After flying

After flying, lungs long to fill again
with that heady inrush of sky
Arms log to carve again
those pillows of cushioning air
To guide the swoop down billows
their own curvature defines.
After humming, heart longs
to hum again
To be connected in the greater flow
To feed the larger pulse
and be fed by a beat beyond itself
Longs to nurture every hope
To say yes to every call for reassurance
Longs to orchestrate
a grand cradling
a deep release
a hallowed hush.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 16, 2011



Buoyancy

How light it is for us to share
the grace of kindness and acceptance
Such a lacy thing
like sun patterns on ferns
like wings and arms of summer sylphs
like laughter of a child
and awed intake of breath
before a mountain vista
It fills us with
the bubbles that make us
lighter than sorrow
bear us up where we can breathe
the sweet and giddy air.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 14, 2011





River

The ancient river hummed within
arousing every chakra
making me one with all rivers
The rivers of the earth
The rivers inside trees
The rivers of the air
The rivers of the heart
One compelling flow
One aligning force
One quickening in the core
One, as all water is one
I looked up
Everything my eyes could see
was charged with rush of river
Silent coursing
Exaltation of life.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 12, 2011



Another Bicycle Song

Sharing a bicycle song yesterday made me think of an old one.  The first verse of it I composed on my bicycle over twenty years ago.  It seemed to me then to express an important feeling – about yearning toward Spirit and trying to figure out how to move with that yearning in the day to day world.  I felt the second verse should offer some kind of insight into the question the first verse stated.  I tried for years to find it, but couldn’t.  Then in December 2004, I found the words to complete it.  I wrote it for and to my sister, since we were gaining great spiritual insight on our bicycle rides together.
I felt, at that time, that my growth in understanding had given me the insight I needed to finish the song.  I remember thinking, I didn’t know this then, but I know now.  Funny, I still find myself saying that.  I guess it’s a function of infinite Spirit that it unfolds ever fresh, so that I’m always thinking that I have finally found the secret, and there’s always more.
Paradigm Shift
A bicycle song for Jennifer
I don’t want to just preach to the choir
There’s got to be something here sweeter and higher
Something’s got to ignite with this new fire
Before the sparks expire
It’s a long way down
And it’s easy, though unbroken
To fade to ineffectual
Before the truth is spoken
And the thing I need to give
And the thing I must receive
Will hold what it means to live
And to believe
Well life tumbles its lessons but the words are terse
And those bursts of insight somehow seem to disperse
And here I am waiting for the second verse
To go deeper than the first
If it’s heaven now
Then your life can be my mirror
The crystal singing sound of it
Will ring me ever clearer
For the light I see in you
Will show forth what is my own
So while whole, unique and sovereign
We will not be alone . . . 
I don’t need to just preach to the choir
For the yearning is of universal desire
Like sparks we go flying up higher and higher
And our fireworks inspire.
©Wendy Mulhern
     December 2004



Permission

This is a song that I wrote while bicycling yesterday.  Well, I wrote the first verse while bicycling, because it sprang up, with its tune, as bicycle songs will do.  I wrote the verse down on the margin of an event program I happened to have in my bicycle pouch.  I wrote the second two verses today, sitting in my garden.
Permission
You don’t need permission
for you always have permission
to be you
You don’t need to worry
for inside you know most surely
what is true
Each moment is a work of art
to which you bring your own true heart
Your heart will tell you truly what to do.
No need to be guessing
if your long-awaited blessing
will come through
Everything you’re longing for
has always been here, and belonged
to you
Within the bud the flower grows
The time will come when it will show
Your garden blossoms plentiful and true.
So across your landscape
May you reap your understanding
Ever new
No need for pretending
for your heart will keep ascending
guiding you
to everything you’re meant to be,
to do the work that sets you free
and shines you forth as royal, pure, and true.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 10, 2011





Liberation

I made my choice
to enter
into my voice
to let my center
spin out and fill that long-time silenced space
Triumphant liberation
to shed off that mutation
the muteness I had donned
as habit – cloak tight drawn
lest I be out of tune, or out of place.
I sang!  I joined the hum
though hesitant at first,
soon, in full strength, with all the music asked
harmonic notes that joined and amplified it
a glow of sound in which we danced and basked
It soothed me, and it added to my courage
in ways I hadn’t realized I needed
It joined me to the others as our voices blended
I entered my desire and so succeeded
I look at life in humbleness and awe
Always a brightening; each day, a new “aha.”
©Wendy Mulhern
July 9. 2011



Heather’s Birthday

Heather’s birthday today
What to say about her –
my girl of sevens?
How deep her love,
how unfailing her well of compassion?
How strong her loyalty
how enduring the gift of her friendship?
How wordless her passionate place of perception
What care she takes, in twining words from there
like Inca grasses, wound and wound together
to make a bridge
a fragile-seeming, swinging rope contraption
to speak across the chasm of that space?
Or this: the simple touch
that brings her brother into contact
with his own potential, and a person
who can help him bring it out?
A song in a restaurant, a cuddle at end of day
Laughter, and hugs, and swift glances
of recognition
Family affection unfurled
Priceless delight of my world.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 7, 2011



The poem I didn’t write

My poem yesterday
I could see, but it had no words.
It was a mass of tangled threads
looped edges sticking out
on the sides, bright magenta
against midnight blue
 that only showed up a little
as warp might
In between the weft
and it vibrated janglingly
as if under strobe light.
So I didn’t write it.
I went to bed, though that added
to my sense of defeat
Its words were: you have no ideas
no ideas in words 
for a poem.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 7, 2011



Could it be?

Could it be
that feeling low
is itself an arrogance
something sweet humility 
will cure?
Could it be
that feeling like a nothing
is itself a hoarding
of heavy weight, tension and tears
of clamping, cramping thought?
Could it be that though I feel
I need to pile on blankets
of blubbering self-pity
To beg for crusts of kudos
To howl for encouragement
What really helps
against feeling like a nothing
is giving everything
with no concern for cost or gain
no weighing if my mite
might measure up
Just giving
Could that be enough?
©Wendy Mulhern
July 5, 2011



Summer Evening Grace

As I ride homeward
The sun begins its descent
through congregations of clouds
They reach out to be transfigured
fleetingly, each in turn
While the blessing flows
fleecy hand to fleecy hand
the air is cooler
the evening shadows softened
the pavement glow subdued
Later the sun reemerges
Commanding countenance
too strong to behold
I ride dazed, half blinded
till I slip into the shadow of a hill.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 3, 2011