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About Louise Gallagher

I believe in wonder. I believe we are all magnificent beings of divine beauty. I believe we can make a difference in this world, through every act, word, thought. I believe we create ripples with everything we do and say and want to inspire everyone to use their ripple to create a better world for everyone. I'm grateful you're here.

Yes. I am Breathing.

April is Poetry Month, and while my intention was to write a poem a day, life had other plans! Still, as they say, better late than never.

One poet who consistently captivates me is Mary Oliver. The depth and richness of her writing, her ability to conjure vivid images with such sparse, carefully chosen words, always leaves me in awe.

Her poem, “Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches?”, poses a question that resonates deeply: “Listen, are you breathing, just a little, and calling it a life?”

Thanks to Ali Grimshaw’s Writing Circle, I now use an exercise to deeply connect with poetry: read a poem aloud twice, then write. The initial reading is about experiencing the flow of the words. The second is a deliberate listen for resonating words and ideas that inspire your own writing. (To do this solo, I record my reading, allowing for a focused, eyes-closed second listen to identify calling words and images, which I then underline as my inspiration.)

“Yes Mary Oliver, I am Breathing” is my response, my riff, to the powerful inquiry from Mary’s poem and the question, “Listen, are you breathing, just a little, and calling it a life?”

Yes Mary Oliver, I am Breathing by Louise Gallagher Breathing deep, slow breaths, ripe with potential life overflowing, untroubled by chattering minds, warning bells of danger lurking. Breathing, there is no hunger. Moments ease fluid and smooth, one breath to the next, misty vapours rising into the morning, becoming the ghost of time voiceless drifting softly away. Breathing, there is no thirsting. Questions of ‘What’s next’ cannot dim the bright blossoming of life’s rich bounty, painting the sky full of wonder and awe splashed haphazardly against the sharp, sweet joy of this moment passing – right now. Breathing, there is no yearning. Each breath, a symphony of delight singing in unison wth every leaf and stone, with waves rolling in and birds flying high. Breathing, there is no time to be, but now. Arms flung wide, neck stretched back, wide-eyed receiving life’s bounty savouring each drop doused in anticipation of what’s next, soaking up sun-warmed flesh ripe with possibility spilling over effortlessly into the startling wonder of being here alive in this moment right now.

News is full of worries and woes. I awaken. I open the deck doors, letting in the morning sounds: a sealion honking, birds twittering, an eagle cawing, the sea rolling onto the shore. I breathe deeply. Slowly. Softly. Contentment settles. My heart breaks open with delight. The news can wait.

News is full of worries and woes. I awaken. I open the deck doors, letting in the morning sounds: a sealion honking, birds twittering, an eagle cawing, the sea rolling onto the shore. I breathe deeply. Slowly. Softly. Contentment settles. My heart breaks open with delight. The news can wait.

I hope you pour a cup of your favourite morning bevvie and join me for a calm and serene morning reflection.

Why Can’t I Stop Reading the News?

I read the news, and a weariness settles deep within. Heavy words line the page, black print against stark white, blurring and tumbling into a wave of dismay that roils through my mind.

“You are not equipped to handle this,” a voice whispers from somewhere deep inside.

Who is?

Turmoil. Angst. Anger. Fear. These are the emotions that dominate the day.

Tariff wars. Gun wars. Drug wars.

So many wars distort my view of the sun, so many words barricade my heart, holding it hostage in despair.

“Stop reading,” the voice insists.

My heart flutters. Can I? Should I?

What if, in stopping, I become blind to the suffering? What if I become numb to the pain? What if I succumb to the lie that I am powerless?

I am adrift, devoid of answers that can calm the turbulent seas. Seas that overturn lifeboats of global treaties and trade routes. Seas full of angry waves rolling across the land, drowning reason, flooding communities and destroying communities, families, lives and so much more.

I feel powerless to shift the mindsets that perpetuate the illusion of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ Them out there, whose ways are different but no less valid. Them who speak a foreign tongue or worship at a different altar. Them whose histories are etched with the struggle to rise from poverty, flee violence, find safety, only to face more barriers. Them who are, simply, different.

Yet, I am not powerless to keep my mind open, my heart soft, and my back strong.

I am not powerless in the face of injustice, cruelty, chaos.

