Deliverance Prayer

 

Deliverance Prayer (background music “The Blessing” by Isaac Shepard)

Bring my soul up out of Egypt
Walk me step by patient step
out of the patterns that enslave me
Release me from the lockstep
that doesn’t look
that is afraid to seek the kinship of a smile
 
Teach me to spin out on the leaf edge
of the wind
and twirl into the knowing
of the infinite variety —
Intricacies which Life has ever blessed
 
Let me no longer follow
the commands that run them over
that allow us three or four straight norms at best
Unclamp my feet from marching
Free my toes
to find the subtle footholds
midst the wildness of the river
 
Free the rivers, too
and let us all please tumble brightly
down the perfect, wild, unchanneled 
course that we were born for
Let us know each other 
deeply, truly, freely
 
Bring my soul up out of Egypt
That I may worship
My Good.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 3, 2012
 
photo by Edward Mulhern
 

Imposter

It’s not your voice, I told him
that censures you, that censures me,
that seeks to keep us hemmed in
on a narrow path between our fears
with needs that go unclaimed, unmet
through weary, empty years
separated from each other
so we never feel
the grand connection that could comfort us
and flawlessly reveal
the glorious fireworks of our being
all the color, all the light
continuous igniting 
of the flame that pulses bright
to mark the vastness of the universe
in which we freely roam
which is defined by us
and is our rightful home
Your voice, I told him,
won’t consign our souls to hell
It knows what’s true about you
and it knows it well.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 29, 2012



Your Purity

Your purity is not achieved
through negatives —
through not doing
not thinking 
not feeling

Your purity, like that of mountain streams
is won by jumping forth
Leaping in the love of life
Taking on everything
Clearing the stream bed 
through unrepressed movement
Hurtling free
with the forces that gather
Learning your essence
by being.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 26, 2012





Learning Freedom

Today I begin
Step by patient step
To teach myself my freedom:

Freedom from fear—
For you are not the monsters
The news has said you are
Not waiting to attack
Not waiting to censure
You, like me
Are just waiting for a sign
That if you look to me
I will not pounce
I will not ignore you
I will welcome you in.

Freedom from judgement—
For it was never my idea
To mind the way a person smells
Or how they move or how they sing
Or what they like or what they wear
We’re made to breathe
In one breath of acceptance
In grand co-mingling, everything we are
communicated thus through all our senses
Embraced and celebrated
Brought in from afar.

Freedom to move—
In circles swift expanding
Beyond the cage in which I thought I sat
To touch in fearless care and understanding
And feel the waves of love
Encircle us at last.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 25, 2012



Sand Castle

Look how it falls
Ponderous
Turning and sinking
Its shapes tipping at wild angles
Before dissolving
Its fall as inevitable
As its standing seemed to be
No loftiness of spires
Escapes the sliding from beneath
As sand surrenders to the slip of water
No damp cohesion remains
Each grain in its communion
With the overwhelming sea
Suspended, so released
From past alliances
So little shift of tide it takes
To wash away the structure
And its memory
And leave a shining mirror
On the shore.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 24, 2012



Tectonic Shifting

See how we are connected
A chain of touch and memory
Contact invoked reverberation
Echoing and spreading

Once you touch the truth
It doesn’t matter what you brought
Your litany of limitations
All the mazes of your thought

The tuning of our oneness
Overtakes our notions of ourselves
The volume of the hum out-sounds
The drone of all mundane concerns

The secret of free energy is ours
But not to speak of
For only when it touches you can you be sure
it’s true
And then you’ll leave your whole collection
of self images
For one clear constant hit of who you are.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 23, 2012



Snow day, choices

My hands, this morning, 
(following your lead)
Spoke of living in the sphere
or being on the wheel:

The sphere of possibilities,
The endless opportunities
that bloom out from the present openness,
acceptance of the moment,
its engaged embrace;

The wheel that grinds you
on its path of sameness —
The future—mere projection 
of a broken yesterday
that runs and runs with no hope for escape.

We watched my hands 
and heard the words interpret
while sitting at a cozy cafe window
and outside, icy pellets pretended to be snow
(as well they could, with us safe from their sting)

My boots had little purchase in the slush
They fared much better where the snow was fresh
and squeaked and creaked beneath our feet —
We walked three extra blocks to choose it.

