Dare boldly

A blog by Louise Gallagher


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My heart eases…

11 x 14″ Alcohol Ink on Yupo Paper 2019 Louise Gallagher

I painted last night. Pulled out my alcohol inks and Yupo Paper and immersed myself in the pure joy of creating for the sake of creating.

Beaumont slept on the floor beside me. My beloved lay on the couch pretending to read when actually he too was sleeping.

Music played in the background and I was oblivious to the lyrics falling gently into the rhythm of sounds

flowing effortless

I created

and fell

Heart first into abandonment of letting go of how to’s and must do’s.

Yes. This is where my creative essence finds itself free to express itself fearlessly in love with the art of creating.

 

It can be so easy to forget the power of creating. The joy of letting go of what I think needs to get done, or must.

In the art of creating, I let go of thinking to give way to feeling my way through to the other side of bliss.

In the art of creating, I forget to judge myself, to find myself lacking or not enough.

In the art of creating, I am whole. I am beloved. I am free.

I painted last night.

I remember.

Me.

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My Heart Eases

©2019 Louise Gallagher
___________
My heart eases gently
into that place
where I find myself
once again
savouring the flavourful essence
of my creative expression
flowing joyfully
onto the page
where I flow effortlessly into ease.
Ahhh… this is what I forgot.
My essence is not found
in to do lists and meetings held
it is not fulfilled in reports written
and emails sent
it is filled to the brim
of joyful expression
here
on the page
of my creative essence
where I flow effortlessly into ease
_______________________________


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He Walks Alone (a story prompted story)

There is a moon filled sun and a man.

There is a day that became a forever night and a man alone.

There is a city. Silent in the darkness of the moon darkened sun.

There is a man who walks alone. Always.

Once there was life.

It is gone. Void. Expired.

The moon came and stole the light. And all life was forgotten.

Except for the man. He walks alone. By himself. Always.

Not frightened. Not scared. Just alone. Like a memory that cannot die, he is trapped in the darkness.

No one asks him what he is doing in the darkened day of the city. There is no one there to ask.

He is not curious this man walking alone.

He has no thoughts to make his mind wonder.

Once, there had been curiosity. Wonder. A city filled with people building, creating, doing.

And then, the moon came and covered up the sun. Like a needle skipping over a vinyl record track, again and again, day became perpetual night, a twilight of darkness creeping ever further and further afield.

And all thought of the light vanished. All memory of day disappeared as his life became a forgotten song he no longer sings.

Once the man wondered what lay beyond the darkened light of day.

Once he thought about exploring beyond the city limits.

No more.

With the vanishing of the light, his thoughts grew still. Silent.

Now, he wanders the empty avenues and streets where no blade of grass creeps up between the pavement cracks. Where no tree pushes up through the concrete. Where no cars pass on the once busy road and no people walk on sidewalks once filled with passersby going about their day.

Day is gone. Night has come.

All that grew has died beneath the darkened sun. All that was living has turned to dust, disappeared behind doors closed against the darkness creeping ever further and further into the corridors and hallways of the buildings no longer lit by sun’s warm gaze. Now, only concrete towers remain, the asphalt, the silent avenues, the empty spaces once filled with bustling life are still.

And the man walks alone.

No thoughts interrupt his passage. No ideas form within his mind.

Like the moon erasing day, his mind has escaped to some other place, that other place from long ago, when he was once a doer, a builder, husband, father, brother, son. A person known to others.

And now, he walks alone. Unseen. Unheard. Unknown.

He does not remember that other time. He does not know what he has lost.

He walks alone. His path lit by the ghostly light of a sun no longer strong enough to shine light on the city upon which it once cast its golden hues. The city that once never slept.

He walks alone.

Forgotten. Never sleeping there is no need of awakening. He exists to walk the city alone. Sole witness of the moon’s daring take-over of the sun.

Sleep is a long forgotten pleasure. Awakening a forgotten dream.

He walks alone. Always.

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I have always enjoyed writing to prompts. It’s fun to see how others interpret the same prompt. How one image can stir different thoughts, feelings, emotions. This is the first story-prompt writing I’ve done in a long, long time. It feels like… coming home.

This prompt is from:  Myths of the Mirror. the prompt is Passover.  The photo is from:  natanvance on Pixabay


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Powerful Changes: Becoming my creative expression

Alcohol Ink on Yupo Paper
Louise Gallagher
5 x 7″

The card is named, “Powerful Changes”.

