Monthly Archives: January 2025

Grey on Grey: A Writer’s Walk

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I walk along the shoreline with Beaumont, my Sheepadoodle. He sniffs every blade of grass, every seaweed-strewn rock, his tail wagging in delight. I, on the other hand, am on a different kind of hunt.

My eyes scan the vast expanse of grey – the sea flows like breath, in and out, a constant rhythm of life. The steel-grey clouds swallow the horizon, the charcoal-grey ocean stretches towards the invisible shore. Beneath my feet, the ground is a muted slate carpet punctuated by the occasional glint of ebony. It’s a grey on grey world, mirroring the swirling greyness within my own mind.

But amidst this monochrome landscape, there’s a strange beauty, a sense of quiet power. It both calms and unsettles me. I breathe in the crisp, salty air, tasting the tang of seaweed and the faintest hint of pine. The soft January breeze teases a strand of hair from behind my ear. It tickles my cheek. With each step, I feel the tension in my shoulders easing, my thoughts beginning to settle like sediment in still water.

I walk and consume each step like a chef testing a pot of risotto, seeking the perfect balance between taste and texture. I am a woman on the hunt for stillness; a path back to the computer screen I have left mid-sentence, black on white words trailing off into empty space. Their storyline is not yet formed, their purpose not yet clear.

I left my desk frustrated, confused, even angry. Where is this story going? Who is it truly about? I thought it was the heroine’s story, but as it unfolds, painful keystroke by keystroke, it’s becoming something else. It is the mother’s story, her struggles, her complexities. The heroine is but a foil to her mother’s emotional turmoil and angst.

But I don’t want to write the mother’s story. She is an enigma to me. I want to write the daughter’s. The one whose journey parallels mine in insignificant and sometimes significant ways, but who also holds charcteristics of her own. She is not given to self-sabotage. She is not driven by fear. How can I write of the mother whose constant whining for attention leaves me shaking with grief.

Is the mother more me than the heroine?

This is where the muse finds me. She slips in with wraithlike grace, beguiling, provocative, whispering enticing tidbits of inspiration into my swirling mind before floating away.

Carrying tendrils of her words and images with me, I return home and heed her urgings to “write it out.”

And so it is.

And so a poem is born.

Where Does Your Voice Find Refuge?

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The news remains bleak. World peace feels elusive. History echoes with the clang of wars waged by those who crave land, power, control, dominance. Consensus crumbles beneath the weight of age-old conflicts, each side fighting to shape the world in its own image. I’ve wrestled with these heavy thoughts, searching for a flicker of hope in what often feels like overwhelming darkness. The struggle feels relentless.

Where Does Your Voice Find Refuge?
by Louise Gallagher

It is easy to stand for freedom 
when there’s no cost to stand 
blowin’ in the wind 
with the prevailing view.   

It’s easy to voice your disagreement 
with someone else’s opinion 
when there’s no consequence to your safety
for holding a different view.

But where does your voice find refuge 
when dissent is weaponized?   

What do you do when your words become 
the tool others employ 
to vilify and demonize you as ‘other’?   

Can free speech find its truth
in a world where only those opinions
acceptable to some 
are deemed worthy?

Can anyone be free
in a world where some voices are tolerated
and others are obliterated?

Can freedom survive 
when only the few use their power
to grant it to the voices who stand
singing their tune?

Perhaps there is no clear-cut answer, 
no easy path to save freedom from demise. 
But dreamers dream of freedom
leading us to hope 
that our voices rising up, 
our hands reaching across 
the words that divide us, 
will reclaim the truth: 
We are one humanity, 
no matter where we stand
or what song we sing.

The Fire Within: A Moon Snake Manifesto

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The Year of The Snake

I am Snake moonchild. Woman born of deep flowing wisdom, wrestled from the sun in the heat of night, erupting from the fiery essence of time. I come into this world, arms wide open, heart a vessel flowing with love, mind, an endless field of possibility, greeting the horizon. My creative energies stir up an alchemy of wonder, mystery, and magic, molten hot like lava tumbling down a mountainside—hot, fierce, untameable.

As a child, I dreamt of taming snakes. Child no more, I shed the skins of time passing to embody my snake-wise nature. Transformed, I stand undaunted against time’s pressing nature urging me to be suppressed, subdued, enslaved.

I will not be broken. I will not be silenced. I will not be dimmed.

I will shine bright through mist-strewn skies and star-studded night.

