Tag Archives: purpose

Dream Gift

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How magical! To wake from dream with laughter
My heart so full of mirthful, giddy wonder
And well-being, enfolding me long after—
Each time I turned and stretched and slid back under.

I dreamed I danced and kept on jumping higher
Delightful float at each crest of the arc
Each leap empowered by a wave of joy
A curling in, a springing stretching forth.

And then at once I found myself suspended
Atop an arc, not needing to come down
And laughter bubbled up all unportended 
And blended with the music’s tranceful sound.

Much later now, the traces still remain
Like inner bubbles, trying to escape
If I could harness them I’d streak
Across the sky, or help someone stand up.

I calm myself, considering it’s true
Each power has its perfect purpose
This energy must find its fruitful use
I give it up to Love, for Love to choose.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 18, 2011



A Young Poet

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The currents flow
close to the surface
Heat rises quickly
The quick is quickly cut
He deals in this –
Emotions’ currents
his currency
“I bleed, therefore I feel
I make you feel
therefore I am
All that I dare
will make you love me
The love of many
makes me real.”
This is his thrill
To stand before us now
To lose himself
in his own abandon
for our finding 
of ourselves
and of him
and of why we are here.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 14, 2011



The angst that haunts my edges

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Here’s the confusion of my current state:
No poem, because of nothing to relate
I’ve given up on hearing back from Harvey Hix
Nor can I count on Facebook for a feedback fix
What then? What? What can my future be?
What will fulfill my purpose, prove my destiny?
Can I love everyone enough to heal?
Heal me and everyone who has a need?
Or am I sentenced just to eat chocolate
And feel the roving hunger chocolate can’t touch?
Why do I always write about myself?
Don’t I care about anything else?
Enough! It’s time to stop this whine and do more
Let later days recount what these have been for.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 6, 2011



Rush

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My heart is open, and a wind blows through it
A wind of longing and of deep hope
For this my life, what I may give to it
As sun gives magic to the far slope
The rush of high I feel, what calls it forth?
Is it these people, are they like none other?
Is this my tribe, my compass home, my true north
Just taken half a lifetime to discover?
Or is there something else, a shift in attitude
That lights me up, and everything I know
A unilateral influx of gratitude
That shows us shining in our native glow?
If so, it signifies a clear design
Where everything that lives may so align.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 4, 2011



Ranging

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What starts as early morning bliss
may bolt—grow gangly in the climbing sun
and come to feel like hunger
and pace, in search of consummation—
Some outlet, some release
some clasp of hands
to close the circuit
and bring peace.

What soothes the ranging heart?
Is there a circle big enough
and close enough
to draw it in?
A quest for it to take
A stepping forward?
—An act of prayer
that settles it in channels
where it can deepen
as it flows down
to its sea.


©Wendy Mulhern
August 12, 2011



True Stories

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No story is the truth
but there are true stories
If story is the arc on which you fly
some will launch you clean and true
and where you sail
will be the place you feel
the rising up of what you are
to meet the opportunity
the awesome, scary challenge
calling forth your deep integrity
A story that is true
will keep on ringing
with fractal echos still reverberating
the rightness of the patterns it’s creating
affirming you
forever reinstating
what you have always been
and now shall be
A story that is true
will set you free.


©Wendy Mulhern
August 7, 2011



These little things convince me

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These little things convince me:

the flowers’ affirmation of the breeze
the sudden dart of dragonflies and hummingbirds
the ambience of bees
the constant roll of water shoreward
in and in with no sound of receding
the slow glide of an osprey
and the smell of seaweed
the chirp of songbirds, intimate and sweet
the warm/cool scrish of sand against my feet

these things convince me of my right to ask
for every harmony to come to pass
that all our lives be lifted in a strong embrace
where each of us rides splendid in our perfect place
no more to ever settle for that dark illusion
in which our basic state is thrashed confusion

if all these things are held and blessed
then so are we
our lives in woven light, exalted, free.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 22, 2011

Permission

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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





Bicycle Meditation

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I ride in whirring balance gyroscopic
my bicycle and all my strength in tune
My thoughts, too, whirr along their tireless topic:
deep connection and my longing to commune
It hovers like a hunger, though it feeds me
with eager energy to power my feet
The hope to find and join the place that needs me
where what I need to give and what it needs will meet
My discipline is still to keep it real
no far-flung vision, fluffy, outsized dreams
This moment’s work, this smile, this evening’s meal
To speak the truth, be kind, work hard, redeem
each effort from the weight of drudgery
So will I fly, so realize what I must be.


©Wendy Mulhern
June 28, 2011



Finding your voice

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A friend posted a link to a video of a high school valedictorian who used her speech to criticize the system that she had slaved for through the years of her schooling.  She urged students to find their own voices, and not succumb to the pressure to be molded into automatons for the system of corporate economy.  
I tried to shield my own children from this system.  I said, as a new parent, “Children are born knowing who they are.  My goal is that my children still know when they get through school.”  And, I think, to a great extent, they do know.  But my heart went out to this valedictorian for her courage and the task ahead of her, knowing from my own experience that re-discovering who you are can be a monumental task.
The Valedictorian
She said she wished no more to do as bidden
 – too long a slave to school’s arcane demands
She hoped to find where her own spark was hidden
to open out her life with her own hands
She found it her most difficult assignment
the voices of the system so entwined
within her thought, she couldn’t seem to find it
What did she want? What, here, was her own mind?
The layers, like cabbage leaves so tightly wrapped
her voice so far inside as to be silent
while criticisms, cynical and apt
mimic her voice to snipe at her alignment
Take heart, oh Daughter – what your wish has summoned
will rise, will decompress, will overcome.


©Wendy Mulhern
March 13, 2011