I choose to stand true to the belief that we are all important, all matter on this big, round ball circling the sun, year after year. Our orbit is the same as theirs. Our planet, one.

I must step away from the relentless scroll and focus on what I, one individual, can do to create calm in a world of chaos.

That is my mission for today. To plant seeds of kindness, to offer a hand, to listen with empathy. To find the small acts of love that ripple outwards.

An Experiment in Lists.

Things Heard in a Grocery Store Line-Up

What a fucking idiot.
Who the hell you think is getting all the money? It ain’t us that’s for gd sure.
You know, socialism is the only answer. Socialism is for the people, not the rich.
The rich can fuckin’ die for all I care. All I want is to be able to afford to pay my mortgage and eat.
Declined.
I’m sorry. I don’t have enough money. I’ll have to take something out.
Mommy. Please can I have a bag of Skittles?
Put it back! I can’t afford it.

Isn’t [that] on sale?
No ma’am. That brand isn’t.
Oh. Oh. [pause] I can’t afford it.
Howling, tired cries of a child sitting in a grocery cart.
Stop it or I’ll give you something to cry about.
Where the hell do you hide the fuckin’ baking soda?
In the baking aisle, sir. Top shelf. Beside the baking powder.
Your PIN is invalid.
I don’t remember it.
Ma’am You’re holding up the line.

I'm sorry. I just can't remember it.
Then you'll have to go and come back when you do.
But it's such a long walk.
I'm sorry ma'am. But you're holding up the line.
Hi. Can I help? I don't mind paying for your groceries. It's only cat food and milk.

Things Seen in a Grocery Store

Overburdened cart abandoned at checkout.
Half eaten apple on canned soup shelf.
Footprints in trail of flour from broken bag on floor in baking aisle.
Couple making out in produce aisle.
Child sitting on floor crying.
Mother yanking at child’s arm.
Child sitting on floor crying.
Mother sitting on floor beside child, soothing them.
Man eating unwashed, and unpaid for, grapes from bag in basket as he shops.
Broken jar of jam on the floor of the Coffee. Jam and Sundries aisle.
Woman touching and firmly squeezing every tomato before choosing one.
Child running, slipping on spilt milk and skinning their knee.
Father angrily yelling at them to get up or else...
Two young siblings fighting over who gets to push the cart.
Two young siblings racing two empty carts down frozen foods aisle.
The ‘a’ missing in the B_kery sign.
No twist ties in produce section.
People who smile at the cashier.
People who don’t acknowledge the cashier.
People who leave their groceries mid-way through checkout while they go search for that one forgotten thing while everyone waits, and waits, for their return.

Things Felt in the Grocery Store

Frustration.
Anger.
Worry.
Fear.
Joy.
YES! They have the spice I’m looking for.

Impatience.
Judgement.
Consternation.
Intimidation.
Relief.
Frozen pizza’s on sale!

Bewilderment.
Confusion.
Hopelessness.
Anxiety.
Hopefulness.
There’s fresh bread.

Raw: Of Rage. Fear. and Release.

Emotions are tough to corral, tougher still to name.

Some mornings, journalling surprises me with what flows out.

Case in point: this morning’s words morphed into a poem of grief and loss. Or is it about these times? The vitriol, anger, war, power struggles, the sides we take, the shade we cast.

Or simply, a lifetime of swallowing words to present the ‘good girl’ my mother trained me to be?

Seventy-one years on, I’m still unwinding those lessons that do not serve me well.

Living is a journey: inward, outward, a journey of letting go. Claiming my right to be all my emotions. Fearlessly. Authentically. Vulnerably. Me.

What about you? Do you struggle to unwind childhood lessons that no longer serve? Have you found a way to rage, to scream, to run through fear and release the ‘ought to be’—to be Fearless. Authentically. Vulnerably. You?

Do share! We learn from each other how to do this thing called Life.

RAW
by Louise Gallagher

RAGE

Let me
know you,
Let me
feel
your hot breath
scorch
niceties
expelled
on fake smiles
pasted
in place.

FEAR

Let me lose
all memory
of what a good girl
oughta’ do.
Let me
burn
the fetid stench
of good manners
stomp
angry words
scorching
my tongue,
held
still.

RELEASE

Let me
wail
Let me
scream
your name
full of
memories
entwined
drowning
my senses
overflowing
the empty spaces
left behind.