I will illuminate the path with glittery jewels of wisdom cast upon the celestial darkness that threatens to consume our humanity.

I will not be broken. I will not be silenced. I will not be dimmed.

I will navigate challenges and triumphs with the grace of a python shedding its skin under a moonlit sky.

I will walk naked in the dark. I will walk naked in the light. I will stand naked against your demands I tame my fire. And I will burn. Bright. Never lowering my eyes, never backing off, never losing sight of the moon’s light beckoning me to run wild and free.

You. Will. Not. Tame. Me.

_____________________________

I was born in the year of the snake. Born to be wild and free. Born to listen to my creative essence urging me to expressive, untamed heights. Born to hear my intuition calling me to listen deep to the murmurings of my soul.

It has taken my lifetime to embrace the freedom to be. Me.

______________

Thank you Beth at I Didn’t Have My Glasses On for the inspiration this morning and to my computer screen saver whose random photo was the moon shot above.

The Beauty Of Small Things

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The ferry crossing was smooth, a gentle glide from Gabriola to Nanaimo. Now, I sit in Serious Coffee, bathed in the light of a beautiful morning. Alone.

There’s a soothing balm in this solitude, a restorative quietude. No need for conversation, no urge to connect beyond this moment.

Around me, the world unfolds in a symphony of sounds. The cappuccino machine hums its gentle rhythm, steam hissing, a counterpoint to the murmur of voices. Two men by the window, their deep voices rising and falling: a question mark in one, a nasal certainty in the other. To my right, a different scene. Two women, their conversation hushed and intimate, a conspiracy of whispers. One speaks with her hands, a flurry of movement, like a sparrow flitting between bare winter branches. Her voice is a rustle of leaves, while her companion listens, a picture of quiet empathy. A hand reaches out, a touch of comfort offered and withdrawn, and then back to the attentive stillness of listening.

Suddenly, I hear my mother’s voice, a familiar echo in the chambers of my memory. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop,” she chides, her words sharp, her disapproval clear. I can almost see her hands, those tiny, fluttering gestures, like a hummingbird hovering at a feeder.

“I’m not eavesdropping,” I whisper back, “just observing.” And in my mind’s ear, I hear the click of her tongue, that familiar tsk of disapproval, a sound that once held the power to wound.

My mother, a woman whose love was woven with threads of criticism, a tapestry of warmth and irritation. I carry her memory like an itchy wool sweater, comforting and chafing in equal measure.

I thought she was gone, that she had finally found the peace that eluded her in life, that she had moved beyond the confines of this earthly realm. But here she is, on this bright January morning, a presence in my solitude.

Perhaps she can hear me now, as clearly as I hear her. In life, I rarely granted her the grace of true listening, my responses clouded by judgment and the lingering shadows of childhood hurts.

But now, in this quiet coffee shop, I find myself comforted by her presence. Grateful for the grace that allows me to meet her memory with a gentler heart, a more understanding spirit. And I find hope in the thought that perhaps, even now, reconciliation is possible, in the vast and mysterious expanse that lies beyond this life.

The two women leave. More strangers enter, drawn by the warmth and the aroma of coffee. And I sit alone. Calm. Listening to the clinking of cups, the murmur of voices, the whisper of the cappuccino machine. My mother, I realize, has slipped away again, back into the quiet corners of my memory. But the grace she unknowingly offered remains.

Soon, I’ll be back on the ferry, the salt spray on my face, the island rising from the sea.

A sweet, succulent smile of gratitude warms my heart. Life is beautiful, a tapestry woven from these small, perfect moments.

Do you dare to dream?

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Dreams. They have this way of both beckoning and terrifying me, a strange duality born from childhood. My brother, ever the ‘good’ big brother on the lookout for an opportunity to rattle his baby sister’s cage, had a knack for turning my stage aspirations (of which there were many!) into fodder for his teasing. “You should be on a stage,” he’d chant, “the first one out of town!”

While I know he didn’t intend to dim my light, his words echoed through the years, a persistent whisper of doubt. Even now, long after he’s gone, I sometimes find myself hesitating, second-guessing the dreams that dare to surface.

My brother, he dreamed of growing old, of walking his daughters down the aisle, of holding grandchildren. Dreams that vanished in an instant on a lonely prairie road, his car a crumpled wreck against a semi-trailer.