I feel my body’s visceral response to the words. ‘Change? What change?’ my critter mind wails. “Enough already with the changes! Haven’t I done enough? ”

I want to know the changes, as if in the knowing, I can vet them, or at least measure them against my barometer of what is acceptable change. And what is not.

“When we open ourselves to exploring our creativity, we open ourselves to God: good orderly direction.
As we open our creative channel to the Creator, many gentle but powerful changes are to be expected.”

I am like the river flowing to the sea, my course defined by two parallel shores guiding me, channeling me.

My creative essence is not be channeled.

When I open my creative channel to the Creator, I drift quietly away from the need to be safely channeled by the shores of my being who I think I am in this world and the life I lead. Open to my creative channel, I release my expectations that my course is predictable, known, somehow able to be directed and determined by me.

In the absence of needing to direct or be held in by the bounds of what I deem the shores and boundaries of my life, I am free to explore where ever my creativity leads me.

I am free to be my creative essence. Open to powerful changes whether they enter gently or roar in like an arctic wind.

I want to control change. To harness it to my directions.

I cannot harness the wind. I cannot change the weather.

I surrender my need to control and give into my creative essence and its deep desire to be known simply as it is.

In that knowing, I am not bound by the shores of who I am. In that powerful change of how I see myself and my creativity, I am free to become all I am when I let go of being my creative expression and become the expression of my creative essence running wild and free.

Namaste.

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Free-fall writing from today’s The Artist’s Way Card by Julia Cameron —  Powerful Changes

Without thinking about it, as I wrote, my word for 2019 became clearer. “Surrender”  That is a powerful change from my thinking that I needed to consciously focus on my word for the year.


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The river moves slowly in the cold of winter

The river moves slowly in the cold of winter. It slides, its surface an undulating steel grey mass of water gliding as one graceful body moving ever onward towards a distant ocean.

The ocean feels further away in the winter. Like a forgotten spring damned up behind blocks of ice freezing all memory of silken sands and seagulls diving into the waves. There is no memory of warmer days in winter’s icy grip. Only the slow silent moving of the days as the river glides slowly past.

The river is flowing slowly. Trapped between its ice lined shores growing wider and thicker with each passing day, silently it moves up into the confines of a narrow channel of ice that has gathered beneath the bridge, between the shore and the bridge abutment. It pushes feebly against the ice, thoughts of far-away freedom growing further and further away. It lays there now in the cold of winter. It lays in a silent ice-encased body, waiting for spring’s arrival.

The river moves slowly in the cold of winter like pain coursing through our bodies in moments of despair, grief, fear, anger.

In their midst, we feel like time has stopped moving. Like everything has slowed down as we sit in a darkened tunnel of pain pushing back tumultuous emotions we cannot name, nor speak, nor label for fear, they will become our forever reality and spring will not return one day.

And then, time passes. And spring returns. And with its return the ice slowly melts and the river flows freely to the sea once again.

I have known moments of excruciating pain in my life. Moments where I believed now was forever and feared it was true. Moments where all I could hear was the roaring in my head, the roaring that sounded like I was buried deep in a bed of ice, too frozen, too frightened, too fearful to move.

And then spring came and with it, the ice melted and I remembered to breathe into its promise of sunshine and brighter days ahead.

The river moves slowly in the cold of winter. It is beautiful as it glides past my window, glistening beneath in its molten sheet of grey edged in white.

There is beauty in the cold of winter. Untold stories of skaters whizzing across frozen ponds and skiers swooping down snow-laden mountainsides, their cheeks rosy and their spirits light.

There is beauty in the cold of winter. It begins within my heart melting in gratitude for this day, no matter how cold or frosty the air I breathe.

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I am working with The Artist’s Way creativity cards.

Each day, I pull a card and must free-fall write whatever appears from the inspiration of the card.

Today’s card was:  The Air We Breathe — Creativity is oxygen for our souls.

 


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What do you do when you grow tired of your own excuses?

Alcohol Inks on Yupo Paper 11″ x 14″ By Louise Gallagher

I don’t yet have my studio built-out in our new home. I’ve been using that as my excuse to not create.

Yesterday, I decided I’d had enough of my own excuses.

All my alcohol inks and paraphernalia were in one box. I hauled them upstairs, set myself up on the island and began to create.

It was a dream day. A day for calm and joy. Centredness and exploration.

