After the Dance

I feel somewhat shy about sharing this poem.  Though I have tried to get as many people as possible to look at my blog - alerting them to poems I have written about them - this one I will be quiet about.  The feeling too strong, perhaps; the danger of being caught gushing.  But I think it actually captures my true experience.

After the dance

The lift of life along my finger’s edge

sends forth a joy that flows up through my arms

with every surface sensitized, each movement led

by something holy, every footstep charmed

I come away at night in rapt communion

still preciously suspended in a web of love

still ringing, still held quiet in the chord of union

but reaching, soft, for what I’m thinking of:

to seek these friends beyond the open door

of dance, the place where now I see them shine

To learn the syntax of each life, and find

particularities of grace unknown before.

And so I humbly send forth my intention

to take these friendships to a new dimension.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 30, 2011

The Hundredth Post

This is the hundredth post on my blog.  Not the hundredth poem, as I’ve sometimes posted two at once.  I decided to start by quoting the hundredth psalm from the Bible:

Ps. 100

Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands. 

Serve the Lord with gladness: come before his presence with singing. 

Know ye that the Lord he is God: it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves; 

we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture. 

Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: 

be thankful unto him, and bless his name. 

For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting; 

and his truth endureth to all generations. 

Recently I have found great joy from the feeling that, rather than being comprised of a material body, my being is an impulse that moves along in waves of oneness with the harmony of the universe.  The more I look at the world, the more this seems to me to be so for everything I observe.  That is the subject of the following sonnet:

What we are made of

The world is framed in elemental waves

the vibrant patterns every movement follows

the undulations rolling through the forms

of squirrels, snakes, whole flocks of birds, one swallow;

The gracious give of tree limbs in the wind

the water’s lullaby against the shore

the ebb and flow of cricket song, the hum of bees

reverberating ring of crystals deep in caves.

We find these very waves define our arcs:

the impulse as we launch into our stride

is carried, wave on wave, as we continue -

harmonic pattern on which we then ride . . . 

How could we frame ourselves particulate

feeling these waves that all our moves articulate?

©Wendy Mulhern
May 29, 2011

Restoration

This is the place I need prayer more than poetry

listening more than expression

here where transmission is stretched and distorted

and practice is far from profession

The picture is lost in the turbulent medium

all I can do now is wait

seek the source, let it shine the true image out once again

in its original state.

Here in the stillness you need no bravado

alibi, justification

here you’re forgiven and freed for tomorrow

to ring in your purest vibration

So we’re restored, and so we will be

united in love, reconciled, whole, free.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 27, 2011

The Teachings Say

The teachings say

the secret of life is effortless

for love is effortless

it’s what you’re made to do.

The teachings say

attaining love is a struggle

you have to give up everything, every day

I believe these both are true.

Love is as effortless

as holding yourself open

in the searing fear

the roaring passage of thundering water

(or is it fire?)

To keep the membrane valve

from shuddering shut

against the pressure

of a change so large

there will be no words for it.

Love is as much of a struggle

as a quiet step through an open door

to a meadow of wildflowers and sweet grass

where the soft wind

lifts you like a kite

and trees sing your name.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 26, 2011

Weeds

My garden grows in dashing weeds

purple, yellow, blue

their colors so exuberant

I can’t say no

scilla and forget-me-not

campanula

dandelion, buttercup,

fennel, winter cress

They clammer, gallop, swarm

and the planted things

lilies, asters, dahlias

fail to come up, or shrink

among the riot of flowering weeds

that have stormed my garden.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 25, 2011

For Scot

Sometimes a sorcerer

sometimes a clown

sometimes a child in deep wonder

raise up a magic orb

or tumble down

rolling in wild mountain thunder

forces - you hallow them

sources - you follow them

sometimes you know where you’re going

sometimes you’re lost

but you go forward anyway

moving in trust without knowing

So you commit to the moment - no monument

just what unfolds in right now

Thus you create from the spirit - no institute

just what this moment allows

Then we spin into

your silk-spun container

tossed in bright curtains of sound

You revel in rapture

invite transformation

while waves of connection abound

and in effort to really bless

dive into silliness

wallow in wackiness

settle for nothing less

Pass around turtle juice

help things get really loose . . .

Thank you for sharing your opus

with all of us.

Happy Birthday!

©Wendy Mulhern
         May 24, 2011

Trust Fall

Fall into the field, they said

and let its fundamental frequency

align your life in harmony

All you never knew to hope to be

is yours. Just take it - go ahead.

Fall into our arms, she said

It is a way for you to trust your friends

We’ll brace together and we’ll catch you safe

A hug you’ll feel beyond the moment’s end

It’s in your heart, and also in your head.

