Soul Retrieval



No, no,
This is not the promise you were given
Mountains of detritus,
Self-enforced confinement
Stress and tracks of weary years
Across your face

No
This is not your course
The clock-enforced conformity
The envious and jealous stabs within
Reflexive judgement,
Passing down the curse
Of being conquered

However much the rules you’re taught
claim to control
You never could be severed
from your soul

Hold with me now
Together, let’s sing your song
It leads you back along the lines of longing
To where you’ve always sensed that you belong
We’ll all converge there jubilantly thronging
At home as if we never had been gone

Let our eyes now feed each other’s embers
Resurrect our light so we remember
What had seemed so lost from us, so far
Who we’ve ever been
And who we are.


©Wendy Mulhern
February 14, 2012


(background music: Max Richter, “Embers”)

Beam me up . . .

The place beneath my breath today
is full of lights
Brilliant as pointillist dots
that seethe and swarm and dance
and form a scene
too close for me to see
But when we sit together
Lights reflecting lights
and multiplying
Then the scene appears
So clearly scrying
That which lifts us up
and sets us flying
out beyond old limits, fear defying

So many lights! Lighter than air
Light enough to lift a whole dream
into lucidity, light enough to stream
through solar systems
Light enough to beam us
Beatific
Pulsing clear and true
across the night.


©Wendy Mulhern
February 12, 2012



Opinions

Having an opinion about everything
May be a sign of loneliness
Like playing cards with yourself
Everything finished, nothing waiting
For input from another hand.

Having an opinion about everything
Makes it harder
To find a match
Since meeting point for point
At every tooth of thought
Would be required to turn the key
To lift the latch.

Alas for you, then, who collect
Large bellies of opinion
That block your movement
And mistake correctness for dominion

Here is your hope:
Opinions can be left behind
You can abandon them for love
And thereby liberate your mind.


©Wendy Mulhern
February 1, 2012


Imposter

It’s not your voice, I told him
that censures you, that censures me,
that seeks to keep us hemmed in
on a narrow path between our fears
with needs that go unclaimed, unmet
through weary, empty years
separated from each other
so we never feel
the grand connection that could comfort us
and flawlessly reveal
the glorious fireworks of our being
all the color, all the light
continuous igniting 
of the flame that pulses bright
to mark the vastness of the universe
in which we freely roam
which is defined by us
and is our rightful home
Your voice, I told him,
won’t consign our souls to hell
It knows what’s true about you
and it knows it well.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 29, 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



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.



Liberation

Nothing stops you.
But what wrestling will it take
To break free of every hook in thought
that snags against your fabric
so you’re caught
And makes you think you have no choice at all?

Nothing stops you.
But what words can overcome
the song of chains
you’ve heard so long you find its rattle soothing
Because (you think) it shows you where you are?

Nothing stops you.
In this moment you can rise to grasp
the vastness of your being
and the endless sky,
The power coiled within
that now can launch you free
to spin your dance across the deep expanse of space
Always supported in your native grace.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 17, 2012



Repenting

Today I’m coming home
to Spirit
Eyes wide open
to what this light reveals
Trying to take in
everything, everything at once
Learning it again
Learning it with my eyes
My virtual touch

Coming home
Remembering the things I loved
whose memories had faded
And how I loved them
And what that love was like
Refocusing, rethinking
Repenting
Preparing to start again
This long blue path winds forth before me
And the January sun
Low-rayed, brilliant, fierce
Bears witness.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 11, 2012


Understanding



Turn the tumblers, one and then another
For you to enter, all must be aligned
It opens to the easy spinning 
of your secret
Or to the deep discernment
of a listening mind.

Don’t settle for the superficial level
The one that opens up without a key
Where all may stroll 
but none may know the meaning
For to be true, the entrance must be deep

Beneath the layer of rationalization
Beneath the tallies of the service due
Beneath self-image and self-fabrication
A more fulfilling essence waits for you

Go deep, for underneath 
the thoughts that you can voice as words
You’ll feel the breath and pause
whose choice is to be heard
in silence, and in limpid images
that let you understand what really is.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 10, 2012


(music in background of recording: Isaac Shepard, “Dimming the Lights”)

Mother of tears

In this nacre place
Mother of tears
I wait to make a pearl

From this rough grain
of failed communication, pain
Something smooth and shiny

Mother of tears
Form from this nameless sadness
Something —
Something my soft pulp
can roll against
No longer be caught up
No longer need
to coat with layers of thought

Form this foreign thing
into our essence
Iridescent, luminous
A worthy gift to bring up from the night
A pearl to lift up meekly to the light.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 5, 2011