I was just turning thirteen the fall we moved to France. It must have been mid September. I remember being two weeks late starting school. A momentous year. Junior High. My first period. My first kiss. My first boyfriend. And, the first time I remember feeling fear of the world around me.

It was the time of the ‘Algerian Crisis’. It was just a couple of years after Algeria had won release from the reins of a foreign government that had held control of its lands and its destiny for over a 100 years. Internal strife was high, both in Algeria and France. The Algerian economy was in turmoil. So was France. It was a time of great unrest. Of armed disputes and bloody conflicts. A time when men in masks strode into bars and blasted machine guns, firing indiscriminately into crowds. A time when bombs blew up in town centres and hatred grew in the soils that bled the blood of fallen sons and daughters on all sides of the conflict.

I remember that first day we arrived. A man met us at the airport. He piled our luggage into his vehicle and we climbed into the back. As we drove into the city that was to be our new home, he and my father sat in the front seat talking about ‘the troubles’. I sat behind them listening. It was my way. I didn’t want to engage in the conversation with my siblings. I didn’t want more of the bickering and squabbling that four children could engage in. I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to know what the adults were saying and doing and thinking. I wanted to know.

The man who picked us up told my father about the unrest. About a bar on the corner of a street somewhere in ‘the Algerian quarter’ where a group of masked men had walked in the night before and shot machine guns into the crowd. It was that image that stayed with me. Of bullets ripping through flesh. Of bodies falling. Lives ending. It was that feeling of being unsafe in the world around me that struck terror into my heart.

When we got to our hotel, I started to cry. I want to go home,  I cried. I want to go back.

Back was to the land across the Atlantic. Back was to that place I’d lived for five years after the last time we’d returned from living on these foreign soils. It was the land of my birth. It was safe. In that place armed men didn’t indiscriminately shoot innocent bystanders dead.

Two bombs exploded on North American soils yesterday. Two bombs that will change the lives of many. Not just those who fell victim to this act of violence. Not just those who were there, who suffered injuries, who felt the blast ripple across their skin. It changes all of us. Because in that blast is the reminder that life is fragile. Life is a gift. And amongst us there are those for whom the gift of life is not as important as the fear that is sown into the hearts of many in their act of taking life away.

My heart is heavy this morning. My soul sick. I am reminded of those days long ago in France where I felt exposed. Those days when I first became aware that this earth upon which we walk, this planet whose air and waters and land we share with each other, holds both Love and hatred. Peace and fury. harmony and hostility. Amity and war.

My heart is heavy today. And I grieve.  I must choose. Which side will I walk? Which course will I choose?

And I am reminded. Choose harmony over hostility. Love over fear.

I am far away from those streets of Boston and still, I want to reach out and touch the people of that city and say, “I see you. I hear you. I feel with you the pain of this day.” I want to find just the right words and know, there are none that can make sense of what has happened.

And in my silence, I surrender my fear and pray.

Matters of The Heart
Louise Gallagher 2013
Acrylic on Canvas

I know. I know. It may not feel earth-shattering to you, but to me, going away from this place where I write daily, where I become present to all that is within me coming out, well…. I’ve missed it.

Well, actually, beyond missing it, I’ve discovered I need it. I need the daily accountability, the expectation that I turn up here to be at peace in the presence of my daily foibles,  follies and triumphs with an open and seeing heart, and loving and peaceful mind.

I have missed the act, and the art, of writing here daily. I have missed the rhythm I feel when I am in the flow of writing myself out every morning.

And… truth be told, I haven’t used this time to actually get work on my book done. I’ve made progress, but not nearly as much as I had anticipated when I made the commitment two months ago to use this time every morning to work on my book. I have re-purposed that time, but not as purposefully as I had intended.

What I discovered in my hiatus was that this place is what helps keep me in balance, in the flow, in perspective. It helps me see where I am off, on, in, or out of alignment with living from my higher self and not my baser impulses. It is here that I come clean with myself every morning and dig into what’s eating at my peace of mind, what’s stirring my soul, what’s inspiring my spirit. It is here that I find myself each morning.

And, I miss all of you. I have purposefully not gone diving into blogs every day. I have purposefully not responded to comments. I have purposefully not been present here.

