I stand
and let the sense of who I am
slide back behind me,
beyond time, beyond
the anchor of my story
It fills in
like a swath of sparkles
on windy water,
lights me from behind
and moves me
(like lifting up, expanding out)
making room for all of us,
making room for peace.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 22, 2017
Close to the source
of heat and cold,
close to the source of being —
stars at night, pens that don’t write
as temperatures dip below freezing
_____________________
Whichever direction we stretch
we draw more surely
into the circle of purpose —
we are here to be warm,
we are here to share light
and we are here to be
the great testimony
to joy, and to the insistence of life
on burning ever true,
the flame that glows and grows
and won’t consume.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 15, 2017
Kindness kindles us,
catches us up in the merry
rush of flames
running eagerly down the lines
of what we sensed we might be,
igniting inspiration, engendering
great leaps of joy
Kindness will spread
and in its warmth
each of us will know what we’re here for,
each of us will bring heat.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 14, 2017
Light on the water
teaches me to move,
teaches me to think of myself
not as one thing, in one place,
but as the fluid impulse of the moment —
eternally what I am,
just now the beam that dances
on the water’s face.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 7, 2017
I find my center —
humming of a quiet wheel,
gyroscopic balance
I can be here, poised,
and nothing of the whirring
pulls me off course
because I now own
all requisite components
I am mine
and my heart is full of sky.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 6, 2017
Lift up your eyes from the rubble —
these blocks are broken, crumbled,
they will not be re-stacked, reset,
they won’t be home or citadel
No use to pore, again,
through all the plans,
no use to wonder
where they were wrong
or why they failed
to keep the city from going under
Let us arise and build —
not with these
but with the substance
we are made of —
bright vectors of intention,
strong cords of close connection
and the steady purpose
that knows us even when
we don’t know it, the one
that guides us ever to our own.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 1, 2017
There are ways these days
in which I feel older,
the tones of my chords
now including sixes, sevens, nines
There is a darkness on the undersides
where previously unknown fears
have flared and charred,
thereby disarmed,
but taste of fire remains
There is a softness now
to my approach, my certainty
is firmer, but its segments shorter —
I look more humbly for direction,
I take stock sooner
to adjust my course
The memory of dipping into tears
is closer to my eyes
and what I care about
is closer to the surface
but more than ever
runs clear and deep.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 25, 2017
Close your eyes
and feel the stream, the roar
of presence — you can’t not be here,
can’t fail to be aware
Your pulse, your life, your consciousness
is strong — stronger than you think —
and pay attention:
it isn’t something that can turn off,
it isn’t something
that sometimes flows within you
There is no you without this life.
You have no inert state,
and the signal that is you
is never weakened.
How could it be?
It’s all the you there is.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 24, 2017
Don’t worry —
this is not a place
where you can go wrong,
this is not a test, and not a contest.
In your design, you’re given
everything you need to thrive —
this is your life
and you its only master
Don’t worry —
that which you most deeply wish
won’t be denied, though it may seem so,
many times along the way.
Your desire is part of who you are
and its fulfillment
is in your destiny,
cut, as it is,
from the same rock,
bound, as it is,
in your same Life.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 20, 2017
I start to define myself
by the lines of light streaming through,
I start to feel their lift, their strength,
and to be less impressed by clay
If Mind doesn’t hold me here,
what ever could? What, possibly,
except idea, could hold this form in place?
What but Mind could let me move
in grace, and with intention?
Look at me dancing —
look how the music lifts and moves me.
Surely it is clear
that I am made of lines of light
for clay could never move me,
clay could never move like that.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 11, 2017