With him, went my dream of reconciliation, of smoothing the rough edges of a brother-sister bond frayed by addiction and grief over the loss of our father. We were out of time.

But my dreams, they still have time. Time to unfold, to take shape, to transform from misty wisps into vibrant realities. If only I dare to dream them, to nurture them, to give them the space to breathe and grow.

Yet, my mind, ever the trickster, loves to play its games. I create, I birth ideas into the world, and then, like a mother cow rejecting her newborn, I abandon them. Words and images orphaned, left to fend for themselves in the vast wilderness of my forgotten projects.

It’s a pattern I’ve wrestled with for years, this dance between creation and abandonment. The universe, in its infinite wisdom, often sends a gentle (or not-so-gentle) nudge to remind me of this recurring theme.

This morning, it arrived in the form of a forgotten dream journal I’d created, a relic from last year’s “She Dares: The ReWrite Journey” program. As I reread its pages, I was struck by the power of the prompts, the gentle guidance towards actualizing dreams.

Perhaps, it’s time I took my own advice.

And what about you? What dreams are whispering in your heart, waiting to be awakened? Do share in the comments below. And if you’re seeking a gentle guide on your journey, check out the “She Dares: 21 Day Journey – A Creative Guide to Living Your Dreams. .” It might be just the nudge you need to transform those misty visions into radiant realities.

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The She Dares: 21 Day Journey – A Creative Guide to Living Your Dreams booklet is divided into 3 sections, each designed to unfold layers of self-awareness and insight. Week 1: Heart Week invites you to connect deeply with your core values and emotions, laying the groundwork for authentic dreams. Week 2: Joy Week encourages you to rediscover and cultivate what brings you genuine happiness, a crucial element in the pursuit of any dream. Finally, Week 3: Dream Week propels you towards actionable steps, making those once-distant dreams tangible realities.

Lessons from a Tiny Tugboat

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This morning, I watched a tiny tugboat wrestle with a giant of a barge loaded with what appeared to be the castoffs from the pulpmill. At first, I wondered if an island mountain had risen out of the ocean overnight. But then I realized the island was moving, pulled by the tiny tug.

Sometimes, that’s how life’s many challenges can appear. Mountainous. Overwhelming. Heavy. Illness. Loss. Divorce. Those life events that can knock the wind out of our sails.

Are you the tugboat, straining and striving yet always focused on its destination, or the barge, at the mercy of the currents?

For the past few years, I have struggled with adjusting to my husband’s health issues. Constantly repeating, “this isn’t the life I envisioned for us,” only invited my critter mind to hiss back. “It’s the life you’ve got. There’s nothing you can do about it.” The challenge was to tap into my inner wisdom, to hear its voice above the relentless negativity of my critter mind: ‘This is your life. What are you willing to do about it to create beauty, joy and love in it everyday?’

Most days, I heed its invitation to take control, be in charge of my own life and how I live it. And then there are those days where I just want to stay in bed, the weight of it all pressing down like an anchor. On those days, I lament that COPD has stolen away more than just his ease of breathing. Gone are Sunday morning bike rides, the wind in our hair, our laughter wafting out over the hills as we coast along the trail. Our new norm has required me to adjust my expectations of our ‘senior years,’ to include less physicality while still holding onto connection and intimacy.

I’m learning that joy can be found both in shared moments and in solitary pursuits. It’s about staying committed to a rich life together, even when it feels like I’m carrying the weight of the world. But the truth is, we’re in this together. And when we stop keeping score of who’s pulling more weight, harmony finds us, like gentle waves lapping at the shore.

Like the little tug, I’ve learned to adjust my course, find new ways to connect, and keep moving forward, one small wave at a time.

What about you? What ‘barge’ are you hauling around, and how can you become the tug?

How to Journey to Stillness

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Tuesday morning, Sun shine. Fluffy white clouds tinged with grey and blue shroud Vancouver Island in the distance. Sea a gently undulating blanket, always in motion. Trees stand tall, branches still, their filigree network of needles pricking the untouchable sky.

In meditation this morning, the invitation was to ‘let your mind dissolve into the clouds’. I struggled with it. Struggled to find the stillness and spaciousness of nothingness. To imagine my mind as dissolvable.

I am attached to my mind and its constant yammerings and yawings. It’s incessant litany of thoughts and ideas tumbling around inside my head telling me, ‘that’s a good idea’. ‘what on earth were you thinking?, ‘you need to do more’, ‘you’re not enough’… and all that jazz.