Fall in love, I say.  Why not?

for love will catch you, sure as any arms

and love’s the field, if there is any here

In love you float beyond all doubt, all fear

The gift that’s always free, but can’t be bought.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 22, 2011

Paradigm shift

So easy to set down the frames

of all whereby I have defined myself

my attributes, my limitations, names

and every boundary in which I bind myself

So easy now to leave behind my ego

and all the tortured games of win and lose

which I have come awake embroiled in,

as if from dreaming, nothing I would choose

So clear to me that shame has no more place

and there’s no me that needs to be defended

We move together flowing into grace

and grace moves us just how it has intended:

the ego’s dissipation and the soul’s increase

beyond all fear and into primal peace.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 21, 2011

Temple

The temple of God is holy, which temple ye are. 

                                        I Corinthians 3:17

Come into my temple

Come into the body of my love

which is the tuning of a chord

that spreads its harmony

across the reach of space

and hums around you 

like a lullaby

and gathers you

(cry, or don’t cry)

Come into my temple

where you are hallowed

and your steps

call forth a rush of joy and wonder

at the gift you are

and what you bring

and let the oneness of our being

reverberate.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 19, 2011

afterglow

after dark

sunshine exacts its sweet toll

in currency of sleep

each coin glinting with the memory

of sun-soaked scenes

in golds and greens

each one heavy

pulling my attention down

into a pool of lassitude

where all intention melts

behind the pulsing 

of the heat returning to the night

rising from my skin

recounting every moment

drawing me in.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 18, 2011

Freedom to Move

Yesterday’s poem and today’s were both inspired by watching clips of the PS22 Chorus.(check them out here)   The charismatic teacher doesn’t keep any glory for himself but brings it out in the kids, who move freely and nail the syncopated rhythms and the harmonies and the nuances of the melody.  I was amazed by their freedom and also by what the teacher’s example taught about what’s possible.  My own freedom of movement has been a relatively new development; watching them move so naturally made me think about where such freedom comes from - that perhaps it's more natural that it be there effortlessly than that it be hard won.

Birthright

No need to retreat behind your skin

to a small box that thinks without moving

some disconnected separate life within

that dreads a coming time of proving

There is no course of regimented learning

and no certificate required

The potent path of following your yearning

delivers you to where you are inspired

We each are born with full permission

to move in elemental grace

to bring our ancient essence to fruition

to fully fill our pre-established place

Each of us, by right, lives in connection

Our turning, and the world’s, bring forth perfection.

©Wendy Mulhern

May 17, 2011

Body and mind

My body is not

the puppet of a mind

that rides eye high

in the sedan chair of its head

and steers it with its rods and strings

in jerky, awkward movement.

My mind is not a lonely recluse

staring out its eye windows

wishing it could move with grace

and interact, and know some body.

Nexus more than locus

in dynamic intersection

Nodes of pulsing energy

Swift connecting unity

No disembodied mind

No mindless body:

one being that is won

living in the One.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 16, 2011

Resistance and Yielding

A friend taught a workshop in kinesthetics about resistance and yielding.  She helped us experience the extremes of those opposites so we could recognize them in our bodies, and then to consider a way of moving that might integrate the two.  

Integration

There is a rhythm of the tension and release

a gathering, and then a flowing

I speak of giving birth,

and many smaller things:

telling a story — giving all the words

their needed space, their needed hush

so in their turn they can pour forth

with their needed rush

and prayer — the sweet immersion

into silence, the waiting pause that builds

until the stillness is profound enough

to welcome in the Word

There is a time to hold your breath

to be a vessel where the forming hopes distill

till they well up and tumble forth

along the channels of Life’s will.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 15, 2011

Inner light

It rains, it rains

The rivulets run down

irregular but constant

and the sound

is soporific and insistent.

That crow outside

is definitely wet

This afternoon will grant no respite

So I need to think

of inner light

and two delightful people

who were suns for me today

lighting up the rooms

and spreading warmth

The glow has stayed —

A lavished layer of brightness

in the lining of my being

Soft as fur 

Warm as tended fire.

May 11, 2011

Matthew's Beach

We’ve had very few sunny days this year, and fewer still that have been warm.  So when the temperature crested sixty-three degrees today, it seemed a time for celebration.  I biked to Matthew’s Beach and sat in the life guard’s seat, observing.

At the lake

Children’s voices ring out like

the dance of waves 

which skitter down the beach

like children leaping

plastic pails in hand

skipping back and forth

like waves

to meet the shore

(sun-catching hair flips like flags)

deep in the abandon

of sand-encrusted hands

and startling splashes.

Parents tend them

hold them in the C of their attention

Half-circled arms

in gesture of protection

as momentary sun

kisses us all.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 14, 2011

Dream Gift

For tonight, an old one:

My friend,

I’d like to take you with me on a dream

one where we have no weight

or where our legs are long as sunset shadows

and we stride down the colors

glide through the shifting sweetness of the wind

side by side

soul by soul

far away

until you step beyond the cords of weary day

free

I’d like to have you wake up

with that glow remaining

so that, as you walk down city streets

blue sky fills your heart.

©Wendy Mulhern
October, 1987

Lessons from Trees

A friend said to me the other day, “What if trees could only see their trunks?  That would be like us - we see such a small part of what we are, when we look at our bodies.”  Something like that.  It got me thinking, long and deeply, about what else there is of me, and how I might learn to see it.

