The story of all life holds beginnings turning into endings,
endings beginning again in a new story.
Every season turns into the next becoming
both the ending and beginning of the story of life
to be continued.
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What Do You See? ©2021 Louise Gallagher In every image I see something of me reflected. In every image there is a reflection I must see. Sometimes, I want to avoid looking at the reflection I see. Sometimes, I want to see only what I want to see reflected. Always, I must open my heart to see what is being reflected back to me.
It is hard sometimes, to look at ourselves in the mirror with our eyes wide-open and say, loud and clear so our heart can hear, “I Love You.”
Try it.
Right now.
Go stand in front of a mirror, look yourself in the eyes, deep into your eyes, take a deep breath and clearly state (keep your eyes open and looking into your heart) “I Love You.”
And, if it’s hard, if you hesitate or want to shut your eyes, or cry or shake your head from side-to-side in disbelief, ask yourself, “What is so unloveable about me?”
And, if the answer comes easy, if you have a list of ready-to-speak reasons why not loving yourself makes perfect sense, start there. Start in that painful, awkward, uneasy place where unself-love resides. Start right there to love those broken, ugly, untouchable places where you tell yourself you do not deserve Love.
We all deserve Love.
We all deserve to love ourselves. Many of us have not been taught it’s important. Or many of us have been taught it’s selfish or conceited. But, if we don’t love ourselves, how will we teach our children to love themselves enough to do the loving things? To treat their life, all life, as precious? To treat themselves and others with dignity and respect?
And, if we cannot love ourselves enough to speak the words today, how will we speak to ourselves in the tough times? In the times when we need tender loving care to get through the rough spots on our road? Or when life hits us with one of its curveballs and we just want to curl up into a ball and turn the world off? How will we take care of our heart, and the hearts of everyone we love, if we are beating ourselves up with Unlove?
Years ago, when my mother was around 85 and living in an assisted living centre, my then-teenage daughters and I went to visit her one evening. As she shared some of her life-story with us one of my daughters asked her, “Do you love yourself Nana?”
Mum blinked her eyes. Fluttered her hands around her face as she always did when she was nervous or uncomfortable and replied with something like, “What a silly question.”
My daughter did not back down. “Do you?”
Mum breathed out. Kept laughing nervously.
At this point both my daughters knew what was necessary.
The pushed her wheelchair to the full-length mirror in her entryway. They said, “Try it. Look at yourself and say, “I Love You.”
My mother was taken aback. She giggled and replied. “Oh no. No. I can’t do that.”
The girls were adamant. “Of course you can.” And each of them demonstrated how ‘easy’ it was to do and say.
“You do it too, mum,” they called out to me.
So, following in my daughters footsteps, I demonstrated ‘the how’ to my 85-year-old mother.
Still she hesitated. With encouragement, she finally looked at herself in the mirror and said, “I Love You.”
And then, she fluttered her hands around her face and exclaimed, “Oooh La La!”
It was such a sweet, tender moment, and at the same time, poignant and sad.
To be 85 and never to have told yourself, “I Love you.”
My mother was not, is not, alone in her silence.
We are a world of human beings who have never learned to say those words to ourselves.
Have you? Ever told yourself how much you love yourself?
When you stand in front of the mirror, who do you see reflected back?
A woman or man of integrity, humility, honour, beauty, strength, courage, passion, dignity, truth, wisdom, compassion, caring….
Or do you just not look? At yourself? Deep into yourself?
Do you just brush your teeth and hair and put your make-up on (and maybe notice with dismay a new wrinkle or two) or shave and avoid looking deep into your eyes?
Whatever you do in front of that mirror, that’s what you do in the world. So, if you want to change the world, start by changing how you look at yourself in the mirror and what you say to yourself.
Start by practicing, “I Love You.”
You’ll be amazed by what happens.
And PS — if it’s too hard to say the words, get a crayon that writes on glass and start by writing it out and reading it to yourself every day until you’re ready to claim the truth.
