Too Many Hours Alone

too much time alone2

I face the void,
I face my cluttered house
(my consciousness, that is)
I wander driftingly
for lack of company

I take myself in hand,
try to straighten up the stories,
pull at some of their recurring loops,
so many of them feeling old —
I don’t believe them anymore
(if I ever did)

These narratives arise from isolation,
they build inside, reverberating
from props I have set up
(characters to populate my constructs)

They become a burden, a distraction,
a show that takes attention
from present interactions
and I think how awkward it would be
if anyone could read my thoughts —
so far removed they are
from the expected present care

But if we all could read each other’s thoughts
I think these ones would dissipate
with all their lame assumptions and their fears
We’d feel the reinforcement
of acceptance, of approval

And we could walk easy
in the joy
of how light a touch of thought
could send such waves of comfort
to each other.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 9, 2014

The language of touch

The language of touch
Is as broad, and as nuanced
As any language
And it can be learned
And passed from one to another
Like any language
And like many native languages
It has been forbidden
It has been almost lost
But it can be reclaimed
Pieced together and reconstructed
From the snatches of what we remember
What some gifted few
Embody
It can spread like oil
It can multiply
Till every body knows
How to speak it
And it can sing
In rich and glorious harmony
Shared, rising, rebellious
Overthrowing the long-enforced silence
That kept us boxed off from each other
We will sing this language
Of touch
Until everyone hears it
And finds their way home.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 14, 2012



Transformation

Can the world really change?
Can a massive sanity
Descend like mist
Be breathed collectively
Till we regard each other
With dew-touched eyes
And realize
This is what we always knew
And we can have it?
Can courage spread
As chemical reaction
A wave of instant change
So we say no
To all oppression
Yes
To everything we’ve always loved?
If a day can be a touchstone
And everyone decides
To come as one
What does it matter
If the calendar has caused it
Or the stars
It is our choice
It is our hearts
That come together
Where we are.


©Wendy Mulhern
11/11/11


Today’s treats

Beneath the passive surface
on which my days may glide
through duties and routines
between anticipated highs
hide a plethora of moments
which can fill me with surprise
when they open out to show me
what was hidden deep inside
Today, a smile I gave a man
as I was riding up a hill
and he was walking with his cane
invoked a light that multiplied:
His smile came back to me
and made me feel all bright
And later, when the trick-or-treaters came
and I resounded with delight, I understood:
Each gift is reciprocal; the little treats I gave
rewarded me an escalating good.


©Wendy Mulhern
October 31, 2011



Magic

A box unfolds
Each side becomes a box
These boxes each unfold
Each side a box again
Each box contains a story
that opens out its own world
its past
its cast of characters
an atmosphere
and changing seasons
days and nights, and different scents
Each story leads along a path
that changes everyone who walks it
taking them along while still contained inside its box
Each box in you
A gift
Each smile of yours a key
that you may give to one who sees
who then may open up a lock and know
a tiny thread of something in your soul
which, if they follow, leads them to your gold
The stories loop away but all return
—for one who has the patience to discover—
to that sweet core your essence hinted with your eyes
Whoever walks with you along this path
(in which you both will change)
will gain a prize.


©Wendy Mulhern
October 29, 2011


Today’s gift

so touched
to the core
so held
nothing more
is needed
so loved
all the ancient questions
hold their breath
and then release
in sweet relief
their chronic tensions
slowly, dawns
awakening
a stretch that rolls and rolls
through waves of rising power
a fresh intake
of bracing inspiration
new meaning for this hour
hold it dear
and share it as you can
the crystal call for all
to know
they’re ever of the clan.


©Wendy Mulhern
October 19, 2011



String Theory

The pull of this bright river
Strong comb along the currents of my breath
Stops me in time
Captures me in wonder
Tugs my being up from unknown depth
And no, I don’t know what it means
And no, I don’t know where it leads
But know I won’t say no
For anything that calls me so
I must respond to
And I will take these strands and hold them out
Between my fingertips
I’ll cast them forth and let them fall like starlight
On these tender heads
Fling their sprays of joy across the room
And make with them a sweet cradle
For a longing soul
To rock and rock until we know we’re whole.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 22, 2011



Mind Touch (more)

They said the robot’s jerky movements
Kept her from being seen as human
Although the robot knew the proper cues
The turn of face, of eyes, to hear your news

But what they hadn’t programed for
Or analyzed, or knew to see
Was how the long wave of connection
Moves between each you and me

How that first click of recognition
—Human, kinsman, lover—spotted from afar
Strings a taut line between us, core to core
On which then afterward the signals run

The turn of face, the eye contact, the mirrored smiles
Come later, when we’re already in tune
When every move of mine will synchronize with yours
No wave will fail to flow all the way through

From you to me, from me to you
Each thing I feel, you’ll know
Each thing you know, I’ll feel
Though we may not acknowledge it
It’s surely real

Your wave will hit against the door I finally close
The echo back will show how far I let you in
Though you may have no words for it, you’ll know
My openness will zing across your skin

And if you open all the way, I’ll be compelled
To recognize you holy, priceless, true
Your heart in mine with tenderness to hold –
I can’t escape the Mind touch any more than you

The robot, though meticulously programed
Couldn’t tell
How much at one our movement always is
How deep the input, how apt the response
However much we try to mask ourselves.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 16, 2011