Tag Archives: grace

Amen

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I don’t want the goodness of being
to be something I make up,
something that can fail
if my imagination
or my persistence
be lacking

I don’t want it to be up to me
whether there’s joy in the day,
whether the people in the world
feel fulfilled, know they are beloved

I want that truth to dawn
on its own, because it’s true,
because truth is insuppressible.
I want to get to be surprised
and delighted
by the goodness of being
spilling into my life
with joyful abandon

I ask this in the name of
all that is real.
So be it,
and so it is. Amen.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 16, 2017

Powered

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And if the hum of every day,
well-oiled or creaky, loud or quiet,
should lull you into thinking
this is all you get

Step back, look deeper —
There is no engine here
except the bright desire of Life,
intense, unquenched,
coursing with strength

that can lift you
bounding over crowns of hills,
leaping sure-footed
among the crags,
soaring, glowing,
above the clouds

You need not settle
for a plodding pace
for you are powered
by life, by grace.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 14, 2017

Not Too Late

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It’s not too late
to feel blessed,
though eyes be turned toward sleep,
though goals be given up on,
though consciousness
has wandered off
into various fields
where grasses
are going to seed
and small flowers
hold court with many
peculiar bugs

It’s not too late to be blessed —
look — you’re there already
in the sweet breath of summer night,
in the dream welcoming call
of warm blankets and chilly wind.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 7, 2017

Animal

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I keep thinking about
the little animal
with the sharp teeth
and the silky, sensuous body,
with its mammal warmth
and its round lair
and its flaring territoriality

I watch the animal within,
I see it turn and curl,
I see it growl and snap

And I remind it
it doesn’t need to do that.
There’s a grand connection here,
there’s ample safety
and there’s peace.
No need to defend me —
the animal is free to sleep.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 17, 2017

The Laughter of Relief

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Under the hand of
that which holds me
with gentle humor
comes the release
of a great weight
and the relief of knowing
all my guilt and ignorance and fear
are nothing

They have not turned my maker against me,
they have not barred me
from the place of peace,
there is no sentence
meted out in loss of joy

I am beloved, as it turns out,
and incapable of falling,
and none of this worry
has made me drop
in the esteem of that which
loved me from the start
and always will.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 30, 2017

Point of Perfection

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It was strange to step out from the story
of bumbling incremental progress
under tutelage of experts
in every undertaking we aspired to master

It was breathtaking
and hard to believe
we could progress
from the point of perfection,
lovely always, in everything we do

It seemed almost unfair
but we got used to it —
we attained it in one area
and then expanded

And found there still is plenty
of space to learn and grow,
starting from here
where we are good and worthy,
starting from here
where we are humble and perfect,
where we begin right
and so continue.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 24, 2017

Surrender

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This battle is too great for me.
Let me be washed
in rising tide
that comes to me
here where I lie,
that cleanses me
without my doing anything,
that gives me back my reason why.

This battle is too great for me.
Let me be bathed in warming sun
that never rations its rays,
but floods out the sorrow and failure
with clean washed, clear eyed day.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 16, 2017

Gadarene

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A herd of swine
may run violently down a hill.
This is not a strange occurrence —
it happens all the time,
betrayal hard on the heels of betrayal,
blame hard on the heels of blame,
all those justifications, all those
indignant and disappointing stories
following each other to their
collective destruction

What’s wonderful, and what may seem miraculous
is what remains when all the herd is gone,
the beatific peace
that was your essence all along,
ultimate justice, fruit of an act
that’s truly kind,
to sit now clothed and quiet
in your right mind.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 12, 2017

Under the Storm

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Storm at the windows
keeps us indoors,
wind flinging rain
all along the south side,
white pine bending,
tossing itself back

Some of us find goodness
under the storm,
some of us find it
in the shining of fine days,
proving (though we may come slow
to concluding it)
goodness is everywhere

And though it may seem treasonous
to abandon the system we’ve known —
small brightnesses etched out of darkness,
sadness and fear as defining factors —
in truth, Life wheels itself quite well
in the overarching fact of all goodness

Nothing is missing,
nothing is left undefined,
Life sings through all the storms
and all the clearings,
thus showing itself to be all.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 7, 2017

Hand in Hand

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Everything drained out of the day
with the early rain —
our warmth, our prospects —
and we were left empty
in the isolation
of the cold dampness

But then quickly
the substance began to return,
the sense of walking hand in hand
with infinity,
feeling the sustenance flow in,
filling the spaces between
our needy queries
and the non answers

Until finally, in the clearing
in the late afternoon,
we were rich in all the places
we had felt bereft —
we could offer
warmth to others,
and sweet dreams,
and confidence
that every need is met.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 18, 2017