Sometimes, self-love starts with baby-steps…
______________________
About the artwork:
I am fascinated with carving stamps. I created the botanical on the left by first imprinting it with vaseline on the page (the vaseline acts as a resist to the paint) and then using the same stamp to print it on the right with black ink.
The little botanical is also a stamp I carved.
The background is watercolour and acrylic inks – the ‘mesh’ is created by using drywall tape as a stencil and dabbing paint through it.
Mixed media 8 x 10″ on canvas paper
The words were put in place in Photoshop (not physically printed on the page)
I ‘accidentally’ go for a walk at River Park. without Beau.
He is not impressed.He hopes you join him on his blog today to commiserate and offer your sympathy.
And yes. It is. As always. All my fault. Sigh.
He hopes you join him on his blog today — he’s looking for sympathy. 🙂
You Did What?
Beau: So… let me get this straight. You went for a walk with Jane. Without me.
Me: It wasn’t intentional Beau. I just sort of happened.
Beau: Then explain to me how this ‘just sort of happened’ walk happened.
Me: Well, I was dropping off your Christmas gift for Uncle Al and..
Beau: (interrupting me) Wait! What do you mean you were dropping of MY gift for Uncle Al?
Me: Remember. I ordered it in November and it just finally arrived last week? You wanted him to get it didn’t you? Someone had to take it to him.
Beau: Without me.
To read the rest, click HERE
When the leaves fell and winter came, the trees did not stand naked against the sky and cry for mercy. They called to one another, as trees do, urging each other to stand together. Together, their leafless limbs called out, we can weather Arctic storms and Polar chills. Together, we are strong.
And snow fell and covered the earth in its virgin blanket and the sun beamed and the moon sang a song of the seasons turning, turning as the earth spun and the stars pricked holes into the dark of night so they too could watch the storms of winter pass through.
And the trees stood strong, together. They whispered amongst their kin, ‘Dig deep. Dig deep’. And they thrust their roots ever deeper into the frozen ground as the storms howled and snow fell and their sap ran slower, slower but always enough to carry the breath of life flowing inside their weathered trunks.
And the winds blew and the seasons changed and spring arrived with its beguiling invitation to blossom and flourish.
And tiny seeds poked their heads out of the earth and the sun welcomed them with its golden beams full of warmth and growing light. And buds appeared on the trees’ many branches and slowly, ever so slowly beneath spring’s warm kisses, they blossomed and flourished.
When winter came the naked trees did not cry out for mercy. They stood together and weathered the storms and when spring came, as is their nature, they blossomed and flourished again.
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About the artwork:
I have been exploring creating stamps. What fun! I carved the large leaf stamp, printed it with black ink onto a very sheer piece of pale pink rice paper. After creating the background, I affixed it to my journal page and then painted it with acrylic ink.
I also collaged in a piece of woven white rice paper and a pansy I had dried at the end of summer.
I love exploring, ‘what if’s’…
The ‘what if’ for this journal page was, “What if trees can talk?” According to Robin Wall Kimmerer author of Braiding Sweetgrass, they can. I like that belief.
The photo is of two stamps I’ve carved.
I spent the morning gaining clarity on my path for 2021.
I hosted a session on Zoom on creating a Vision Board with two friends.
As we created, we laughed and chatted and shared stories and sipped our coffees and got glue on our fingers and on everything else too!
And like women gathering at the wekk, we found ourselves in that sacred space that opens up when women come together in community.
A Vision Board is a visual tool that is both metaphorical and literal. With the use of images and words, it helps focus your intention, your desires, your wishes for your life – or one particular area of your life.
For me today, my vision board focused on my ‘creative expressions’. What I want to consider, conceive, and create this year.
Perhaps the most powerful morsel of clarity (which takes a huge bite out of my self-doubt and sometimes confusing thoughts on what I want to do next) is the answer that appeared to the statement – The unifying link between my work and my love for [life is]… Visual Storytelling & Words.
Wow!
