And maybe there are times
when there isn’t anything
to be said,
but it’s important to be there,
to share a silence,
to share the weight of presence,
to sit with someone
as they descend through a process
you may or may not understand
And sometimes you might detect
that you have walked a parallel path,
and there might still be
nothing to say about it.
You, too, might benefit
from the ballast of silence.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 20, 2016
Let me translate your words
back into light, back into
towering grand fir, gracious at evening,
green glow of grass in western sun,
purple of delicate iris
Let me translate your actions
back into desire,
into the impulse of being seen,
of connecting, belonging,
and being uniquely needed
This is the original language,
shared by bees and geese and ravens
and whatever bird it is that
sends that trill of liquid joy
continually across the land —
this is the language
in which we are understood.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 19, 2016
and in solitude,
how shall one pursue the baubles
and the light that comes
from their exchange?
but in multitude,
the jostling shifting
of everyone’s efforts,
how can one find and proffer
the right one?
it’s easy enough to go home
without having said anything,
without engaging,
easy enough to say
one didn’t need it, anyway,
or didn’t need it here
if there’s a whole other being,
a light inducing, producing,
seducing incandescence,
luminescence from within
all satisfying,
it still should serve
to lead to bright connections,
not wean one from them,
don’t you think?
©Wendy Mulhern
April 12, 2016
When you let go,
your laughter is so gentle,
and the unforgiving angles
cease to jab at me
and strain at us
I can rest easy
in the suppleness
of thought suffused
with the powerful melting force
of love, of soft surrender,
enabling flow and sweet intermingling
as we ripple and tumble
into clarity.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 13, 2016
One day they discovered
there was much more to sound
than the tinny pings they evoked
by hitting themselves and each other
They found they could stand open
and the grand wind would come in,
would focus their tones
like fine bells,
would ring them crystalline and haunting
in a reverberation
that caught them up in holy awe,
and they all stood still
and listened.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 19, 2015
photo by Edward Mulhern
I think of this
as if it were utopia,
and yet it should be fundamental —
basic, unrestrained, whole-heart acceptance
of everyone for being who they are
That we could simply be ourselves together —
nothing to withhold,
nothing to bestow,
no accolades to earn, no shame to shrink from,
no hierarchy of “in”, of “hip”, of “cool”,
No chairs to win, tryouts to fail,
nothing to prevent us from just seeing
in ourselves and in each other,
the wholly uncontested and essential,
the deeply needed for the
part that no one else can play,
the curious, ecstatic, quirky wonder
of each of us —
Yes, that would win the day.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 22, 2015
photo by Edward Mulhern
Give me the grace
to leave enough space
to hold an open emptiness
in which truth can be heard
Attune my mind
so I can find
the words, but also pauses,
the rests which let the melody
form and come full circle
A rush of argument
will not convince,
however well conceived —
I’m learning now: only in silence
is anything received
Then let me listen
to all the spaces in between,
let me breathe with them
down into their stillness,
Let me wait until
the quiet opens out —
let me not speak
until the space has spoken.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 19, 2015
This poison
has brewed a long time
and it has been spewed
on us before
but the concentration
of bitterness at its target
still surprises
Is there healing for this, even this?
Is there a way to grant permission
for the righteous spite
that eats away, finally, at itself,
to simply be set aside?
— A hold so tight, a sea so deep
that even this one
would be compelled to let go,
to let Love take over?
And what of me?
Can I find a safe harbor to offer
in my thought,
for this one’s homecoming?
©Wendy Mulhern
August 6, 2015
I need the blessing
for those that mourn.
I mourn for something nameless
that cries in you
but won’t explain itself
I mourn for the chasm,
for the absent bridge,
I mourn for anything
I might have done or failed to do
to close the gap or span it,
I mourn the self-fulfillment
of a persistent dread
This healing is not
something I can do by sleight of thought.
This healing requires something ancient, timeless‚
the truth about you and me
that existed
before the world was framed,
the love that asserts itself,
flooding out the lie of pain.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 16, 2015
I let out all my breath,
I pause,
wait for the touch point,
wait for where I can catch
the feeling and the timing
of your breath rising
so I can ride up with you
to the high ledge
and perch there till you’re ready
to swoop down
With every breath
I’m reaching inward
through the layers of our facades,
our constructs,
feeling for the inner contact
where we have flown
under the barriers
and can soar freely
in the vast common realm
where we have seen each other,
recognized our respective infinities,
have been seen by each other.
Ah, bliss! — open flight
in the pure laughter of recognition,
in the silvered harmony
of inner song.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 16, 2015