Category Archives: Covid-19

Across The Grid (a poem to Zoom on)

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 Across The Grid
  ©2020 Louise Gallagher
  
 Across the grid
 of this digital universe
 we momentarily inhabit,
 faces smile and laugh
 brows furrow and foreheads crinkle.

 Sarah, sitting alone 
 in her box in London
 yawns and stretches as dusk settles in.
 She raises her glass 
 to the screen in front of her
 and takes a sip of wine.
 It's not really drinking alone, she hopes,
 when there's a virtual world of people
 right in front of her. 
 In LA, morning sunshine 
 streams through the window
 behind Jarred’s head.
 He wipes the sleep
 from his eyes
 and tries to shake off
 the dream he had last night
 as he takes another sip of coffee.
 While in Julia’s box down-under
 Tomorrow has already arrived.
 She can’t stay long. 
 She's got lots to do today.
  
 Amidst the ebb and flow 
 of conversation tethered 
 to an invisible web of binary code
 spinning around the globe,
 a fluffy black cat’s tail
 flits across the bottom
 of one, one-inch square,
 a brown and white dog
 patters through another
 paying no heed
 to the virtual world 
 of many lives 
 full of thoughts passing through
 unseen
 within each box 
 of constant dimensions
 holding everyone in place.
  
 Ripe with straight-laced consonants 
 and plump vowels rounding out
 the stream of conversation
 time keeps flowing
 past words and images
 cascading and falling
 into the constant flow
 of lives 
 gathered here
 in virtual reality.
 Connected
 yet so far apart.
  
 There is no time in the universe
 for distance
 to keep us apart
 in a locked down world.

On Wednesday evenings, I gather with a group of five other women on Zoom for an hour and a half of writing and sharing.

Facilitated by Ali Grimshaw of the Flashlight Batteries blog, she reads aloud a poem by another author and invites us to write whatever those words inspire.

The poem above was inspired by a poem called Zoom Morning Weather, by Josh Jacobs.

Welcome, The Season Of Joy.

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And so we gathered beneath the mighty fir that stands sentinel in our yard. The one where Siddartha sits all year round welcoming everyone to our home.

We stood beneath its sweeping branches that cast welcome shadows on a hot summer day, its deep green branches a welcome respite from the black and grey and white of a prairie winter.

Outdoor gatherings are fun!

We gathered together as families do and laughed and told stories on one another and shared a mug of hot mulled wine and feasted on seasonal delights. We toasted one another and those who could not be with us this year, either because of time and space or because they are gone from these earthly realms forever.

We raised our mugs to Christmases past spent indoors decorating or gathering around a table laden with holiday fare. And together, toasted this year that has challenged each of us to find more creative ways to spend time together. Ways that nurture our well-being yet do not risk our health.

Bundled up against a winter chill, we festooned the fir with stars and bells and homemade decorations and did our best to keep our distance. No hugs. No kisses on cheeks. No sharing of bites of this or that.

It was a different kind of way to welcome in the holiday season, yet, as in all the years past, smiles and laughter filled the air spinning a magical web with the essence of this time of year.

Family and friends gathering together to build memories and share what makes life rich and beautiful.

Connection. Belonging. Joy in one another’s presence. The reminder we do not walk alone. We are all in this together. And, above all, Love.

We decorated the fir tree outside our door yesterday. And the beauty of this special time of year slipped into our hearts and made itself at home for the season.

Blessings & Prayers.

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I am interrupting the 12 Days of my #ShePersisted 2021 Calendar posts for a message of Blessings and Prayers.

My cyber friend, David Kanigan, of the Live & Learn blog, shares a passage from Katrina Kenison’s new book, Magical Journey: An Apprenticeship in Contentment. (It’s a beautiful passage and I’m adding the book to my Christmas WishList – to read the quote – click HERE)

In my response to David’s share, I wrote,

As I type, my beloved is asleep in our bed on the far side of our home.
 Beaumont the Sheepadoodle lies at my feet under my desk in front of the
 window watching the river flow and the darkness outside grow slowly 
lighter.
And while my family is not sleeping in rooms under my roof, I know they
 are safely tucked into beds under their own roofs. Sleeping peacefully.

Such a blessing.
The knowing. My family is safe where ever they are in the world.

And tears formed in my eyes. And a whiff of sorrow drifted through my heart.

And I pause and say a prayer for the families who crowd the sleeping quarters of the homeless-shelter where I used to work. They do not feel safe, no matter how sound the roof of the shelter. It is not their roof.

And I pause and say a prayer for those who are resting uneasily in hospital beds, some who will recover and go home. And some who never will. Not only because of Covid but other diseases and causes too. They are alone in their suffering.

And I pause and say a prayer for those who rest uneasily at home while their loved ones battle for every breath in a place that feels so very far from home. When a loved one is ill and all alone somewhere else, even a block feels like an eternity away. They too are suffering alone.

And I pause and say a prayer for those who are sleeping under their own roofs where violence is not a stranger. There is no safety to be found, no matter whose roof you sleep under, when abuse is a constant partner.

And I pause and say a prayer for the millions of families and individuals around the world who fear unseen terrors falling from the sky because war is ravaging their land. There is no peace to be found amidst gunfire.

And I pause and say a prayer for the mothers searching for food and shelter amidst rising floodwaters or sliding mountainsides or other natural disasters. There is no shelter like home.

And I pause and let my tears flow freely.

