It is a time of sturdy growth —
bracken fern at chest, head, height,
grass still green but growing purple heads,
tender bright new needles on the firs,
daisies lifting white across the fields
We, too, are feeling sturdy,
nourished by the land, the ground,
and by the care we give.
Some roots we never knew about
are taking hold,
making us steady, stable,
here where we live.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 2, 2019
I seek to live my being
as a fountain,
just like these flowers do,
my substance entirely comprised
of the love force that rises
fragrant and colorful,
fresh-edged in the communion
of what it gives
with what needs it,
calling forth myriad responses
from myriad beings,
exulting in what it offers
and what it receives.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 20, 2019
What does this mean:
it’s not too late? —
when life has rolled on down its path
and suddenly I wonder
why I didn’t think to take a different course —
what it could have been
if I had better understood
and had availed myself
of current opportunities
If I had not been closed,
if I had recognized
there was another way
to think or act
What does it mean,
it’s not too late?
I don’t know what it means
but I am willing to believe,
willing to wait in wonder
to see how this can be true.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 14, 2019
Turns out, it seems,
I’m not afraid of death.
It is a subtle thing,
the lack of terror — no struggling up
of something held at bay,
no frantic pushing back
against the upflow,
no fear-frayed patches present in my prayer
A thing to only notice in thunderstorms
(bike tires plowing through the water,
lightening flashing, touching down ahead)
or in an airplane, when they talk about the life vests,
or other times I haven’t yet observed
Not that I have a death wish, either —
I’d rather have my life be affirmation
that Life is here, and kind,
I’d rather be here for the folks that count on me
but being unafraid —
that’s something I don’t mind.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 26, 2019
Barely home, and we’re flying again,
touch and go, capture and release,
yet something else, when we consider
our progress down the ever flowing stream
We home in on home each day,
each day, we find it new,
and if we’re lost on any given evening,
there still is time to settle in,
to find our place
And in the morning, off on new adventure,
we’ll know we can touch home at any time,
home in the kindly tended refuge
of being known in ever-present Mind.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 2, 2019
I will protest the innocence
of every burdened soul,
however young or old,
who wakes with dread,
who meets the hours
in sinking sense of debt,
who thinks of years
in washes of regret
Those allegations
never pertained to you,
you children of the light —
you have been ever fueled
by something unindictable.
Your being is comprised
of an essence so radiant
it will shine you
right out of all the frames
into unspotted day.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 20, 2019
In the end we will find
we have not been betrayed
by our choices. We won’t come to wish
we had known better
and done something else,
even when vast scenarios
play themselves out — if only …
Our coming into ourselves
is not a matter of chance,
of choice, any more than is
the river’s course
or the return of waves
back along their cycle at the shore
We’ll meet again — I’m certain —
We’ll celebrate the beauty of our lives,
the tender light we each shed
on the world and on each other
in every place where we were meant to shine,
undimmed by how we dipped our threads through time.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 24, 2019
Rain and wind have washed the night,
the day comes boisterous, all gusts
and pent up clouds, released to romp
in blue, to stretch across the day
Grasses graced in gold and green
show silver sides before the wind,
and though it’s winter — many storms
to come before the spring —
the earth and sea both feel awake,
alert with life
I too can feel the ever present freshness
within, without — I too can be made new.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 1, 2019
The music catches you.
If you think you’re falling
or if you think you want to fly
or if you’re missing the connection
of the embracing web
You can go out, open,
you can stretch your arms wide —
the music catches you
and bears you up.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 6, 2018
There is, in our connection, wonder.
Afterwards, when hollow longing
dogs our door,
let us remember:
All the light we forged
still glows within,
and the spark that made it
never lacks the fuel
to start a warming blaze
and to sustain the joy and purpose
that charmed us so, before —
There’s no cold aftermath
to anything that’s meaningful.
We live, after all, in the adventure —
we live the bright unfolding dance of life.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 21, 2018