Portal Vision

I went through the portal

And now everything is different

Or maybe nothing has changed at all.

*

I see the vision

in the corner of my mind

And I can only approach it

if I treat it like a wild deer —

Don’t look straight at it,

Don’t move too fast,

Pretend to browse for food,

Go forward slowly, sideways,

Not with my attacking feet or teeth

but leading with my vulnerable side. 

It isn’t a wild deer —

It won’t bolt.

But there’s something about the focus

That won’t hold if I look straight at it.

It wants to come around me softly

And warm me from behind like sunshine —

Strong heat on the back of my ear, my shoulder

Melting my resistance.

It wants to glow behind me

And light up my path ahead,

Make a long shadow of me

to send before me like a scout.

It wants me to have this light

But always know

It doesn’t come from me.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 28, 2013

A Place of Need

How convenient it is

for me to croon about

holding angel presence

and moving out beyond a place of need

to a place where I can stand and give and heal!

How cherry-picked the role

of one whose challenges

have all been overcome,

who then can share her wisdom

to the good of all the world!

How bogus to imagine

I could somehow cease to need,

when Life has set us 

in this web of caring,

where every strand 

is tied up with the others,

so that we breathe and rise and fall together.

And I, I’ve fallen prey

to this same trap before

and laughed about it afterwards,

as if that time I'd finally

outgrown the childish tendency

and wouldn’t be so foolish anymore.

Ah! Have mercy! 

Please forgive me, be my friend —

Hold me up precisely when I’m laughable,

Keep your vision of me

based on what your wisdom holds,

Now and when I tumble here again.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 27, 2013

Moments

I find myself collecting these family times

like sunshine,

basking in the glow of evening lamps

and in the mingling sounds —

music on the radio,

dinner preparation,

the squeaking rocking chair,

and snippets from a laptop —

Drawing warmth from our collective presence.

Knowing it’s as rare

as sun is in Seattle.

calling me to cherish it the same,

Entrancing with the shimmer

of that which is ephemeral,

Gone almost before it can be named.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 25, 2013

White Noise

The page wasn’t blank from nothingness

But, like white light, white noise,

It was blank from all the disparate pursuits

that sent their separate threads across my mind,

Each tugging in a different direction:

The thread of memories and learnings

from recent days,

The thread of long exertion

sweeping needles off the roof

The thread of hopes and plans

for the not-too-distant future,

And needed tasks to make tomorrow

roll in smooth

Which all resulted

in a cancellation of the crossing waves

And the illusion of an emptiness

that really was a fullness

(and, perhaps, a need for sleep)

that kept my cogent thoughts from forming here.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 24, 2013

Messages

“What you seek is seeking you,”

And, across the open space,

is calling;

Strong magnetic signals

align your ions,

drawing you towards each other.

What you trust

can come with you.

That which has loved you

will always love you,

And in that love,

has earned the right to stay

steady in your heart,

To stand by you, and too,

to be supported.

What you’re seeking 

will not require you to be split,

or lost, or make uncaring choices;

It will augment in you 

an ever greater love.

That which waits along the side

and craves to bless

will find its blessing,

and in that blessing,

soothe and be renewed,

ignite its purpose in the good it does to others

For as it deeply gives,

it feels its value proved.

And in the work of love

each call for help is heeded

No one will be left out in the cold,

for everyone is needed.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 23, 2013

Decisions

In the shifty space

between the invitation

and the leap,

where possibilities, like magnets,

jostle with invisible forces,

jockeying to make the most appropriate alliances,

we wait.

At some point the field will clear,

the dance of alternate attractions

find resolve,

or not,

and we will stand or dive or tumble

into the decision,

carried on swiftly

in the river of time.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 22, 2013

Breathing

I am entranced

by my breathing.

It is like the surf

that flows in as a wave

but whose return,

steady but delayed,

entails a seething seeping,

down and in,

permeating, lubricating,

bringing life.

It is like the boughs of cedar

in the wind —

how they give and give

in gracious bend

and then return,

a calm reception and unspringing

of the wind’s impulse.

There’s nothing mechanical

about this body.

Its breathing makes it one

with the one sweeping flow

called life,

that owns everything —

galaxies and microcosms,

sands, skies, seas,

forests and rivers and plains,

and you and me.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 21, 2013

Open

I held myself open

and the currents coursed in and in

on waves of sound;

I let myself be incomplete

so Spirit could decide,

could take me,

use me in fulfilling its own ends.