There are some advantages to all my purposeful withdrawal from this place. And not all of them are worth experiencing. I have watched way more TV than ever before. Gotten addicted to some vacuous programming that really doesn’t change my state of being other than to make me consumed with the desire to know if Bones can put all the pieces together again, if Arrow can shoot straight and the Blue Bloods get their man. But filling my spirit, feeding my soul? Nope. None of that appeared as I vegged out in front of a rectangular box that doesn’t really care if I turn up or not.

I care if I turn up and I have not been turning up for me in a way that pleases me.

So, beginning today, I am back. I am going to re-think how and to what purpose I use this energy we call time. I am going to be present, in all my foibles, follies and triumphs. I am here. I shall begin again where I’m at.

It may not be everyday — but it will be most days. One of the things that has changed is that I am now on staff with the Calgary Homeless Foundation 3.5 days a week. I love it, but it means I leave the house an hour earlier than in the past. It also means, I have the gift of 1.5 days a week to write, and not fill my time with running here and there, doing all those fun things I like to do to distract myself. I’m getting real serious about how I use my energy and the energy of time. I’m getting real serious about this thing I call, My Life.

Hope to see you here. Hope you keep visiting and commenting and sharing your foibles, follies and triumphs with me. I appreciate your light and presence on my journey.

I am sitting in bed, looking out the bay window at the snow falling and wondering…. where did spring go?

Oh, it’s not that they didn’t warn us. They did.  Every weather forecaster, every news announcement earlier in the week leading into yesterday came with the premonition of snow in the forecast. Lots of it.

And while I wish ‘they’ had been wrong, it isn’t so. Snow is falling outside my window and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve shovelled the walk, the driveway, the deck and path leading to the garage. I’ve filled the bird-feeder, taken Ellie, the wonder pooch, for a little walk (wearing my pjs under my coat, the pant legs tucked into my boots), let Marley, the great cat, out and in again. And now, I’ve come back to bed, nesting under my duvet, laptop on lap, Bach playing in the background to spend the morning revelling in a ‘no reason to go outside’ kind of day.

I can’t change the weather. I can choose how I weather its storms.

Which seems to be my lesson this week. To accept what is and create/find the value in every experience.

I learned this big time in a bit of an embarrassing way this week. An email intended to someone else accidentally got sent to the person directly connected to the incident I wrote about. I didn’t check the auto-fill name closely enough and it wasn’t until another recipient of the email (an intended one) asked me if I meant to send it to the other individual that I realized my mistake.

My first response was to swear.

Dang. It wasn’t that I said anything I didn’t want them to know about, they were the facts as I understood them. It was just, I know the other organization this person works for. What I wrote could be misconstrued and distorted. It could cause panic in their ranks. And that was not my intent.

By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late to recall my email. The recipient had already opened it.

I had to breathe. Accept what was and look at my options.

I called the other person. They weren’t in their office so I left a message apologizing and invited them to call me back. Later, I got an email clarifying the facts as they currently are.

And that’s where the value arose. If I hadn’t inadvertently sent my email, I would have continued to live with the belief that they had not brought their practices into alignment with ethical practices in this issue.

I forwarded their email to those who needed to know, and sent a reply thanking them for providing me the accurate information.

All’s well. Except of course, the niggles of  “OMG! I can’t believe I did that!” which wants to hang out in my head and disrupt my peace of mind.

I can’t change what was. I can accept what is and make choices that help me weather this storm with my integrity in tact.

I made a mistake.

I took measures to address it.

I did my best.

And in the process I learned once again the imperative of being scrupulous with my integrity. Paying attention to the details, and finding value in all things.

It’s snowing today and I am choosing to feed my soul a gentle morning of lingering in bed as I embrace the  beauty and joy of my life in all its many facets, no matter the weather inside and out.

I have been invited to participate in a group art show in May. It is my first, ‘public’ showing of my work and while I have sold some pieces, I’ve never really focused on my art-making as a means of making a living. I love to paint — I’m just not prepared to commit myself to living off my work!

And then, I laugh. At myself. Again.

It’s not about the destination. It’s always about the process. And painting, expressing myself through my creativity is always about process, not product or even end purpose. The only purpose to my art-making is to allow myself to flow into that space where time and place and playing small evaporate into the mists as I enter into trusting  that whatever happens, I will be okay.