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The Upside-down (aka flopped) Cake Caper

Yesterday, I set out to create a culinary masterpiece for our community food support program where I volunteer weekly. What emerged was…well, let’s call it ‘interpretive dessert.’ An upside-down apple caramel cake, to be precise, that was more flop than upside-down. Sweet, bordering on ‘sugar rush,’ and visually, more ‘deconstructed’ than ‘delicate.’ It certainly wouldn’t have passed muster at the National Gallery of Canada. Unlike Jana Sterbak’s Flesh Dress, however, it was edible, despite its avant-garde appearance.

Honest! It tasted good, I swear! Just… visually, it looked like a toddler had a passionate fling with a baking tray. A chaotic, delicious, wall-paper making kind of fling.
To read the rest, pop on over to my Substack and take a bit of my baking mojo… gone wrong. 🙂 I did learn a great lesson though! 🙂

To discover the lesson and devour the rest of this post, popover to my Substack Here.

Have you ever had a culinary failure? What did you do? What did you learn?

Please do share!

https://open.substack.com/pub/louisegallagher/p/the-upside-down-aka-flopped-inside?r=eo6c&utm_medium=ios

The Mirror’s Reflection

The sound of my grandchildren’s laughter drifts across the calm waters, a balm to my soul. They have come with their mother, my eldest daughter, for a visit to our island home. My heart is full. Seated on a red bench, strategically placed on the mossy slope, I gaze at the vast ocean, stretching to the mainland – my Canada, my home and native land.

As a teenager living on a Canadian Armed Forces base in Germany, every day I passed a mirror at the base gate that held a cryptic message: “The person you see in this mirror is a reflection of Canada. Act accordingly.” Having spent my formative years abroad, I wrestled with this concept of Canadian identity. Neither of my parents were born Canadian. Having arrived after the Second World War, they were a blend of Irish, Indian, French, and Portuguese blood. Their origins offered a multicultural reality akin to the ‘mosaic’ of Canada’s peoples that felt far removed from the mirror’s directive. In my parents’ home, a crucifix stood on the fireplace mantel beside a statue of Shiva. Christmas Eve celebrations included Tortiere and spicy curry and Popadum. And always, the air was scented with Sandalwood incense mingling with the aroma of my father’s Gauloise.

My return to Canada in my twenties was a cultural shock. I longed for the vibrant markets, the Sunday Volksmarches, strolls along the Rhine River, Christkindl markets and the warmth of European camaraderie. I yearned for a Canada I barely knew, a land I called ‘home’ but felt foreign in.

Fifty years later, the question lingers: what does it mean to “act accordingly” as a Canadian? Through the noise of news and social media, I’ve discovered it’s not about rigid definitions. It’s about the fluidity of belonging, anchored in Canada’s multicultural mosaic, accepting of all, no matter what pew you kneel at or language you speak. It’s grounded in universal values: community, compassion, and collaboration. Values that recognize and honour our shared humanity, regardless of our diverse origins.

Being Canadian is about open acceptance, treating everyone with dignity and respect, and above all, practicing kindness. When I walk through my day, striving to tread lightly on the land and softly on the hearts around me, I believe I am finally understanding what that mirror meant. There is no one way to be Canadian. Every way is appreciated and celebrated. It’s the Canadian way.

Sitting on a bench overlooking the ocean, hearing my grandchildren play along the shore, and feeling the moist air caress my face, I feel my roots settling into this land that has always been my home, no matter how far I roamed. Beneath the vastness of dusk settling upon the distant horizon to the east, I settle deeply into the knowing that ‘I am Canadian’ is not a battle cry. It is a commitment to being the mirror of my home and native land in everything I do and say in ways that reflect the truth, I am Canadian and proud of it.

Magnetic Emotions: The Necessary Beauty of Sadness

We celebrate happiness, its warmth, its allure, its sunshiney nature. We extoll its virtues, chase its fleeting glow, pursue its richness. But what of sadness, its counterpart? We shun it, dismiss it, rush to banish its presence. When someone speaks of the blues, we scramble to lift their spirits, to paint over grey skies with forced sunshine.

But what if the blues held equal value? What if the lows were as essential as the highs? Physics reminds us: for every action, an equal and opposite reaction. Happiness and sadness, then, are not enemies, but inseparable companions, two sides of the same coin. Like magnetic poles they are forever drawn together, creating the emotional field we inhabit.