Looking Further

Stand still and breathe

and let yourself expand

along the outer reaches of yourself

beyond your skin

The part that flies up into trees

and soars among the birds

and reaches to the feelings of another

intrepid kindness knitting souls together

You’ll find new life in moving

in the part that dances in the waves

that glint afar across the bay

You’ll kindle someones’ distant spark of hope

open in joy for having been there

to witness someone’s song-filled, fledgling flight

This is part of you 

more so than bones

more present than your pulse

The part that knows 

and guides 

and glows.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 12, 2011

On love: conversation with an angel

You have to give up everything

There’s no small sliver you can

smuggle in, no negotiation

of the gift

Even one small grain of will

makes you too heavy to float

One condition, one demand

one holding out for some element

of your pride, or who you

think you are

will keep you down

How is that fair?

Shouldn’t love be a balance?

A matching effort, wing for wing?

If I’m giving everything

shouldn’t he give just a little?

I could tie myself in chains of giving

He could heap on more and more demands

I could devolve into a shadow living

with all decisions in his hands . . .

Fear not, my dear

The everything you give, you give to love

The gift you give is what you gain

Your love, not his acceptance, is your prize

In love, you fly

You leave yourself behind to grasp anew

all that you always were, but never knew.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 10, 2011

Vignettes from the game

                                                                              (with commentary)

I think she’s playing me, he said

But what’s the game, and what’s the prize?

And have I even thought, clear eyed

Of what is is I’m after?

Deep within, beneath the game

The spring of strong desire is wound

We love the way it makes us bound

And we’re compelled to try to find 

The way to make our lives align

With all its pent up need to move.

He circles her, he seems to meditate

He dances with some others, but his eyes

Keep turning back: this time, if I approach

Will she allow me to come close?

And yet what leaps must land

Perhaps in some place wild, unplanned

And maybe many weary miles from home

And maybe, so the fear is, all alone

And torn and damaged.  Ah, so this is why

We stand alone and hesitate to play.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 9, 2011

The Holy Church of Hands

Here in the silent space

between the songs

Here in the waves of harmony

within the chords

Here in the place you feel that you belong

you step into the holy church of hands.

It stands unmoved

sacred like trees

The holy church of all that you are

brought in, embraced

The holy church

of all we have never yet known

that waits within

a kernel that takes in and takes in,

infinitely,

the water that compels

all potential to expand

our hands to reach out and reach out

and intertwine

pull all into one

and fill the universe

with song.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 7, 2011

Waves like love, love like waves

Waves are like love, in that

every molecule is connected

each one is lifted in its perfect time

no one is ignored or crushed.

Each one is needed

in its moment

to embody something greater

than it could be alone

and they move as one

though each one crests the rise uniquely

and the pulse goes through them very quickly

something far away comes near

something near can still be felt afar.

Love is like waves in that

it can cover you

and change you profoundly

and you keep feeling it 

long after the first pulse

has passed.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 6, 2011

The Perils of Complaint

Beware of this - it is no siren’s call

but just a sorry chance for me to fall:

I see that there’s no comfort in complaint

no cozy nest of fellow mopers moaning

where if I’m hurt, or troubled, or in pain

I might find solace.  For they vie in groaning

Each tries to top the others’ doleful story.

No sympathy.  At best a doubtful glory.

So just because I hear somebody grumble

in mournful bid to gain my ready ear

In trying the same tactic I will stumble

and swirl on down in egocentric tears

It’s only upward looking that I gain release

Not in pity, but in elemental peace.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 5, 2011

As might be surmised, I had a tough day today.  Homework for a course I’m taking was unclear, and I ran into a technology glitch, and the course’s instructor responded, cursorily and supremely unhelpfully, to only one of my three emails asking for help and clarification.  I found myself less patient than usual with other people’s complaints.  But in the end I realized that I was gaining nothing by taking it out on them.

Similes

How I feel these days might be like

the rising of smoke after a candle

twisting and bending over itself

strands dancing in counterpoint

moving outward, exploring.

Or it might be like

 the formation of a curl

 at the start of a a fern

 all the tightly wound fronds

 coalescing from nothing

an idea within the amorphous mass

shooting like a wind puff on a pond

sending its darts of delineation

down in spining spirals

 that will later unwind

and stretch out

as energy flows up its conduits

to kiss the light

 suffuse itself with native green

 embody life.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 3, 2011

Interplay

Interplay of light

      the image of the bank

                   in counter-swirl

           against the bend of river

       trees extending down into

     the depths of sky

         squiggled by the   

                 lightly ruffled 

                          sun dusted

                                  surface.

        Interplay of sound

        a line of music weaving through itself

  invoking hums and sometimes claps and shouts

fundamental frequencies 

   enhance the sound waves

       send exquisite echoes through our bones.

                    Interplay of touch

              a wave begun with one

    goes through another

who sends it back 

in perfect tone and time

contact flowing 

    up along the skin

          and deep within

                  luxuriance of inner liquid waves.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 1, 2011