Love, reconsidered

With everything in order
—all confusion put to bed—
it’s time to reconsider Love.
Love that shines from everywhere
to everywhere.  All points illumined
and illuminating.  Love that causes
everything, and stops at nothing.
Love that puts all stories of
a point-sourced love to rest;
Love that always blesses
and brings forth the best.
Love that lets no failing fester
but reveals
all that must be brought to light
and so be healed.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 28, 2012



Emptiness



Only things that can receive
can be empty.
Consider this, O hearts, O arms —
The grand capacity of your design
How expertly you have been made
To hold, to take in
shelter and contain
To heal, embrace,
and then release again
To empty, fill, and so engage
in life, the grand enacting of creation
Exultant in its endless generation.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 27, 2012

(Picture: Jennifer McCurdy, “Gilded Vortex Vessel”; photo by Gary Mirando; background music: Max Richter, “From the Rue Villin”)

Your Purity

Your purity is not achieved
through negatives —
through not doing
not thinking 
not feeling

Your purity, like that of mountain streams
is won by jumping forth
Leaping in the love of life
Taking on everything
Clearing the stream bed 
through unrepressed movement
Hurtling free
with the forces that gather
Learning your essence
by being.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 26, 2012





Learning Freedom

Today I begin
Step by patient step
To teach myself my freedom:

Freedom from fear—
For you are not the monsters
The news has said you are
Not waiting to attack
Not waiting to censure
You, like me
Are just waiting for a sign
That if you look to me
I will not pounce
I will not ignore you
I will welcome you in.

Freedom from judgement—
For it was never my idea
To mind the way a person smells
Or how they move or how they sing
Or what they like or what they wear
We’re made to breathe
In one breath of acceptance
In grand co-mingling, everything we are
communicated thus through all our senses
Embraced and celebrated
Brought in from afar.

Freedom to move—
In circles swift expanding
Beyond the cage in which I thought I sat
To touch in fearless care and understanding
And feel the waves of love
Encircle us at last.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 25, 2012



Sand Castle

Look how it falls
Ponderous
Turning and sinking
Its shapes tipping at wild angles
Before dissolving
Its fall as inevitable
As its standing seemed to be
No loftiness of spires
Escapes the sliding from beneath
As sand surrenders to the slip of water
No damp cohesion remains
Each grain in its communion
With the overwhelming sea
Suspended, so released
From past alliances
So little shift of tide it takes
To wash away the structure
And its memory
And leave a shining mirror
On the shore.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 24, 2012



Tectonic Shifting

See how we are connected
A chain of touch and memory
Contact invoked reverberation
Echoing and spreading

Once you touch the truth
It doesn’t matter what you brought
Your litany of limitations
All the mazes of your thought

The tuning of our oneness
Overtakes our notions of ourselves
The volume of the hum out-sounds
The drone of all mundane concerns

The secret of free energy is ours
But not to speak of
For only when it touches you can you be sure
it’s true
And then you’ll leave your whole collection
of self images
For one clear constant hit of who you are.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 23, 2012



Pool of Bethesda

(John 5: 1-9)

No angel at a certain season
guards the gate to wholeness
You don’t have to wait
until the water stirs
nor can the others
clambering before you
deprive you of your right
to stand up free.

Truth needs no conduit, no channel
no narrow source to shine its light
It pours forth spherical, eternal
Its reign established, sovereign and bright

(It has been said
To know the truth shall make you free
If this is true
It means that free is what you are
and isn’t something needing to be given
nor something you’re approaching from afar)

It is the same with love
(Please let my life be one that shows it)
No angel, bright or dark, can claim
it stands there to deliver or withhold it
No one can fail, right now
To be the miracle someone has ever sought
nor fail to see that they are loved
and so bestowed the peace that passes thought.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 21, 2012



A Mystery

Embracing you today, I felt
the tingle of the timeless touch of stars
that wheel in galaxies
across the fractal spheres of space
And send waves of awareness to each other
A steady, stretched out dance
that celebrates the universe

So we connect
And constellations of our touch
The sudden places of awareness
Burst like starlight
in the space
of our perception
Dark gaps between the sparks
whoosh by like worlds —
What are we, anyway?

