Awake

Jamaica Plain

Across the street,
I see an upper window,
across the day a light,
a leap of concord,
a resonance of consciousness,
a sense of presence,
signal of life, though no one can be seen

Within each dwelling, everywhere I look,
I feel the power,
for any one of us can transform everything.
The calm insistence on the truth
of our infinity
blows out the whole illusion
of our chains.

I see you, indeed I see you!
The great wakening is here
and we will move, astonished,
from the cruel story
into the clear.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 26, 2016

Fallen

mushrooms

Having fallen from the story
(like a lost glove, in the rain,
the present sodden reality
seeping unmistakably in)

I find I am no longer concerned
with what will happen
in that white paper world
that knows no wetness

And I sense the presence
of others. Ah! There is a heart bond
in this shared element. We see
it doesn’t matter what you fell from.

It never really mattered,
even up there. Down here
we instinctively reach for each other.
We bind each other up

We open all our senses
(many that we never knew we had)
to take in the nuances
of this emerging truth.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 19, 2016

 

Seed Sized

Carkeek mushrooms

It’s not a great work, this —
my daily journal, my daily
survival. Not insights to broadcast,
to make headlines, to go viral.

Just one chronicle
of one daily quest, one daily effort,
one life shining. All I can do.
Still enough, perhaps,
to save my own soul

And who knows what worlds
are contained in each salvation?
How many trees might be
in one apple?

©Wendy Mulhern
January 5, 2016

Year’s End

windy beach

There is, perhaps, a moment
for looking back along the year,
calling to remembrance
the things that were unknown,
the things we thought might be
before events rolled out their tracks,
other possibilities extinguished
by emerging facts

There’s always time
for flashes of gratitude
for what has developed —
understanding, skills acquired,
brightening deepening streams of love

There’s less time for wistfulness
at things left behind —
the wind here blows strong and steady,
bearing us onward
in our present purpose.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 27, 2015

Bait

surf in fort

If I buy that story
I will find myself reeled in,
jerked around, played,
and whatever craftiness
I may yet have
will be worn down
until I am subdued,
as evidence accrues
that this is the unfortunate,
unalterable truth

But it is not.
I will swim clear of that story,
and any other ones
that cast us helpless,
taken in by tides, ruled by moons

I will remember
the silvery internal guide
that leads me safe and strong
through every deep.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 21, 2015

Days to Come

wisteria, wire

In my dream we were walking
to the city — hundreds of thousands
of us, freeways full of us.
There were clouds of black smoke, too,
and sirens,
and trying to get across roadway barriers

And we were all helping each other,
moving with urgency,
moving to stand up for some imperative
(I don’t know if I knew what)

In my dream we were fearless,
for our unity was awesome.
May we be so as well
in days to come.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 13, 2015

Is this a function of years?

pond with fall blackberry

Things start to feel
more like a story,
less like my life

All the things we failed to engineer,
all the things we tried to make happen,
the things that happened anyway,
the time that passed,
all the little memories —
trapped jewels of moments
glinting in the web
of our day-to-day past

The soft glow of acceptance
soothes the edges
of fervent and forgotten hopes —
we will not cause
the things that happen
but we will move through them
like light across the day,
we will take them in
to our ascending warmth.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 10, 2015

Christmas Letter

frosty maple leaves

There will be no Christmas letter
from us this year.
No Christmas letter, and no attending parties
where people talk and laugh and fill each other in
on their lives.

We have gone under water
and all our currency is ruined,
Or we have flown or fallen
into some different world
where we have yet to learn the referents.

We are rendered mute
not by being empty
but by being full —
too full to stir the new things in
(sloshing over the sides)

We’d love to tell you all about this
but we can’t.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 8, 2015

Human Effort

Boulder dawn

Ah, we have tried
with our minds
and with all our art
to bring the dawn —
we have visualized it,
and declared it,
we have understood its theory,
even publicized our musings —
How is it
that it has not yet come?
What more do we need to do?

People say
that dawn is subjective anyway,
coming at different times
in different places —
If that’s the case,
how will I know it
even if it does come to me?

©Wendy Mulhern
November 20, 2015

Speculation

mushroom

People may wonder
about your story —
That is the way of things in this world

People may speculate,
may use their conclusions
to readjust their sense
of how things stand.
People may wonder, or they may not

In any case, know that,
whatever they conclude,
it has nothing to do with you.
Whatever construct they may form
will be related far more to their own story
than to yours (accuracy being irrelevant
to the art of shoring up positions)

Some people may speculate,
Others will reach out —
that is something different:
Take their hands — in that connection
there is something real.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 12, 2015