Stilling the chatter has been a lifelong journey for me. Meditation is my gateway to the stillness, and calm, of letting my mind dissolve into the clouds.

Some mornings, my mind feels busier than others. When I began meditating, I started small. Even 1 minute of sitting in the silence is better than none.

Whether you’re a beginner, or a seasoned meditator, here are four ideas on how you can begin to meditate or to enrich your existing practice:

1. Start Small:

  • Silencing the mind completely is a lofty goal, especially for beginners. If you’re just beginning, start with just a few minutes of dedicated stillness each day, gradually increasing the duration as you become more comfortable. If like me, you go in and out of your practice, sometimes leaving it for days on end, always begin again and do not judge yourself harshly!

2. Focus on the Breath:

  • The breath is an anchor to the present moment. Especially as you begin to practice, pay close attention to each breath. In. Out. In. Out. As you progress, focus the sensation of each inhale and exhale, noticing the rise and fall of your chest or belly. When the mind wanders, gently guide it back to the breath. In. Out. In. Out.
  • Remember not to judge your progress, or the stillness of your mind. Stay, ‘open minded’. Curious. Calm.
  • Tip: To support your practice, try this counting exercise: inhale for a count of 4, hold for 4, exhale for 4.

3. Engage the Senses:

  • Connect with your senses. Take a mindful walk in nature, noticing the sights, sounds, smells, and textures around you. Or, sit quietly and savour a cup of tea or coffee, paying attention to the warmth of the mug, the aroma, and the taste.
  • Exercise: When connecting with your senses, close your eyes and ask yourself: “What do I hear? What do Ifeel against your skin? What do I smell?” Don’t seek the words to describe what your experiencing. Feel it. Don’t name it.

4. Embrace a Creative Outlet:

  • Engaging in creative activities can quiet the mental chatter and induce a state of flow. There are countless individual ways of experiencing this – painting, writing, dancing, playing music, gardening, or anything that allows you to express yourself and get lost in the process.
  • As a mixed media artist and as a writer, getting lost in the process of creation has taught me to ‘trust in the process’ . Time disappears, the world around me fades as I become immersed in the pure joy and wonder of allowing my intuition and creative essence to express itself fearlessly.

5. Acceptance and Non-Judgment:

  • It’s crucial to approach stillness with a gentle, non-judgmental attitude. When thoughts arise (and they will!), acknowledge them without judgment and gently redirect your attention back to your chosen anchor (breath, senses, etc.).
  • Remember: Meditation is a practice, not a performance. There’s no “right” way to find stillness just as there is no wrong way to begin again.

What about you? What do you do to stop the chatter and open the portal to your heart?

Hidden Voices (a poem)

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Walking along the shoreline, water calm, air crisp with spring’s promise. Beau sniffs and snuffles the grass and bushes at the edge of the road, seagulls swoop and screech overhead,

I meet a woman and her dog. She shares her joy of see a pod of eight Orcas surface close in to where she stood on the rocks yesterday as dusk began to settle in.

“They appeared, and then they were gone,” she said after telling me that three seals scampered onto the rocks as the Orcas passed. Her dog barely noticed them.

Her dog and Beaumont sniff. Lose interest and continue to smell the greenery all around where we stand at the edge of the ocean.

I haven’t seen the Orcas yet. Lots of Humpback but no Orcas.

I know I will. One day. Soon. I hope.

I continue walking along and something she said about her heart feeling like it was blossoming out when she spied the whales resonates. The muse picks up the thread and when I return home, these words wove their way into substance.

Hidden Voices 
by Louise Gallagher

Sing out loud, he urged,
but she held back, 
ignoring the melody 
stirring within her 
hidden behind the secrets of childhood.

Everyone can sing, he said gently. 
I don't dare, she demurred, 
then hummed a little tune to herself, 
a sweet, melodious note so pure,
the air stilled around her, 
rustled through the leaves 
swaying gently to her song.

That was beautiful, he whispered.

She shook her head, side to side
a nervous laugh escaping her lips
as soft as a moonbeam kissing the night.

It was nothing, she said. 
Nothing we do is ever nothing 
if we do it from the heart, he replied.

Her heart bloomed open, 
a flower releasing its fragrant song.

His words rang true, a siren call, 
urging her voice to rise up 
loud and strong 
no matter who was listening.

