We, too, are woven
into the tapestry of sky,
of trees, of clouds and oceans
Our being can’t fall off
or fall away, or fail
to fill its place of purpose and fruition
So I serenely settle,
supremely integrated
into the warp and weft, my glory
planned from the very outset –
what I am, and all my destiny,
securely worked
and safe within the whole.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 30, 2023
Take away a layer,
a layer, a layer
Move through a veil,
a veil, a veil
And what you find is more,
not less. In leaving husks behind,
you find the juice, the pulse,
the flavor,
the quickening, the rush,
the reason
It’s not a sacrifice
to give up what hides,
what dulls –
to take up life
in the full flow of desire,
to drink the pure purpose
No need to wait
for false views to erode,
when you can just go in
and find the truth.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 8, 2023
In this game, my object
is to remember
(in the face of strident efforts to distract me)
the source of my perception and conclusions,
and what I settle in my mind as fact
So many times the adversary
tries to steal my pieces off the board,
or change mine out for something small and helpless,
or sell me something I can ill afford
My object is to see what’s being done,
to put each piece back in its rightful place,
to never be the voice repeating lies,
and meet each challenge
with honesty and grace.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 28, 2023
I view the day with my quiet mind.
I let these people fall into my heart
like brightly colored puzzle pieces,
(which, of course, are only tokens –
they don’t need to fit together
in this dimension)
They are released and illumined
in the creator’s love,
and no scatteredness
can doom or damn them,
their wholeness given in that love
When I see them thus,
I am able to help see things right,
and this helps me feel truly alive,
my happiness childlike.
I’m agile in choosing the moment’s course,
swift in fulfilling the need.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 17, 2023
This is heart –
A small bird starts flying around
in my chest, and there’s enough room
that it doesn’t feel caged –
it swoops and soars,
wheels and turns,
lands and takes off again
The space expands with its capacity
to take more daring flights,
the heat it generates
rises to my face as smile,
and I will take this bird
where it wants to go –
Again and again, I’ll do what I can
so it will spread its wings,
so it will launch and fly.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 21, 2023
Wind sweeps the afternoon towards evening,
doors rattle in the house,
we, too, could be swept,
taken by time down months and years
We try to stitch ourselves to the moment,
hold ourselves in place that way –
be doing something, or feeling something,
but ultimately noticing:
if it were our work to invent ourselves,
we wouldn’t see the point of it
The Mind that holds us
has a grand laughter
that makes us feel at home,
secured in joy, in something
so much greater than ourselves
that we can laugh, too –
laugh and let go.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 17, 2023
I’ve given up knowing
what should be in my days,
what should be in my years
(having come up with terrifying emptiness
one too many times)
I’ve given up thinking
I could choose this, or steer
my world to any kind of outcome
My faith, then, is in the daily gifts –
the promise in bright sparkles,
the sparkle of bright promise,
that which comes steady and confident
into my mind, and shows me what I’m here for,
if only for today.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 3, 2022
I try not to go back too often
to haunt the niches where I used to dwell,
the places of my former circuits,
roles I held to give me meaning
They have a stickiness that grabs at my attention,
but there’s nothing to them, really –
the Spirit that propels me
never needed names or titles,
nor could my essence stand without the Spirit
Leaving all those things behind
lets me get closer
to moving truly to my Spirit’s mode.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 19, 2022
Night shortened by an eastbound flight,
sun comes out in Boston,
more time to wait
Little birds live in airports,
so it seems, and others hop around outside –
strange habitat, overarching concrete
and some landscape trees
As for me, I’ve watched and smiled,
listened, slept, written, cried,
and, not having traveled in some years,
am doing fine
Who knows about this thing called life?
Who knows? Or time, for that matter –
our purpose flows somewhere deeper
than the place these tokens mark,
still rich and powerful
to pull us swift along.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 17, 2022
Not a tilling of the soil,
not a toiling of the soul,
but intrepid steps
into the mystery of being,
bearing nothing but receptivity,
ready to give all, in return
This is what leads me forth in the morning,
this is what brings me home,
riches of Spirit right here to garner,
everything living a poem.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 1, 2022