I haven’t used alcohol inks and Yupo paper a lot. One evening course recently with the amazing Allyson Thain and that’s about it.

But that’s the joy of creating just for the joy of creating. I don’t have to ‘know the rules’ or even worry about following them. I simply have to be willing to let go of expectations and dive into exploration.

It can be so easy in this time-challenged, expectation-riddled world to fall into the trap of believing spending an afternoon and evening creating is ‘doing nothing’.

It’s not. Nothing.

It’s everything without having to be anything.

And that’s where freedom, creativity and inspiration exist. Beyond the spaces between expectation and demands, rules and commitments. Beyond ‘have to’s’ and ‘you’re on a schedule, don’t lose it’ is a world of possibility where magic happens. If only I get out of the way of forcing it to do it my way, or expecting it to appear on my schedule, in my life-inbox the way I want.

I lost myself in the art of creating yesterday with no expectation of creating anything other than space to savour the moment and be one with The Muse.

While C.C. watched football games and hockey on his laptop in the bedroom, I muddled around with inks and paper, exploring what happens when I let go of having to make it look this way or that, and fell instead into the freedom of letting it flow.

In that space, worry subsided and I was reminded once again, to not take myself so seriously. To ‘go with the flow’ and let nature have its way. My job isn’t to direct nature. It’s to create the space for magic, wonder and awe to appear naturally amidst all the struggles, upheavals and mistakes of every day living, and amidst the beauty too.

This world is filled with angst. With turmoil and pain. And it’s filled with beauty.

When I release my need to make sense of the turmoil and fall instead into surrendering to the beauty, I create peace, joy, harmony within me. And in that place, magic awakens, miracles arise as I free-fall into being present to the wonder and awe of creation.

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Thank you Kerry Parsons for reminding me of my creative nature and inspiring me to connect once again with The Muse.


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Let me live beyond the crazy-wild side

The muse and I have an agreement.

She whispers. I listen.

And in my listening, I respond from somewhere deep within me.

I cannot see this place of response.

I cannot define its presence.

It is a knowing. An intuiting. A divining.

Sometimes, her whispers in this place, are soft and gentle, like a summer breeze caressing my skin.

Other times, her whispers are like summer’s late kiss, reminding me to treasure each leaf turning golden before autumn’s fall.

And other times, she is like the wind blowing fiercely in on a summer storm. She wakes me up with her thunderous roar, pushing me over the edge of the known into that place where I leap up to dance in the rain and run through puddles, throwing myself with abandon into the storm.

It was stormy here last night.

This morning, the muse awoke me.

Let Me Live on the Wild Side
By Louise Gallagher ©2018

Let me live on the wild side of this crazy heart
beat beating
ferociously
not keeping time
spending every moment up
to the end of time.

Let me dance ferociously with the wildflowers blowing
free freeing
crazy-wild
to the heartbeat
of my used up life
gone wild in time.

Let me dive fearlessly into the crazy-wild
abandon abandoning
joyfully
not holding back
any precious moment
of life lived free of time.


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Rejoice in ordinary things

Acrylic on Canvas 42″ x 36″ Louise Gallagher 2001

I am in summer writing mode, lazy mornings, reading, walking, re-ordering my days. I will be posting less frequently over the next two months, but on those days when I spend my time ‘othering’ I’ll share things that inspire me.

The painting above is one of the very first paintings I did when I first started painting almost 20 years ago. It continues to be one of my favourites — perhaps because in it, I see only the simple, pure joy of creation.

In the beginning, my mind was not cluttered with thoughts of ‘the right way’, or the ‘that’s not good enough way’ of creating that is a natural by-product of learning more about ‘how to paint correctly’ versus ‘how to paint for the pure joy of it’ which is the beginner’s way for me.

In the beginning, painting for the pure joy of it was natural. Now, I strive to recapture that essence. I must consciously let go of my need to ‘do it right’ versus ‘do it for the pure joy of it’ – which can be challenging because when I think about it, I am no longer in that place of natural joyful creation!

Ahh, the contradictions of life are so fascinating!

Namaste.

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Inspiring thought for the day:

Rejoicing in ordinary things is not sentimental or trite. It actually takes guts. Each time we drop our complaints and allow everyday good fortune to inspire us, we enter the warrior’s world.

– Pema Chödron

from the book “The Places That Scare You: A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times”

Just Dharma Quotes

Shared from Zen Flash

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