I didn’t know when we began at 9 this morning that I would find that response.
And that’s the beauty of spending three hours individually and collectively focussing on ‘self’ and creating a visual storyboard of ‘what I want more of in my life’ and ‘where will I place my focus?’ this year.
If you haven’t created a Vision Board for 2021 (or ever before) it’s Easy. Fun. Enlightening.
I’ll be creating a ‘cheat sheet’ on how to do it and will post it on my website. Stay tuned! I’ll add the link here when I’m done!
(And that comes from the clarity I gained this morning! How exciting is that!)
Thank you JD and SV for spending the time with me and for inspiring me to focus my attention on the ‘what’ of this year.
“Unfurl”. My word for 2021.
un·furl /ˌənˈfərl/ Learn to pronounce verb past tense: unfurled; past participle: unfurled make or become spread out from a rolled or folded state, especially in order to be open to the wind. "a man was unfurling a sail"
It arrived quietly on a gentle wave full of self-compassion flowing with possibility, desire, anticipation.
Yes. My heart said. I see you. I feel you. I know you. You mean something to me.
It felt hopeful. Full of spreading wings and dreams unfolding on flights of fancy as I leapt into unknown skies and dove into creative seas yet to be explored.
“Let your sparkle out.” was the tagline that appeared to go with my word.
I sprinkled gold and silver glitter dust onto the still wet canvas.
It was fun. Expressive. Concrete with dollops of whimsy.
I wanted my painting to represent the unfurling of unlimited creative expression, freedom from self-criticism and fear of ‘looking ridiculous’. I wanted it to be a statement of my fearless pursuit of living embodied in the present moment, passionate, alive, unlimited.
And then Washington happened and I felt the weightiness and the precision of that word cut deep into my body.
Can you unfurl compassion amidst the fear, the horror, the confusion you feel watching these events, the word seemed to be asking as I poured paint onto the canvas.
Can you hold those who dissent in the same space as those who are in accord with your truth?
I had to stop and breathe into that one.
Could I?
Could I let go of seeing the perpetrators of yesterday’s events through the lens of right and wrong and hold all who participated in the same space of compassion as those who were tormented by their assault?
I didn’t want to.
And a tiny voice from deep within my belly rose up and whispered into my heart, “It would take a miracle.”
And that’s when truth shimmered like the sparkling dust on my painting.
Perhaps, yesterday’s events were the miracle.
Yes. What happened was horrific. And for one woman and those who know and love her, tragically final. Her death could have been avoided. The events of yesterday could have been redirected.
But it wasn’t. And they weren’t.
It is impossible to change the events that lead to yesterday.
It is possible to change what happens next.
Violence does not create harmony. It does not open the door to peaceful coexistence.
But, in the horror of all that transpired yesterday, there were those who have stayed silent who spoke up. There were those who had acquiesced to the subversion of due process through their sitting on the sidelines, who stood up and held themselves accountable.
Can I see the miracle in that?
I am struggling to be in this space of compassion. To simply hold myself accountable to breathing without my mind tearing into words of condemnation of all those would tear apart a country I love as my neighbour.
I struggle yet know, to be a voice of calm, to be a space of compassion, anger, criticism, calling people names, deriding their politics does not create the more of what I want to have in the world.
It does not create peace. Harmony. Joy. Dignity. Equality. Love.
And so, I allow myself to unfurl in compassion.
I breathe into the miracle that appeared within the words of those who had once stridently spoken out against due process as they stood down and held up their hand in accord.
I breathe into the miracle of unity that appeared within the discord.
And with each breath, compassion unfurls and my heart opens up.
I do not believe violence is the answer. Meeting violence with violence isn’t either.
I believe we, the people of this planet we all call our home, have the power to find answers that celebrate and nurture and promote our humanity. We have the power to bring light to the darkness, and peace to every heart.
And I believe, it starts with a miracle.
And so, I hold onto the miracle and let my heart unfurl in the possibility of more.
Namaste.
