
by the arc of sky.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 12, 2016

Reminders

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Greenlake twilight

Maybe the way I seem to need
to be reminded again and again
is not unlike the looping questions
from the old man of the house:

Where are we?
How long have I been here?
When am I going home?

And maybe my Source is just as patient
with the replies, over and over again:

You are worthy and beloved
You have always been here
You are home

And if I soared yesterday
and sink today, even if yesterday, really,
was not that long ago, and I felt sure
I’d never forget it,
I still seem to need reminding:

You are worthy and beloved
You have always been here
You are home.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 25, 2016

Today’s Metaphysics

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lower pasture, spring morning

That which is everywhere
can’t be pushed around,
can’t be forced, can’t be withheld,
can’t be transferred, transmitted or dispensed

That which is everything
can’t be squeezed, or thinned out,
or distorted, can’t be deficient,
can’t be subjugated

That which we are
must exist in the context
of what is everywhere and everything,
forever whole, forever shining bright,
immutable and sovereign as light.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 22, 2016

An Answer of Peace

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tulips and artichokes

Let me not presume
to have the self-importance
to get it wrong. To tell myself
“if only you see better,
and rightly understand,
then all will flourish —
if your life is blighted,
you need to work harder”

Let me not imagine,
in the face of the fullness
of everything,
that I have the power
to get it wrong.

It’s not in me —
Life will provide me
an answer of peace.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 24, 2016

Take Heart

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Green Lake late sun

Don’t be afraid —
There is no journey you can take,
no long night you can go through
where you will be abandoned
in the middle

In your tiredest moment,
at the coldest hour,
in the bleakest outlook,
the most untoward turn,
hear your heart:
it doesn’t beat alone.
It pulses in response
to the eternal pulse of being,
indicating, thus, its steady presence

You will come through,
but you may feel at peace
before you’re even done,
for in each step
you are attended by the One.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 27, 2016