Author Archives: Wendy

Fifty years

Posted on by
Reply

A half century
isn’t even half a dream cycle
for a rock
which may sit impassive
or be carried
or be dropped
where, if it’s reencountered
it will be the same

But in a half century
a forest can swallow a town
that has been abandoned
Push up trunks through old foundations
Cover up the markers with its leaf fall

Fifty seasons, fifty rounds of rain and wind
tracked across the land
Recorded in the memory
of tree rings, river beds
and consciousness
Fifty years, each singular
And at once the same

And if we rise
and travel through
a cycle of awareness
coming back to where we see the whole
Then fifty years is ending and beginning
A season in the journey of the soul.

© Wendy Mulhern
March 2, 2012


Unhooking

Posted on by
Reply

To fly free
you must release yourself 
from every hook

The meat hooks
that strung you up in helpless fear,
that said you were unworthy
or somehow flawed —
that what you’re good for
hung on what the judge decreed,
or what somebody else would pay

The fish hooks
where you took the bait
of acquisition
self improvement
hot pursuit of things to make you more OK

The cockleburs
all the little irritations
where you thought if things were only different
you could make your way

Each release will be a healing
Each closed wound will bring you strength
and let your spirit range a little further
coming back with joy
to urge you to continue
to claim your stature of infinity.

© Wendy Mulhern
March 1, 2012



Emerging

Posted on by
Reply



Gaze into the atmospheric eye
Until it draws you in
Drives you through its shadows
Where the forces push you
Downward, onward
Through the sheath of rain
Into the after-mist
To float in distant gathering of light

Choose your transformation
Any one will do
The dreaming earth
will softly turn
beneath her blanket
But for you
wide awake and streaming through the changes
it will be
Initiation into mystery.

© Wendy Mulhern
February 29, 2012



After Healing

Posted on by
Reply

After healing
When the skin is so new
So pink
When the soft breath of every air current
kisses it, wakes it up
You may be cautioned
not to touch the spot too much —
Fresh blood not far below the surface

After healing
When sobs have ceased
And breathing is now smooth
When eyes have cleared
And hope and peace and shifted paradigm
have stilled the turbulence
You may be cautioned to be quiet
Not to think about the story now

And yet the urge to stand up in surprise
To run, to leap, to stretch out that old limb
which for so long had seemed unmovable 
May overcome all prudence
And the joy of feeling
reintegrated
fully woven into the essential fabric
of life
with every movement seamless, rippling
effortless
Will send you soaring
in the all-embracing wave of oneness

And it won’t matter
how new the skin
how recently the tears have ceased
Because the fresh source of your strength
pours in endlessly
and it’s enough
to replace all memory of the ill.

© Wendy Mulhern
February 28, 2012



Weight and Lightness

Posted on by
Reply



Nothing in this world —
Nothing —
Not houses, not credentials
Not webs of friendship —
Has any strength to hold
the steady falling of the heart

They break like spider silk
against its weight
And it will fall right through
until it feels
the centered force of its own gravity
Until it slows
in thoughtful drift
and feels the atmosphere that gathers
meditatively
around its presence

Everything in this world —
Everything —
Each sense of home, each memory
Each smile exchanged —
Has grace to hold
the precious light that shines upon it

Grace to catch that light
and shine it forth
and be illuminated
Light that has no weight
That sits so brightly
on each snow crystal, each
hair of thistle down, each poised hope
that meekly lifts itself
into its own being.

© Wendy Mulhern
February 27, 2012

(background music: Isaac Shepard, “People and Puddles”)

Sinning and Rebuttal

Posted on by
1

As I was reading over the poem I wrote today, I thought, huh, I don’t really believe that.  So I wrote a rebuttal.  In the end, I think there’s room for both perspectives:

I. Sinning

If I shoot many arrows
I will miss the mark
far more often
than if I shoot none
So much to learn:
How to align my stance
The arm that holds the bow
The one that draws the arrow back,
My eye . . .
Some of my arrows may not even fly
And some will fall so wide
you couldn’t even tell
which target I had tried
The ones that land in the intended haystack
will be my early victories
and I may hit the target by and by

They say the verb “to sin”
derives from archery
and means “to miss the mark”
Well, let me sin, then
and often
and wildly
Let me fall colossally
if that is what it takes
to live a life that zings
that’s vibrant through and through
If that is what it ultimately takes
to be true.

II. Rebuttal

The sinning poem assumes
That we are separate from grace
And must attain it incrementally
By many times of falling on our face
This is a thing we’ve been so deeply taught
It’s hard to separate it from our thought
Hard to imagine lambency, perfection
Or certainty, or peace, or clear direction
And yet, if once we’ve felt the light arise
That lifts our heart from sorrow into joy
Delivers praise and wonder to our eyes
And liquid harmony into our day
We can believe that even without work
We can stride forth at once and hit the mark.

© Wendy Mulhern
February 25, 2012





Imbolc

Posted on by
Reply

I wrote this poem on a bike ride near the beginning of the month, when an unusually balmy few days appropriately heralded the seasonal return of the light:

Still water of the winter river
Deep moving but surface smooth
Clear reflection with a subtle shimmer
Brown, bare trees thrust into blue
Moon ghost floating in a cloudless sky
Sailing low, so pale, alone
Bikes and skaters glide on by
Through air that’s soft and warm — sun owned
Its scent enticing us to dream, to yearn:
A day to celebrate the light’s return.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 3, 2012



The worth of a life

Posted on by
Reply

What is the worth of a life?
Is there a metric for this?
Consider the sun on the water
The sparkling path
which always presents itself
right where you are:
Each sparkle is for you—
the meeting of light with your eyes—
Though others see sparkles too,
they aren’t the same ones that you view.

What is the worth of a life?
As if you could separate 
One life from all others—
From the sun’s sparkles, isolate one
Take it away from the sun . . .
What is the worth of a life?
There is no measure for this
No way the question can make any sense
It’s worth everything that there is.


©Wendy Mulhern
February 23, 2012

(background music: William Ackerman, “Anne’s Song”

Manifesto II: Tipping

Posted on by
Reply

The old story must
fall away like a husk
for it is too dry
to sustain the living—
those who now stride
into their own

Since there is no place for them 
in the old story—
No job, no niche, not even 
one small joy to suck on,
They will turn
and find their sustenance within
and with each other

And those who managed the old story
may try, once again, to recalibrate—
Give them just enough juice
so they will stay
But it’s too late
The load has tipped:
With a grand whoosh
all the piled up lies
will slide into oblivion
And we will put forth
our new green.


©Wendy Mulhern
February 22, 2012







Enfolding

Posted on by
Reply

I circle in and in, into myself
to find this:
A place where I can hold someone
A way my being may enfold, enwrap them
A place that holds them till
The firm press about them
defines their growing edge 
and they reach outward
hand following hand
body surface rising to meet my touch
As I release
they take flight
I swirl around them
So we dance
This is a thing I need
to do every day;
Thanks for this one
Tomorrow,
Give me the place 
to do it again.


©Wendy Mulhern
February 21, 2012