When we found ourselves walking
along the ridge line of bones,
landscape swept clean,
the symbols of comfort provision
suddenly gone,
what surprised us
was the singing,
the clear searing melodic
bowing across the edge,
core resonant vibration
We had thought
that if we lacked the cushion
we’d be bereft,
but there we were,
strengthened and heartened
by the haunting song
that filled our every step —
teaching ourselves to ourselves,
walking us home.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 9, 2019
This, right here, is the place of adventure,
here with the hole in the clouds
where blue sky sounds through,
here with the broken bootlace
and the black bugs that ate our greens,
here with the work that needs to be
pried and prised from our powers of invention,
and then, on top of that,
needs to be done
This is the place of adventure
where we plumb the depths
of our understanding, then go deeper,
where we live in the light
as far as we know it
and still keep going
There may be other adventures,
years down the line, lifetimes away,
but this is the path by which we’ll get there,
placing our feet down
in every step of today.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 23, 2019
We’re building a house in paradise,
building it much more slowly
than winter peas which finally flower
despite the constant munching of them
by me and deer
We’re building paradise
with each instance of persistent care,
with our attention, our humbleness,
our patience,
and the quick moments of looking up
to notice the wonder of the day.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 6, 2019
There is victory
in finding a way to work,
finding a way to work together —
the rhythm, the banter,
the settling in to tasks
that take two hands, and three,
and sometimes four
There is victory
when ways to get things done
open up, and what seemed impossible
becomes a set of steps that we can do,
getting better at them
as we go,
gaining in the strength to see things through.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 30, 2019
These are our days,
this is what we’re doing —
there isn’t more
than the work at hand
and the strength that meets it
and the patience of
one task in front of the next,
taking the steps available
These are our days,
this is what we’re doing
as swallows dart around the site
and sun and clouds take turns
and the grass has grown silver tips
that sheen with shifting winds
and the garden is growing
much slower than our eager observation,
slow as our work
which will progress anyway,
in its own time.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 26, 2019
With all the offerings of easy trust
we may accept some
that are not trustworthy,
just for the ease of letting go
of something that seems so hard
There is always a deeper trust
we can sink our roots towards —
it will offer strength
rather than ease,
and though the ease may seem
so tantalizing,
the strength, most certainly,
will satisfy us more.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 19, 2019
Days like this
it’s a good thing
it’s not up to me
to keep myself going
I would shrivel up, no doubt,
or wander aimlessly
toward the next thing
to put in my mouth,
would stumble around
from armchair to couch
I would be hopeless according to
all standards of achievement.
But here is the marvel:
it’s not up to me. And here
is the moral: there’s no need
to hound myself (or anyone).
Our presence and goodness
are assured. Just not by us.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 24, 2019
As fear recedes
we find we are able to relax
into the moves of the moment,
the rhythm of work
and the easy logic of decisions
We can’t help but notice
this is how we were made to be —
free and generous of movement,
open-eyed, fair-minded, strong,
serving life by living,
living true.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 17, 2019
The day is gray
and mud has had its way
with my boots, my gloves,
my clothes
The work continues
but I have bowed out of it,
cowed by cold dampness
and no given tasks for me
I have retreated to the cabin,
I’ve lit a fire
though it is not a time
for meals, or gearing up
or winding down
I will let myself be low
just for a spell,
just for long enough
to change my mind.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 5, 2019
Week after sunny week
we raced against the rain,
and tasks opened out
like walking to the mountains
(the destination never getting closer)
We thought we were almost done
for weeks and weeks (well, I, for one,
had ceased believing), finding reserves
for yet another day of all-out grind
And when the rain finally came,
ptick ptick against the plastic,
oval drops appearing on the wood,
we still thought we weren’t ready,
but maybe we were
Or maybe we are really close,
and maybe the rain
(what fell was just a sprinkle)
if we can find the strength
will grant us one more day.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 23, 2018