Falling Effortlessly ©2021 Louise Gallagher I stand and watch the sun bathe the distant mountains in morning’s glory. Day awakens. It beckons me to be right here, right where I’m at. Breathing deeply, I surrender and the beauty of the moment catches me falling effortlessly into Love’s enduring embrace.
I stand on the platform of the small observation deck built into the side of the hilltop, just before the path dips down into the valley below.
In the distant horizon, the rising sun bathes the mountains in morning’s glory. A Chinook Arch stretches itself across the sky like a blanket thrown across the frozen ground to warm it up.
I want to capture the moment. To freeze it under the klieg lights of my attention as if in its frozen image I will find myself free of thought, fully present here.
Still, my mind chatters. I wish I’d put my hat on. My ears are cold. Don’t forget to drop that canvas off at JD’s today for our Zoom visit Friday. I wonder if I turned the coffee on before Beaumont and I left for our morning walk. I must remember to call the dog groomer’s today.
A Canada Goose, floating on the river below, honks loudly. repeatedly. In its cacophony, I hear it saying, ‘Stop listening to your brain chatter. Listen. Listen deep to the world around you.”
I give my head a shake. Beaumont keeps sniffing at the snow along the trail.
I close my eyes. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
The thrum of a train heading west vibrates in the air. The hum of traffic plays like a counterpoint to the melody of the river below where as it rounds a curve downriver, the ice forces it to bunch up into a rushing stream racing to get through the narrower channel. A bird twitters somewhere in a tree.
I keep my eyes closed.
I listen. Deep.
I want to take it all in. To hold it all in one thought-filled moment. But it escapes, like steam from a pressure cooker being slowly released.
I breathe. Deep. And open my eyes.
Sunrise has slipped into day. The geese still float languidly on the surface of the water below. The river keeps flowing eastward. Time flows in all directions.
And I wonder. Where do my thoughts go when I stop listening to their chatter?
And I smile. It doesn’t matter where they go. What matters is, will I let them pull my attention away from being here, right now?
Will I follow the randomness of my mind or follow my heart’s desire to know stillness. Peace. Calm. Tranquility.
I take a breath and Beaumont and I keep walking.
Beauty walks with us.
Between Each Breath ©2021 Louise Gallagher Between each breath there is a stillness within the stillness there is the space to breathe deeply into the beauty of all that is present in this moment embodied in all you are when you breathe within the stillness between each breath.
Beaumont the Sheepadoodle and I have a new routine. Instead of taking him outside every morning via the lower deck, I put my longest coat on over my pyjamas, don my boots and hat and gloves to ward off the chill of these winter mornings. I drape his harness over Beaumont’s head and attach the retractable leash and off we go into the darkness that is still morning this first week of January.
We walk out of our cul de sac, turn right onto the street that leads from the top of the hill down to the main road and, at the corner where it meets the main road, we turn right again and walk along the well-litpath leading to the pedestrian bridge over the river.
There is a spot about halfway across where someone has affixed a red plastic wreath. Inside it is a photo. It is of a man smiling. His smile is frozen in time. His body lost to the rushing waters some months ago when he leapt from the bridge and disappeared.
Every morning since I began this new routine just before Christmas Day, I stand below the wreath, close my eyes and take a breath. A deep one.
Beaumont sniffs in the snow that covers the pathway, pulling on the leash as long as I let him. And then he stops and stands watching me. Patiently waiting. As if he knows this is a moment of reverence.
I listen to the river. Its flow is fast and furious in the winter. The ice island keeps growing larger between the two buttresses sunk deep into the water to support the bridgedeck. Between the buttresses, where an ice island has formed in the centre of the river, the flow is blocked, forcing it to either side. It pushes and shoves its way through the narrower waterway, slipping off the ice where it grows outward from the shore towards the centre and from the centre of the river out. Ice locked.
I stand, eyes closed, heart open, breath stirring deep in my belly and listen to the river. I stand and say a silent prayer for this man for whom life became too great a burden.
