Tag Archives: purpose

You might want to know

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In the end
it doesn’t matter
who you thought you were
or why you thought you couldn’t —
Your light outshines the shapes you made 
for it to show through
You dazzle us
which meets your deep design
not engineered by recoil or by intellect
but by an essence
eons older than you think you are
So there
You’ve done it
and the echoes of our shared delight
reverberate in bliss
so now you know
you didn’t need to worry
This is who you’ve always been
This is who you are.


©Wendy Mulhern
October 25, 2011

(Background music: Isaac Shepard, “Lull Goodbye”)

Critical Mass

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It seems to still take a certain mass
or else I am critical
of myself
and my efforts
and my contribution
and I hold back
stay in the shadows
don’t speak out, don’t dance
I’ve heard tell that the instinct
is ancient, animal tribal
a necessary coordination
safeguarding collective survival
the strength and shared warmth of a herd
within which one can feel secure
But I 
my voice so thoroughly revoked
by lack of others
feel more like I have failed myself
have lacked the courage of convictions
let my message fall to silence
before I would be seen to stand alone.


©Wendy Mulhern
October 23, 2011



in the valley of bones*

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in the history of each half-lived life
so many bones
so many broken things
abandoned promises, buried dreams
sunken hopes with all their limp and dangling tendrils

(this is what I was going to be
this is what I meant to create
this was the early childhood promise
that was blighted by some careless, heavy hand)

fear not
each of these gets to rise
each one gets to join with others
as was intended, as was designed
to form a perfect arc
through which can pulse
the light of life
illumine everything
redeem each fallen chance

son of man, can these bones live?
can the mighty wind of oneness
unite their spirit again?
look
look and see
the rise of even that
one small tendril
is your proof.

*Ezekiel 37


©Wendy Mulhern
October 21, 2011



Inner Strength

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It’s hardly morning yet, but you wake up
to consciousness fast chased by overcast —
the inner stories laying out your challenges,
your pain, and how you’ll never be enough . . . 
As you pause to try and summon inner strength
consider this:
Beneath the weight of all the stories
What woke this morning is the spark of you
which rises like a giant
throwing off those stagnant lies
like blankets
or cracking through their concrete 
like a swelling seed
sending streams of strength
through your limbs and loins
a steady rushing brightness
that must change you from inside
until you own your inner strength 
and so abide.


©Wendy Mulhern
October 17, 2011



More

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I am eager
even impatient
Is it appropriate
that one so seasoned
as years would peg me
should want so much
keep wanting more
to find the sip, instead of satiating

rouses thirst from deep within my core?
It doesn’t matter
I will not be staid
I can’t suppress myself
I will not be downplayed
I run each day
to scan for germination
peeking green between the clods
I know it doesn’t work to pull the seeds up
but I urge them, nudge them with my thoughts
I’ll call it revolution
in which we’re all involved
I’ll seek a steady motion
that need not be resolved
I’ll polish my intention
and keep on planting seeds
till the harvest is sufficient
to satisfy these needs.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 16, 2011

(Background music: Isaac Shepard, “Struggles”)



manifesto

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We’ve been trained
these many years
not to ask for much —
That we don’t deserve —
That we have no right to expect
daily abundance and joy
That to receive it
we must earn it
through great toil and sacrifice

Worse than that
we’re taught that it’s OK
to wish to have, to win
to rape, to dominate
to blindly flail, mindlessly mouth
the words of hate
That if we strive to beat each other
we’ll be great

So it is
that the first revolution
is within
To see we have the right
to be at peace
to have a world designed to bless
where each of us can know 
that we deserve
to have our lives be cherished 
    recognized as gifts
not weighed for what they pay 
    and then perhaps begrudgingly allowed

And as we give this to each other
we will learn
how it is done
how we can sculpt a greater vision
so we know what’s to be won
and then we’ll march unhesitating
shining whole before we’re through
for the sake of billions waiting
standing strong because we’re true.


©Wendy Mulhern
October 15, 2011



The People’s Mic

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The people’s mic
moves in waves
and all who touch the words
are touched:
As they repeat
the voice comes from within
and so becomes their own
It shines with their own truth
Gains strength
like rolling surf
that crests and crests
They find that they are one
The people
and they know
that this is real
No further lies
will ever steal this moment
when the wave of oneness
crashes inside and resounds
bounding and echoing from Wall Street to here
waking us up.


©Wendy Mulhern
October 14, 2011


The Daily Swim

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(I refer, here, to the Hindu concept of maya as something like illusion.  I am not Hindu, and I might not understand the concept correctly.  But it serves to express something that seems true to me.)

Maya’s myths, like milfoil
Catch at my ankle
If I thrash, they’ll wrap me tighter
Tempting me to spend my power
Till I sink
But it’s water that I float on
And it’s here, and it will hold me
I can glide along here softly
Let the milfoil drag behind
And as the water deepens
They will finally cease to reach
Up to my world, and I’ll swim free

For now, some say “swim gentle
Think of its fronds as caressing you
A tender tickle, nothing to alarm”
Some say “swim with scissors, 
Cut them off, deep as you can.”
Some say “just add water
Floods and floods will do
To drown out tugs of maya
And carry you.” 


©Wendy Mulhern
September 27, 2011






small

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to meet my need to be small
to be tiny
minute enough to float on air currents
light enough to not fall
what but a being too vast to fathom?
too grand to feel anything but love
let it fold me in
like a baby mouse
or the hatchling of a hummingbird
or a mote floating
in the infinity of its care
let me lose
all sense of grandiosity
all sense of power
all sense of being something to trumpet
it trumpets me anyway
even though I’m so small
small as the hum of vibration 
on a harp string
in awe
of having been given
my song.


©Wendy Mulhern
September 23, 2011



The Dancer

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I wrote this poem in the fall of my freshman year at college.  Mostly I was having fun with the rhyme schemes.  Actually it was one of those times when I felt like an expert skier of words – slaloming down the sounds with ease and grace.  The sentiment, while not one I was deeply feeling at the time or writing out from, was one I could remember and relate to.


    Something wrong, something right
Something true, something trite
All of us are waiting for the answer
Let the song play through the night
The magic shoes are always bright
And who will try to stop the dancer?
Who will try to stop the dancer?
 
Frenzy spins her topsy turvy
All the scenes are blurred
She celebrates in sorry fury
While we wait to hear the answer
Who will try to stop the dancer?
 
Someone said it’s good to sing
And see the images expressed
But all the joy is spun away
And still the dancer finds no rest
    And something’s wrong – she’s no more blessed
She’s crying, asking why
The shoes give no reply
And why won’t someone try to stop the dancer?
 
Sluggish days and sleepless nights
Though pen is dead, the hand still writes
In limp ink, tired assignments
My mind seeks realignment
But no one here can find it
And we’re still waiting for the answer
Who will try to stop the dancer?


©Wendy Mulhern
Fall, 1975