Tag Archives: story

Benighted

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What I figure out in my head
makes so little difference —
tenuous story
hung by flimsy threads
between the bounds of
things I don’t know anyway,
nothing more solid than
conjectures that I form
by flattening reality
to see it from my narrow point of view

See? I don’t know anything —
Nothing, anyway,
about these figurines, these tokens, this
archaic game board, with its
esoteric rules of play

I don’t know anything
so I’ll await the return
of some deeper context,
some more inclusive dimension,
some hitherto uncharted way.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 14, 2014

Weave

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weave

Flying down the warp of life
past the constant shuttle
of many colored wefts,
there is no one of them
you can take with you —
Nothing that you swiftly cross
can satisfy you
in your speeding course

Take satisfaction
in the silken strength
wherewith you are designed
and in the splendid order
of the loom
and in the dance that opens ways
to make room
for endless looping brightness

And feel yourself enfolded in the colors,
each one reliant on your clear integrity
that doesn’t waver in its steady place
within the cosmic frame
that holds your life.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 13, 2014

The Implicate Order

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implicate order

The implicate order unfolds
in the waxing moon
and the track of shadows
across the day
and the tender individuation
of petals in their buds
and the steady resolution
in which my thoughts
come clear

And all the things I don’t yet know
remain still safe, enfolded
in the eternal order of the infinite
to come to my awareness
in the rolling presentation,
in its perfect time,
of all that’s implicate.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 10, 2014

Centered

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idols

The storyteller said
that we were programmed to be slaves,
to look, for our direction,
to a god outside ourselves,
to do, at that god’s bidding,
things we wouldn’t want —
to pull out gold and leave our land crying,
and fail to see our web of oneness dying

The story offered us a key —
We could heal ourselves,
and our world, by knowing
There is no god outside
the elemental harmony,
no purpose separate
from our eternal flowing

And suddenly
We could hold the whole world
with one hand —
all the grand order spreading out
from that nexus
of understanding
we’re not outside the touchpoint of control —
This God within
is our center, and our whole.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 4, 2014

See

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seen3

Most things are not inscrutable.
In general, things are waiting
to tell you what they are,
waiting for that catch of eye
that shows you’ve seen them,
waiting for the mutual tug
that shows you’re tracking,
ready to notice
what they’ll show

Most things long
for the steady cohesion
of your attention.
They’ll thrive under it,
they’ll yield their deepest secrets
willingly, elatedly —
so fulfilled they are
at having been seen,
really seen,
at having been known by you.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 24, 2014

Shifting

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shifting

The day moves
in the contentment of rain,
and change that rolls through
like showers on the wind,
not unpredicted, still arresting
in the subtle fresh shifts
of clouds, of air
and shafts of sun

We stand here
in this singular moment
swift as rainfall,
and move on,
still present
as the landscape changes,
never the same again.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 3, 2014

The Authority of Dandelions

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dandelions4

You unfold
Rugged in the sun —
You were not pampered,
You are not celebrated,
But your certainty of presence
is felt
in the confident, bitter tang
of your leaves
and the shiny split curve
of your stem,
and all those seeds you have prepared
in tender softness
for their skyward flight.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 29, 2014

 

Timing

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timing

The accolade came to her
twenty years late —
making the memories,
buried and filed away,
shift in their places, resettle

It was a strange feeling —
pleasure to hear it
but also an emptiness —
whistle of echoes
down so many changes
(children grown up in that time)

But she felt it was fitting
to hear of it now,
after she’d traveled
through all those long valleys,
after surrendering so many layers
of thoughts about herself,
In this moment
of owning her power,
pulling it in to herself,
Standing up.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 25, 2014

Real

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real

Within the dream
there still are ways
you can be real,
And real is what you live for

Although these moments
do not map
against the story
enforced by concrete lines
and metal boxes rolling,
and ticking of the gears
that hold the dreamers all enslaved,
they still are potent

Each little shine of real
can throw a light against
the eyes held tightly closed,
can start to drum a reveille
against the drones of sleep

We overthrow the dream
not in its battle
but in waking —
Every way you’re real,
you help us rise.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 24, 2014

Threshold

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Don’t fear the fire —
You yourself will shimmer
like a flame,
like a force being forced
through a charged field,
magnetic energy pulling strongly
in two directions at once

You will be changed
but you won’t be consumed.
It is ineffable,
inevitable —
You pass through and are ignited
and the silent heat
will ripple as it rises,
combustion of invisible gases
sending flames hotter, higher

This is just the way it is
at this emerging threshold —
Your being flows, transformed,
into the other side.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 20, 2014