Tag Archives: transformation

Endgame

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Long dock

When I think of the endgame,
my breath catches,
time abandons the illusion
of moving at an orderly pace.
I wonder how my thought affects it,
if it will stop entirely
if I wait too hard

Is this like a waterfall
where the acceleration
is beyond my doing
and I will be swept along
regardless of my efforts?

Or is it like a long field
that I must walk,
and I will only get there
step by step,
no faster than the movement I initiate?

I don’t know. Some days
it feels like both at once.
My heart curls
toward a new beginning.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 1, 2016

Awake

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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

No Lie

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looking north

Don’t be overwhelmed
by the size of the lie,
how comprehensive it has been,
how many generations
it has taken in

Far more impressive
is the size of truth,
and its solidity, and its
dependability,
and the fact that,
right now, it is establishing itself
and we are seeing
the lie falling away,
all of it —

It all must go,
and its purported consequences
can leave no mark
on the grand display of being,
never bring one light
down from the sky.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 25, 2016

Fallen

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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

 

Draw Me

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carkeek rain

Draw me in, hold me close.
If there never was safety
in the circles that we drew
around ourselves, around our clan,
defining insiders and outside,
making structural strength
in the arc of joining arms

If there never was a safety
of tastes, of languages —
if all this is, as we see,
unceremoniously swept away
(that, or eaten steadily from inside)

There still is safety
in the unity of what we are,
the blessedness we sense as ours,
and the desire for it that always
draws us to our source

Draw me in,
for here is where we find
the common breath, the common voice
that sings us ever
safe and sound
resounding through our days.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 8, 2016

Traveling

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look up at trees

We roll by each other
in our steel boxes,
bound by the road
to a similar course,
each in a separate world
(a metaphor for how we move through life)

In each car, a mind,
each mind a mirror for the infinite,
each one a pool, unsearchable in depth,
and in each depth,
an ever-burning love

In each love, an endless store of strength,
a balance weight, a source of clear direction,
the thrilling, searing certainty
of being worthy, sovereign

So this is how we save the world,
not by riding up along the road,
but in the vertical connection
that holds us, perfect, to our source.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 23, 2015

Facing Down the Dragon

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dragon driftwood

The fact that I wrote something
doesn’t mean I really know it,
and even when I feel
within my deepest core
(Lord, I believe)
something is true,
it doesn’t mean I really understand

But coming round again and again,
things start to get clearer
(help thou mine unbelief)
and eventually the swollen, writhing tail
must cease to sweep away the stars,
must fall, jellied and lifeless
as a tail a lizard lost,
before the hand of Truth.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 5, 2015

Going Through

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Flatirons, autumn

The way through
will never be
what we were told it was.

This is a truth
known by storytellers
and by anyone who,
in rebellion or in great anguish,
leaves the rules behind,
the map, too,
and loses herself
in the present communion
with the true terrain —
every ridge and gully,
every rock formation,
the sharp and the smooth,
the solid, the crumbling,
and the requirements
of each footfall

For it is only these steps,
singular and stumbling
that gain the beloved land.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 4, 2015

Changed

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dusk oak

In the color, in the music,
in the soft light,
I couldn’t say how I was different

Something like a dark steady draft —
wind tunnel through me like a canyon
whistling along the crevices
indicating a deep passage way
cleared in a couple of hard nights,
something swept away by floods, by winds

Exposing geologic layers,
making space for more wind,
heavy, sweet with rain,
to sail through

All of this is held in the sacred darkness —
few people knew anything had changed me,
and even if they had the story of it,
it wouldn’t capture
the holy, windswept truth.

©Wendy Mulhern
October 27, 2015

Going Through

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marcola morning fog

I anticipate your coming transformation
as if it were my own,
which indeed it will be
in an important way

You’ll go through
and see things in new light —
everything you see, including me.
So when I see you,
how you see me
will make me witness everything
clearer, brighter, deeper

You’ll bring your candle to the circle
and we all will stand
flickering and exultant
while our great collective prayer
rises in the center
to the stars.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 10, 2015