My hands outlined the choices that are given
Our feet walked on the snowy paths we chose
So hands and feet and hearts can walk together
Our sphere unfolds before us as we go.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 19, 2012

Today marks the first anniversary of my poetry blog.  Two hundred eighty posts, a few more poems than that, since I sometimes put two in a post.  3991 page views, mostly from the US, but a steady amount from Russia, and a fair number of other countries represented.  Modest stats for viewership.  Rather prodigious stats for poetry writing, I must allow.

It was in the summer of 2010 that I first started considering that I might think of myself as a poet, that I might become one.  I found myself haunted by the sounds of words and the taste of images, as they spun themselves to me on bike rides.  The usual internal critics were also present, the ones who said only experts could rightly tell me if my poetry was any good, if it even counted as poetry.  And the ones who mentioned that a lot of the poetry that literary magazines seemed to favor was stuff that didn’t interest me at all, so what did the “experts” know?  And the ones who pointed out that you can’t make a living writing poetry, so what right did I have to spend my time developing the craft . . .

Nonetheless, the sweet confluence of sounds and images gave me too much joy to leave alone.  So I started to consider taking on the discipline of writing poetry often enough to sustain a poetry blog.  And a year ago, with a modest buffer of pre-written poems, I launched Earth Whispering.  Over time, as consistent writing improved my craft, I came to consider myself a poet.

The writing of a daily poem quickly became part of my life practice — a discipline that served to focus me on what was honest, what was salient, what about the day needed a poem.  It became part of a three-part practice that launched me on a year of amazing personal growth (the other two parts are prayer and dance).  I look forward to where it will take me this year.

Looking to the next year of my blog, I’d love to increase my readership.  I was awake at 2 this morning thinking about this — how I could maybe encourage my current readers to share it with others, and how uncomfortable I feel about asking them this.  One voice opines, shrilly, that if they had wanted to share it they would have already.  That, when I asked for feedback from an earlier blog, I got no response, and why should I expect this to be different?  

But I am forging forward anyway.  There might be a few of you who are willing to help, and that will make this solicitation worthwhile.  If you are in support of my gaining recognition as a poet, here are some ways you can help:
1) Follow my blog.  On the right hand side, under “About this blog,” there is a button that says “join this site.”  If you press it, you can use an identity you’ve already established, or you can make one up.  Then either a little picture of you appears, or an unidentifiable face, depending on what’s in your identity.  I’m not sure what all it does for you to be a follower if you don’t also have a blog, but I think it makes it easy for you to comment on my posts, which I would love.
2) Share my posts.  At the bottom of each post is a series of buttons which allow you to share my post to email, blogger, twitter, facebook, or google.  If you ever like one of my poems and think of someone else who might also like it, it would be very sweet of you to pass it on.
3) Tell me what else I might do.  If you have any savvy about these things and know what I could do to increase my readership, please let me know.

Thanks to everyone who read this note, and thanks in advance for any feedback you might have.



Liberation

Nothing stops you.
But what wrestling will it take
To break free of every hook in thought
that snags against your fabric
so you’re caught
And makes you think you have no choice at all?

Nothing stops you.
But what words can overcome
the song of chains
you’ve heard so long you find its rattle soothing
Because (you think) it shows you where you are?

Nothing stops you.
In this moment you can rise to grasp
the vastness of your being
and the endless sky,
The power coiled within
that now can launch you free
to spin your dance across the deep expanse of space
Always supported in your native grace.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 17, 2012



Shining

To Becca:


At this time, it doesn’t matter

what has been your lot
your course so far
These things turn out to have no weight,
no say in who you are.
And if you have been sick
And if you’ve been deprived
And if each turn of life
seems to have conspired
against your dreams, and everything
to which you have aspired,
it doesn’t matter:
Today you are awake
Today you have decided to be mindful
And you will tell yourself
as often as it takes
that in this now
your present shining is enough
And the pink sky
can guide you
to the vastness of your being 
and the power of your turning
and the dawning that starts now
regardless of the day’s constraints—
This fuels your hope
and is fed by it
and renders you a beacon
for us all.


©Wendy Mulhern
January 15, 2012



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