Five Simple Practices to Make Time Your Ally

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Time flows on, regardless of our attempts to hold it back. But what if, instead of resisting the changes time inevitably brings, we made time our ally in creating the life we desire?

Here are five simple practices you can incorporate into your daily living to make time your ally.

  1. Your Body Knows Best:  Listen to it. Heed your inner wisdom so your choices align with your overall well-being.

Several years ago, I ignored the swelling in the back of my knee, the one with the ACL I tore many years ago. I kept dancing. And then, it ballooned out like a puffer fish. Had I stopped, asked my body what it needed and listened to its response, I might have avoided being rushed to emergency to have it drained.

“Ask yourself: ‘What am I feeling right now? Tiredness? Joy? A quiet nudge in a certain direction?'” – and then listen for the answers. Don’t rush them. Just listen.

Taking time to hear your body creates a deeper mind/body connection, allowing you to move beyond purely emotional responses.

  1. Embrace Imperfection: Time is our ally because it allows for growth and change. We don’t have to get everything right immediately. Mistakes are part of the journey. Just as there is no perfect way to write a book or paint a portrait, there is no perfect path to living and aging. There is only the path you are on.

When I worked in a homeless shelter, I taught a personal development course to individuals striving to re-enter the workforce. “What if I don’t get it right,” one individual asked when contemplating which basic certificate to take first to obtain his license to drive a forklift. “Do you have any of the necessary courses?” I asked. “No,” they replied. “Then whatever course you take will bring you one step closer to your goal.” They signed up for a course and then another until one day, they proudly came to see me to say they’d got a job in a warehouse driving a forklift.

Embracing imperfection allows for grace to walk with you, no matter how or where you’re going.

  1. Practice Presence: Instead of dwelling on the past or worrying about the future, find joy in the now.

Every day, as I walk the familiar shoreline of our island, I see something new. Each discovery brings me joy.

Remember, there is beauty in every moment, in the everyday wonders that surround us. Savour the beauty all around you, look for small and big miracles everywhere and allow the past to lay in peace. The future is a mystery yet to be discovered. Live in the miracle of now.

  1. Cultivate Curiosity: Always be a student of life. Time provides endless opportunities to learn and explore. This keeps us engaged and our minds sharp.

As a mixed media artist, curiosity is an essential ingredient in everything I create. As I work on a piece I always ask myself, “I wonder what would happen if… [I did this] [added that]. Always I am surprised and pleased with my wonderment.

Let yourself be surprised by life.

  1. Forgive yourself and others: Holding onto grudges and regrets steals precious time and energy. It also clouds your joy and your relationships.

My mother and I had a strained relationship. I wanted her to be the mother of my dreams. She could only be the mother she was. I struggled to simply be present with her until I finally worked with a therapist on forgiveness. In forgiveness, I became the daughter she wanted. I no longer made waves or asked challenging questions about the past; questions she did not want to answer. In my decision to forgive her, without having to involve or tell her, our relationship became less strained and I felt more peaceful.

Forgiveness liberates us to move forward.

What about you? What’s one way you can listen to your body’s wisdom today? Or a step you can take towards a long-held dream?

Dances in the Wind (a poem)

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This morning a beautiful friend from the poetry circle I wrote with for several years and then had to miss out on most of last year because of a competing Monday night commitment, sent a poem to our group, ‘Acceptance‘, by Kerry Hardie. (Thank you Lilli Ann)

One of the images caught my imagination. Still January.

The muse whispered, “Write it out.” So I did.

DANCES WITH THE WIND
by Louise Gallagher

Still January 
yesterday, 
I walked the shoreline 
morning calm stretched across grey water
lapping, gentle, muted sounds
caressing, rocks

slick and slippery
seaweed a blanket of vivid green
I step, 
slowly, carefully, 
remembering

there was a time 
I leapt 
rock to rock, 
arms flung wide 
head tilted back to catch 
the salt-laced breeze 
effortless

those were the days my friend 

we danced ‘til dawn 
and slept fast 
fell in and out of love faster

Who can tame the wind? 
A weathered branch creaks 
memory slips 
against the jagged 
edges of daybreak whispering 
only time can stifle age

Still January 
today, I walk along the road 
hugging the shoreline, close
mist hangs low 
steel grey waves frothy, rolling 
in and out, in and out 
trees sway, leaves rustle,
dances with the wind

On solid ground I walk, 
confident 
an eagle soars above 
time is on the wing.