Author Archives: Wendy

Journey

Posted on by
1

I have been on an adventure
Coming back, I could call it
A time of input
Or a time of utter uselessness
(No to do’s accomplished)
I had to take time
To let the impulse dissipate
And return to the world of
All that I’ve earned
And all that I owe
And what I pull daily
Through the hours —
That which I have called reality —
So I regain my steadiness
So become grounded.
But listen!
There is a different world
Or there is more to this one
Than I had imagined
Each day full
Of possible mind-corridors
With their secret bright
Bursts of delight
And sweetness.
I can go there
And bring these fruits back
They can adorn my moments
I need never be prosaic again.


©Wendy Mulhern
December 20, 2011



Goodbye Aphara

Posted on by
Reply

The time of grief for a dead bunny
Seems to be about forty-five minutes
A flowing of real tears
And loud cries
As the love bonds are being released
Hands gently, but forcibly unclasped

I see them let go
And let the lavish love
That they bestowed on her
Through many years
(Wherein she grew quickly
And then they also grew quickly)
Home slowly, but steadily
Toward themselves
Return to where it can serve them
Multiplied by their having given it
Ready to be given again

So we said goodbye
Light bundle of fur and affection
Leaving a hole in our days
Leaving her kiss in their hearts.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 19, 2011


Opening

Posted on by
Reply

It wasn’t an obvious change

Not like signal flags strung up a mast

Each letter’s pattern flapping brightly

Not like an avalanche
Taking down half a mountainside
Not like a rite of passage
Attended by ceremony and celebration
Process and resolve, 
Admonition and attention
Just a small door that was there all along 
Now quietly unlocked.


©Wendy Mulhern
December 18, 2011



Distance

Posted on by
Reply

We glided in boxes
Carefully separate
All of our movements
Elaborate jockeying
Choreographed to allow
No touch
Our only signal
The desperate gleam
Of hope for some contact
Through the very words
That kept us apart
And the shy aloofness
Of propriety and habit.
(Habits as old as our parents,
Learned from them, who no doubt
Learned them, not on purpose
From their own)
When all we really wanted
Was the boxes to dissolve
The boxes of manner
The boxes of habit
The boxes of clothes
So we could melt together
And be one.


©Wendy Mulhern
December 17, 2011



Perspective

Posted on by
Reply

The truth endures in geologic time
Where stones, in their inexorable leisure
Form and re-form,
Sifting, vaulting, melting,
Crystalize in metamorphic treasure
And all the impositions on our days
The despotism, lies, and power plays
Are nothing – have no weight
And own no time
And can’t establish anything that stays.
What though their dark impress has pulsed
through generations,
dampening their light?
The voice of truth is not reversed
and so it dawns
on every sight.
These dreams will prove
ephemeral, irrelevant
Our waking rocklike, pure
eternal
Heaven-sent.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 16, 2011



More than survival

Posted on by
Reply

It may be
that love is so potent
we can survive
on just a tiny bit
We may think
if we can have
enough love to survive
we should be happy
We should then be willing
to slave through our days
herded and cordoned
cogs in massive machinations
of meaningless things
We may have been told
we don’t deserve more
That if we’re lucky we’ll have
a few loves in our life
which we can string as charms
along our chains
and limp from year to year
between the times our loves have shined
But look what we can have!
Look how love dissolves
all the expectations
Look how it fills us
and teaches us
We need more than survival
We need this love
that has filled us once
to now be here constantly
We need it to spread
like a flash flood
till it redefines everything
All landscapes now filled
with its presence.


©Wendy Mulhern
December 15, 2011



Dowsing

Posted on by
Reply

I.
Hands high, palms 
facing outwards, head back
An attitude of seeking
Hoping for a jolt of
some kind of spirit
some kind of truth
(or that which wafts in
on cellos’ orchestrated chords
that tug across you
swaying you inside
lifting your essence in supplication)
You wait.

II.
In the soul’s-mirth dawn
where melody has traced
a path that wandered
till the whole song was covered
and the rising chords suffuse the background
(rose and orange and magenta)
You shake off
the benightedness of night—
its last remaining muddles
dispersing like water drops
now bright with sun
Already so immersed in Spirit
you don’t even need to dive.


©Wendy Mulhern
December 14, 2011



Prisons

Posted on by
Reply

The door’s loud clank signifies
the guard has unlocked it
I can push through it
and walk in
Each permission
parsimoniously meted:
If not expressly granted,
it is prohibited.

But this is just
the most tangible form
of so many prisons
So many gated runs
we are herded through

Here is my trick:
I won’t fight against these bars
or any others
I will quietly slip out this way:
I will let my spirit fill
until I know
All of me is Spirit
and so I am (materially)
Uncontainable 
Unconstrainible

I will not ask
what I am permitted to do or be
I will let who I am
(all Spirit)
do the defining of me
So, easily,
will I be free.


©Wendy Mulhern
December 12, 2011



Perception Play

Posted on by
Reply

The picture splinters
Goes kaleidoscopic
Gyrates sixfold
Glinting shards
Triangulated scenes
Reflected in converging mirrors
Too dazzling for clarity.

Turn the scope around
Let the edges melt
Let the bright refraction soften
Let sweet tears wash all the scenes
And then
Hold the scope back up
And look again.  


©Wendy Mulhern
December 10, 2011