I see us each as some bright galaxy
Lit up by love
Attracted by a force we give no name
Held in its tender harmonies
While wide we rove
Connected still
through time and space the same.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 20, 2010



Snow day, choices

My hands, this morning, 
(following your lead)
Spoke of living in the sphere
or being on the wheel:

The sphere of possibilities,
The endless opportunities
that bloom out from the present openness,
acceptance of the moment,
its engaged embrace;

The wheel that grinds you
on its path of sameness —
The future—mere projection 
of a broken yesterday
that runs and runs with no hope for escape.

We watched my hands 
and heard the words interpret
while sitting at a cozy cafe window
and outside, icy pellets pretended to be snow
(as well they could, with us safe from their sting)

My boots had little purchase in the slush
They fared much better where the snow was fresh
and squeaked and creaked beneath our feet —
We walked three extra blocks to choose it.

My hands outlined the choices that are given
Our feet walked on the snowy paths we chose
So hands and feet and hearts can walk together
Our sphere unfolds before us as we go.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 19, 2012

Today marks the first anniversary of my poetry blog.  Two hundred eighty posts, a few more poems than that, since I sometimes put two in a post.  3991 page views, mostly from the US, but a steady amount from Russia, and a fair number of other countries represented.  Modest stats for viewership.  Rather prodigious stats for poetry writing, I must allow.

It was in the summer of 2010 that I first started considering that I might think of myself as a poet, that I might become one.  I found myself haunted by the sounds of words and the taste of images, as they spun themselves to me on bike rides.  The usual internal critics were also present, the ones who said only experts could rightly tell me if my poetry was any good, if it even counted as poetry.  And the ones who mentioned that a lot of the poetry that literary magazines seemed to favor was stuff that didn’t interest me at all, so what did the “experts” know?  And the ones who pointed out that you can’t make a living writing poetry, so what right did I have to spend my time developing the craft . . .

Nonetheless, the sweet confluence of sounds and images gave me too much joy to leave alone.  So I started to consider taking on the discipline of writing poetry often enough to sustain a poetry blog.  And a year ago, with a modest buffer of pre-written poems, I launched Earth Whispering.  Over time, as consistent writing improved my craft, I came to consider myself a poet.

The writing of a daily poem quickly became part of my life practice — a discipline that served to focus me on what was honest, what was salient, what about the day needed a poem.  It became part of a three-part practice that launched me on a year of amazing personal growth (the other two parts are prayer and dance).  I look forward to where it will take me this year.

Looking to the next year of my blog, I’d love to increase my readership.  I was awake at 2 this morning thinking about this — how I could maybe encourage my current readers to share it with others, and how uncomfortable I feel about asking them this.  One voice opines, shrilly, that if they had wanted to share it they would have already.  That, when I asked for feedback from an earlier blog, I got no response, and why should I expect this to be different?  

But I am forging forward anyway.  There might be a few of you who are willing to help, and that will make this solicitation worthwhile.  If you are in support of my gaining recognition as a poet, here are some ways you can help:
1) Follow my blog.  On the right hand side, under “About this blog,” there is a button that says “join this site.”  If you press it, you can use an identity you’ve already established, or you can make one up.  Then either a little picture of you appears, or an unidentifiable face, depending on what’s in your identity.  I’m not sure what all it does for you to be a follower if you don’t also have a blog, but I think it makes it easy for you to comment on my posts, which I would love.
2) Share my posts.  At the bottom of each post is a series of buttons which allow you to share my post to email, blogger, twitter, facebook, or google.  If you ever like one of my poems and think of someone else who might also like it, it would be very sweet of you to pass it on.
3) Tell me what else I might do.  If you have any savvy about these things and know what I could do to increase my readership, please let me know.

Thanks to everyone who read this note, and thanks in advance for any feedback you might have.



Ode to Beethoven


 
















So many years before my birth

Beethoven wrote the score
of my internal landscape.
His music opens doors
to wind-tossed trees and
fervent heady breathing of the day
the seething susurrus of grasses
and the pulsing of the light
and the fragrance of the air
and the insects’ humming flight —
How did he know?

His music walks
with sure and practiced steps
along the pathways of my hopes
my efforts and my struggles
through the darkness
to the ever unsuppressed
returning dawning of my joy
and the centered peace
that is my home—
His genius for me is not that he 
heard something no one else could hear
but that he wrote so truly
what is mine.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 18, 2012

(Background music: Beethoven’s 6th Symphony)