I held myself open

and the uncompleted loop invited flow,

caught me up

within a larger motion,

beyond my thought of where I was to go.

This kind of attention —

How to follow

the impulse of the slightest nuance,

to feel the current so created

as a palpable connection —

Engendered unexpected exaltation.

There’s time to be open

And afterwards, time to close

in the grateful rest that plays back

the full glorious song of it,

Remembering it, integrating it,

Becoming whole.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 20, 2013

Basking

Sun shines clarity

through every vision.

Painted interplay of light

along the walls

brings out relationships

unseen in shade.

Earth warmth makes spirits rise

like air

in soft molecular expansion,

a floating in of possibilities

unconsidered hitherto.

It is enough to be here

basking in the magic

of the moment

while potent promises join hands

in co-creation of the gracious day.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 19, 2013

Wake up

Wake up, wake up,

This is not your life —

It’s just that old dream,

The one that loops and loops

and never finds its resolution

Wake up, notice the signs

that this is just a dream:

The way you never get what you desire

The way it seems your only choice

is to feel empty

or fill the void with things you’re loath to do

Wake up — there’s more —

Your life is made

of stunning bands of chords and light

You’re vast as all those distant burning stars

Release this tiresome dream

and fill your sight

with what they tell your heart

of who you are.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 18, 2013

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

Sound Current

I come aware

of the river of sound

flowing through me

and its currents

all around

singing to me

I dip my face in,

Fill my throat

with sweet music

Warble it out

Let it quench

my constant thirst to be in tune,

Let my bones hum,

my heart descant 

I roll and dive

in its bright curl and tumble,

Luxuriate in its exultant presence.

It bears me up, enlivens,

teaches me

It takes me homeward

to infinity.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 7, 2013

Touching

Here is the spiral that goes down

All the way in

Curling with you

the way you want to curl

Infinitely deep

till it touches

that point of satisfaction

where you wanted

to be touched

Here is the holding with you

that doesn’t care

what you said

That lets the hurled words

fall off like froth

And moves along the deeper layers —

the need beneath the words,

beneath the thought

We have all the time in the world

All the time to be comprehended

Down to the core

All the time to let

exquisite balance

assert itself

In which we can unite

in silent gyroscopic spin.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 6, 2013

Going home

I was driving home from dance

and the traffic lights

(red, also in the random droplets

on my windshield)

swayed in the wind —

A gentle undulation

in perfect time

with the shimmery piano music

in my car.

And I could see the music everywhere —

In the slow glide of lights,

and the orchestrated movement

of the traffic.

And in my breath

was the scent

of many people

with whom I’d shared the magic

of the dance.

Going home,

and taking with me

what my body, grateful,

once again had found:

The matrix of connection

and its sweet embrace

that holds us in the music

all the time.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 5, 2013

Swimming

I don’t want to ever again

stumble

amid the rocky mazes

of social mores

Or ever bark my shins

against my own obtuseness,

My failures to anticipate

how something I might say or do

may have a bad effect

on someone else.

The tide has risen

and I now move

in a different, kinder medium

Where, in the main,

my weight is born

by that in which I swim

And the soft currents we create

uphold a natural coordination.

I will insist on moving in this ocean.

If, again, the tide goes out

and if I find myself

marooned amidst the ruins

of expectations,

I’ll stay still and watchful

Tenacious as a mussel

till the tide returns

and I can swim again.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 4, 2013

Synergy

By your light I am illumined,

By your grace, I’m magnified;

By the gift of your unmuted shining,

I’m enriched beyond all swift surprise.

By your listening ears my voice is called;

By your dance, my eager spirit leaps;

To your song, my own tone rises up

to hum, to tune, to blend with your clear voice.

How can I then describe

what this has meant?

(A glimpse enough to open up a world)

— a treasure that I never could imagine

or invent —

Such wonder now evoked!

Such potency revealed!

©Wendy Mulhern

February 3, 2013

Reflections on being stood up by three different people who had made appointments to view our rental house

Consideration,

in your calculus,

may not be something that you owe

to strangers —

People you have never met

and may never need to meet,

if you turn out

to not require their services.

And maybe those who have it

know it’s more of something

that you owe yourself —

Integrity in how you interact with others.

I, too, was young once,

and inconsiderate,

and never wrote to thank

the lady who once put me up,

and then sent me a gift,

and I never replied.

I think I thought it didn’t really matter

since she was old

and likely soon to die.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 1, 2013