Art-making has taught me that. Writing a blog every morning for almost seven years taught me that too. To simply trust in the process. To have faith that the words will appear without my cajoling them, corralling them, rustling them up into sentences and paragraphs. To simply, let be and let what is emerging, become.

These are hard lessons for me. I like to be in control. I like to take it, keep it, use it, be it. I like control.

Which is why the creative process teaches me so much about letting go. When I immerse myself, there is no room, or space, for that voice which would have me believe I can’t do it. I’m not good at it. It’s a waste of time. Why bother?

In the creative process there is only me and the muse and the space I fill where when I let go, anything can happen.

Yesterday, as I painted with my girlfriend, she suggested a new aspect to a painting I had thought was already completed. I liked her idea, but in my desire to hold onto control, I hemmed and hawed and hesitated. Thought about how ‘perfect’ the painting already was. Told myself painting into it could ruin it.

And then, I decided to let go.

And, in letting go, I let flow the wonder and joy of creating something that makes me happy become the happiness I feel in the process of creating.

And what could be better than that? To simply feel content. Satisfied. At peace. To revel in the joy of creating something that gives me pleasure. that feeds my soul. That stirs my creative juices and sets my entire being on fire with the passion and wonder of making art happen in my world.

I had an amazing day painting yesterday and along the way, I learned a thing or two about being present, and in the process I was reminded, when I’m present, magic stirs, wonder appears and miracles happen.

 If art is an expression, it only flourishes when people have the freedom to express themselves.

Art and Sacredness: A Hostile Relationship by SAM MCNERNEY

So… I am starting a food challenge. Two weeks of “Cleansing with Food” via my friend Barb Rempel and her cohorts at Cleansing with Food who have created a website along with a cookbook and a workplan to aid in the cleanse.

You may wonder what the quote above has to do with a food cleanse. What’s the connection?

This morning, as I was reading through Barb and her partner Kim Marchuk’s brand new cookbook, “Cleansing with Food” (it’s really beautiful) I was inspired by their creativity and passion. It struck me that while I am over-flowing in how I express my creativity outwardly, I am not so inspired internally. If what I eat is a reflection of how I feel about myself, or what is going on within me — then I’ve got a whole lot of cleansing to do to make it a creative expression of the beauty and wonder within me.

I have the freedom to make good food choices. I’m not exercising them very well.

Which is why I’ve decided to engage in the 2 week Cleansing with Food Challenge.

I have been noticing my eating habits of late. With a daughter as courageous as mine who writes about her journey through healing from an eating disorder every day (The Wunder Year), I have been given a mirror to see where I have used food to soothe, beguile, avoid and hurt myself. I am not the cause of her disorderly eating. I do, however, acknowledge that my own relationship with food is not, and has seldom been, healthy.

I don’t binge and purge, but I do ignore my body’s appeals for  food that nourishes, nurtures and celebrates me. And the best way I can support my daughter, and myself,  is to clean up my act.

I express myself through food — but not in healthy ways.

That is going to change. And I am the one to change it.

Last week, at my Essential Journey mastermind group, one of the members commented on how when wanting to make major change, we all wait for someone else to come and ‘fix it’. Or give us the magic pill. Or provide us the missing pieces.

We’re the one’s we’re waiting for, he said. There’s nobody else who can do it for us.

His words resonated.

It’s true. Inside me is that place where I have always been waiting. For the right time, the right space, the right reason, the right anything to make the changes I want to make. I’ve been hoping someone would come along and say — hey! I’ve got all the answers. I can ‘make you’ into (fill in the blanks). And then, pouff! it would happen and I would be…. that ‘other’ I’ve always wanted to be — without having to do the work of making change happen.

It ain’t that easy. But it is that simple.

There is no one coming. I am already here. I already am all I want to be. And within me, I hold all the power, ingredients, capacity, tools, knowledge, wisdom, muscle, authority — you name it, I got it within me, in spades, to make any changes I see fit to create a world of wonder within and all around me.

What am I waiting for?

Anyone can join in the 2 Week Cleansing With Food Challenge. Just click on the link and get into action. There’s no magic potion. No secret ingredient, elixir or concoction to drink. Just a knowingness and desire to get clean, and engaged, in eating it all right.

Namaste.