A woman I know begins each day with deliberate sorrow, twenty minutes of tears before facing the world. A release, a conscious acknowledgment of the pain that surrounds us. “There is so much pain and suffering in this world. So much over which I have little control. My tears are my antidote to helplessness creating much needed grace and space for joy to flow,” she explains. “I can’t go around it. I must go through it.” And so, to journey through sadness, she builds a bridge of tears to carry her to the other side.

On rainy days like today, when the sky is a heavy grey, the wind a mournful cry, the blues invite us to pause, to feel. To surrender.

In these moments, the blues become a necessary antidote to our fears. They remind us of the cyclical nature of life, the inevitable return of light after darkness. Like the tides, life ebbs and flows. To truly embrace its mystery, we must welcome both the sun and the storm, the joy and the blues. We must stop chasing the blues away and welcome in every facet of the richness of our emotional experience awash in the sea of life.

To help you build a bridge through sadness to happiness, here are three simple practices you can implement today:

  • Embrace Morning Tears: Dedicate a few minutes each morning to acknowledge and release sadness. Start with five minutes of quiet reflection, allowing whatever emotions arise to surface. If tears come, let them flow. If not, simply sit with the feeling, accepting its presence without judgment.
  • Curate an Emotional Soundtrack: Create a playlist that reflects the full spectrum of your emotions. Begin with songs that resonate with sadness or the blues, allowing yourself to feel those emotions fully. Then, transition to songs that uplift and inspire, creating a journey from sorrow to joy.
  • Journal Your Blues: Alongside your gratitude practice, create a space to acknowledge your struggles. Write down what upsets you, what makes you feel helpless, or what triggers your sadness. Giving voice to these feelings through writing can be a powerful step towards processing and moving through them.

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This post originally appeared on my SUBSTACK March 19, 2025

Ego vs Heart: the struggle is real

I catch my ego in its act of rebellious denial of reality. Wonder Woman defying Ares. Hands on hips. Feet firmly planted. Chest out. Chin up. Defiance personified. I breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Love rushes in.

And in that place, calmness embraces me. Nothing seems impossible. Love ripples through every act.

I hope you come and read the full post over on my Substack — Ego vs Love: The Struggle is Real.

Tug-A-War

Caregiving and the Illusion of Control

Dark green cedars stand silent, sentinels against the heaviness of the rain laden sky over Nanaimo harbor. Today, the water is a mirror, promising a smooth voyage to Vancouver. From there, we fly to Calgary, back to the muted tones of early spring still sleeping beneath winter’s blanket. 

I want to pull the blankets over my head and pretend the purpose of our visit is purely fun. The times insist I wake up. 

Reluctantly I accept the reality of this trip. My husband has a swathe of  medical appointments and I am essential to his ease and comfort while travelling. Wife, advocate, Sherpa, and now, caregiver; my role is to ensure any barriers to travel are removed from his path. It’s a role I navigate with a mix of love and reluctance. 

This is a journey far removed from the life we imagined when we said “I do.” Ten years ago. Back then, he was a force of vitality: golf, hockey, hiking, and the boundless joy of the Rockies.

Five years later, COPD, an incurable disease that is slowly stealing his breath, and reshaping our lives, changed everything.

I wrestle with those changes every day.  Like two opposing tug-a-war teams, I am constantly losing ground to the disease’s demands I give up control. I desperately try to dictate the terms of our uncomfortable co-existence yet know, this disease is the true master. In the starkness of its immutability, I am becoming a living contradiction and predestining myself to a tumultuous journey. 

Today’s calm waters offer a stark contrast to the turbulent emotional landscape of caregiving. I resist surrendering to vulnerability, dig my heels in like the proverbial horse being dragged to water when it comes to letting go of the illusion of control. How do you truly inhabit this role when the path is uncertain? How do you find strength when faced with unanswerable questions? 

The waters remain calm. Enigmatic. I stand and gaze out at the sea’s glassy surface. I cannot see into its depths yet still, I search for a deeper understanding, a way to find peace amidst the shifting tides. 

Perhaps, the true strength of a caregiver lies not in control, but in the quiet acceptance of what is and the certitude that all is as it is meant to be.