I stand and say a prayer for all those who will today let go of the burden of their lives and fall into the everlasting.
I stand and say a prayer for all those fighting to cling to life with every breath they take and for those who stand by their bedsides giving aid and comfort. They are standing in for the ones who cannot be there. They carry their pain.
I stand and say a prayer for this world. So hurting. So bruised and battered. Battle weary. For the leafless trees standing sentinel in the dark along the river banks. For the geese honking and flapping their wings somewhere out on the ice island. And for the river and the ice and the mountains and the sands, the oceans and the seas. I stand and say a prayer.
I stand and say a prayer for those who are sick or for whom the separation of these days sits like a heavy cloak upon their shoulders, bending their backs.
I stand and say a prayer for those who are struggling, who are feeling lost and alone. Frightened or confused by these days of solitude.
And then, I bring my prayers back home to my heart.
I stand and say a silent prayer for those close to me and far away, I stand and say a prayer for my mother and my father and brother, his wife, my family members who are gone and my cousin who lost the battle to Covid and all those who will lose the battle today.
I stand in the stillness between each breath and say a prayer.
My mother taught me the power of prayer.
It is teaching me how to be present in the grace of stillness.
I am grateful.
If I were a magician who could repair the past, I would weave the strands of time into a tapestry that would tell a story where Love always saves the day. Like the princess of fairy-tale lore who wove shirts of nettles so her brothers could be transformed from swans back to human form, I would drape my tapestry upon the past and all hurts and pain would vanish beneath its beauty.
If I had a magic wand that could heal broken hearts, I would wave it wildly about like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice of Fantasia-lore commanding a broom to dance with joy. Wherever I waved my wand hearts all around me would begin to beat in harmony and the cracks and bruises and scars would be erased and Love would flow freely.
If I had a magical potion that could transform hatred and fear into Love, I would make great vats of it and pour it into a golden flask that I would offer to all the world. And with every sip, hatred and fear would be drowned in Love.
If I had an enchanted incantation that could ward off disease, I would inscribe it onto silver amulets like the ancient Romans did to make deadly disease go away. I would make an amulet for every human on this planet and carry them with me where ever I went so that all I met could wear the amulet around their neck and be safe from harm.
But I do not have the power to repair the past, nor do I have a magic wand or potion or incantation that will heal broken hearts or drown out hatred and fear or free the world of disease.
I have only my heart, my hands, my thoughts and words, my every deed and my intention to be a channel of peace, joy and Love.
Let all I am flow with nature’s beauty so that when my world connects with yours it is not a collision but rather, a gentle caress where the distance between our hearts is bridged through Love.
Let all I am be the breath of love.
Let that be enough.
Me: Beaumont. What are you doing?
Beau: Sitting.
Me: On my lap.
Beau: My… you are observant Louise.
Me: It’s kind of hard not to be. You’re too big and heavy to be a lapdog.
Beau: I ain’t heavy. I’m your brother.
Me: Right. And it’s a long, long road with many a winding turn.
Beau: You got it Louise! I’m no burden to bear.
Me: Beau… why are you quoting the lyrics of a ’70s song you’ve never even heard before?
To read the rest of this post, and to discover why Beau thinks he really is a lapdog, please join him on his blog today – click HERE
my humanity in written form
A little BIT OF THE EVERY DAY............A good writer is basically a story teller, not a scholar or a redeemer of mankind. - Isaac Bashevis Singer
In search of spirituality
embrace the magic
Poetry, Opinion, Politics
"Once a pond a time..."
Scribbling to Mend/restore/spur on...
Random, bittersweet and humorous musings on the magic and mundane aspects of life.
Award-Winning Author of the Memoir "Raising Jess: A Story of Hope"
Following my heart, Daring to dream, Living without regrets
Still Trying To Make Sense Of It All
Where the essence of life experiences rhymes into poems, or flows in prose!
Palm Harbor, Florida
Dare Boldly 