You Must Not Hide Your Power

No, you must not hide your power
Nor stuff it in a shell of smallness
in some attempt at bland conformity;
Must not succumb to thoughts that say
To cloak your power 
would make you more like others,
More acceptable, more lovable,
Deserving of more care —
That, to fit in, you must be small like them.

No one is small!
And you must not be fooled
by shells that make them seem so
or games that shells may seem to play.

If you stand up
And breathe into the depth
of your own power
You will awaken
a rush of recognition
And hear the ripping
of all the shells of smallness
Cracking open, falling off from all the others
Who each have found their power
And now step free.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 17, 2013


Dances with trees

       There is no shaking 
           this centered power
              It goes down deeper 
            than I can follow
         Its roots support 
     this soaring height
Accepting wind, 
  embracing flight,
       Swaying in the sun in exaltation,
                Singing out a constant invitation.
The channel flows
         from root to crown
      The surging quickness
    up and down
Unseen, but felt
  along the surface stillness
    Radiating warmth, 
      exuding wellness.
  There is no shaking
this centered power
 It courses through me
      It owns this hour 
         and in the tutelage of trees
             I find my ground,
             I hold my ease.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 16, 2013

After the Party

I came back feeling sullied
and it was my own posture
that had sullied me —
crept into my old closet,
pulled out shrunken, moth-eaten clothes,
clothes that had failed in the past,
that had been stained —
Where was I looking
that I didn’t notice
it had put them on me?
I let them mold me
into the old stance, became
the one who craves and measures,
measures and craves,
seeks a bigger share
while believing she deserves
a smaller one,
forgets to connect,
goes home
feeling desperately alone.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 15, 2013


Today

I will fly up quickly,
pressing my open parts forward
for maximum contact
against my source,
against the light that calls me,
that owns me,
that I know is mine

I will take in,
until the point of saturation,
all that bright liquid joy,
until it drips,
streams from me,
and I’m held at the quick
of the wick of non-consuming flame
that quenches every thirst

I will raise my arms
and turn outward
to see how we all have risen —
Liquid stars that call each other
bracingly
across the intimacy
of boundless space.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 14, 2013


Bearing Witness

These hills will move
at your insistence —
Just take the path of least resistance;
Like water, flow along the deep lines
So everything that’s shifty
can be undermined.

No need to try to climb
the mounded layers of lies
Or build up planks on which to justify.
The earth adjusts herself;
What’s low will rise,
Rocks will settle, sands will glide.
The truth remains untouched by all resistance;
These hills will move
at your insistence.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 13, 2013


Coming in out of the fog

It seemed, for a while
that my visage, too, was foggy;
me not quite solid —
not quite having the gravity
that draws momentum,
swings clearly,
finds spring and bounce,
sinks definitively
into its center

After a while —
A while of sleep,
to let my presence gather;
A while of leaving phantoms well alone
so they could slip away;
A while of not trying
to force my life colors —
of letting them rise
like streams, like tides —
Then the fog was gone
And I was home.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 12, 3013


How you are seen

We don’t need all your actions to be perfect
There could be broken lines,
uncompleted sentences,
Places where intention drifted
into non-action

We don’t need to see the whole arc
Indeed, we all are artists
with our eyes,
And expertly connect
the most barely suggested edges
into one whole picture
in our minds

No need, indeed no use,
for you to backtrack,
to explain yourself,
to fix your story.
It probably
won’t change our picture, anyway.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 11, 2013


Reliance

Spirit fills me in
Fills me up
Defines my line
Like cords of coursing water
hold their form,
rope-like in the flow
of falling river.

Spirit fills out the net
of my connections
Holds the weight of me and everyone
So we can twine together
Perfect and symmetric
No heaviness to drag us out of shape.

No need to tend the strands, the knots
To see if they are safe and strong,
for Spirit holds us all along
and never lets us fall. 

©Wendy Mulhern
February 10, 2013


More storms

There have been blizzards before.
Cold nor’easters have blown through
Dumping snow on the city.

There have been storms before —
Harsh winds of regret
Hurling memories back and back
against the walls of thought
Swirling re-imaginings
of how it should have gone.

They say the shift in climate
Makes for fiercer storms —
More frequent and pronounced circulation
of all that water. 

They say the shift in consciousness
Brings up these storms
So they can fall away —
Emotion rising up
before the clarifying of the field.

Afterwards, snow angels
May be revealed.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 9, 2013


A small day

It was a small day
In that all the holes were smaller:
There was no gasping
No gulping
No engulfing
No ragged rims
No yawning gaps
No giving birth
No daring whims
No stretching thin
No bursting forth
It was a more fine grained
More staid kind of day
Too small for triumph or trauma
Nothing to write home about,
Grandmother would say.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 8, 2013