I cannot save the world. I cannot change the wind nor tides, rain nor snow. I cannot stop a bullet flying nor a bomb exploding.

What I can do is bear witness with a loving heart.

I can speak up. And I can, even from a distance, contribute whatever I can to ensure that those for whom home is not a safe place know there are safe places to go. I can do whatever I can to ensure those safe places are there no matter how tumultuous the world around them.

And, I can pause and pray and let my tears flow freely so that my heart is not burdened by sadness and worry and fear, but lightened by the knowledge that I am doing whatever I can to make a better world for everyone.

And if in this moment all I can give are my tears and prayers, let that be enough.

And always, let gratitude be my guiding light. May gratitude always bring me home to a loving heart no matter what is happening in the world around me.

_____________________________

And… last night, as I lay in bed just before sleep descended, I thought about all the things for which I am grateful, and all the things I took for granted before Covid arrived and all the things I will never take for granted again not just because they are so precious, but also because some speak to the freedom and privilege I enjoy and never have to say ‘thank you’ for or never have to ask for, simply because I live where I do and am free to live my everyday life without fear.

The Way Of A Mother’s Love.

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Her prayers fed hungry souls and created a world of goodness and light for all to see.

I have a memory of my parents. They are in their kitchen. My dad is making one of his famous stews, or perhaps bread. Dirty dishes cover the counter. There is lots of noise. My father was not a quiet man.

My mother is fluttering around him. She is trying to clean up his mess as he cooks.

“Leave it,” he mutters. “You’re getting in my way.”

She ignores him. He keeps muttering angrily. She stifles her tears at his angry words and keeps doing the dishes.

It was their way.

The kitchen was his domain. Keeping it clean was her contribution, except for those times when he would give way to her desire to prepare her ‘fancy’ dishes. He’d grumble and mutter about ‘fancy food’ being a waste. About how the aromas bothered his sinuses, especially garlic. You shouldn’t mask good, hearty food with that garbage, he’d continuously blurt out whenever mom prepared one of her beloved curries or special dishes redolent with the aromas of India and France spicing the air and dancing together on the palate.

Whenever my mother came to visit she would immediately gravitate to my kitchen and start to clear away dishes and wipe down counters.

Helping out was her way.

It was not my way so I’d shoo her away.

It was the story of our life.

My mother wanting to help out. Me rejecting her help.

I am still that way. I don’t like people in my kitchen. I don’t accept help easily.

Back then, I didn’t understand my mother’s love language. I didn’t understand that after a lifetime of being told by my father that she was ‘in the way’, she wanted to find a way to be of service in peace.

In her lifetime, I never found a way to let her help out in peace.

In my lifetime, I am making peace with the places where strife stirred our relationship into a mess. I am letting go of the hurts and cooking up a new way of being at peace.

This, “My Mother’s Prayers” altered book art journal, is my path.

Like a coat of white paint covering graffiti on a wall, I am painting the past with beautiful colours that weave a glorious tapestry of acceptance and forgiveness from the memories that litter my mind. Like crumbs leading me home to my heart, I am following their way into peace and harmony.

It is not our differences or all the moments we caused each other pain that matters in my life today. It is the beauty I create to honour their memory that transforms them into joy and peace and harmony.

My mother and I never had an easy relationship. In memory and in life, I am free to let go of the unease and fall with grace into the Love that was always there and always will be. Now and forever.

That is the way of a mother’s Love.

Namaste.

___________________________________________

I am off to Vancouver tomorrow to visit my daughter and her beautiful family. For the next ten days, I shall be immersed in the joy of being with my grandchildren and sharing special moments on the coast.

C.C. and I debated about my going. The ‘second wave’ of the Corona Virus is expected to hit soon. Can I do the drive safely?

He was to have driven out before me with a friend, stopping to golf at several different courses along the way. After much consideration, he cancelled his trip but, we’ve decided that as long as I take all precautions, the risks are low. I do the 11-hour drive in one day, stopping only once for gas and calls of nature (which I plan for very carefully).

These are the times in which we live. Given Covid 19s presence and my aversion to flying in its midst as well as winter’s imminent arrival and the dangers of driving high mountain passes in winter months, this is probably the last time I’ll be able to see them until next spring.

I am grateful my daughter welcomes me with such love and grace.

I won’t have much time to post while I’m gone. See you sometime after the 15th.

Namaste and Happy Thanksgiving!

How To Nourish Body. Mind. Spirit.

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If they can make penicillin out of mouldy bread, they can sure make something out of you.  — Muhammad Ali

It appears that Covid has created some psychic mould. You know, those spaces where rather than nourish my body, mind, spirit, I fall prey to activities that leech away my creative essence and dry up my inner peace.

Like falling into binge-watching past seasons of shows I’ve never watched before on Prime and wouldn’t be watching now if it weren’t for Covid’s insidious presence. Because, you know — it’s not my fault. It’s these ‘uncertain times’ and sometimes the only way a girl can cope is by losing herself in mindless images parading across her laptop screen.

It seems that with Covid’s presence, I can easily be lured from my path of daily self-care day after day. Because, you know, if I let it go one day doesn’t it make sense to repeat it so I don’t feel so bad about doing it in the first place? Yeah. I know. Repetition of what’s not good for me just makes what’s not good for me a habit I’ll live to regret.

Being in a place of the peaceful unfolding of my day, especially with the feeling that Covid’s presence is just waiting to pounce every time I step out my door, can be challenging.

There are times when all I want to do is bury my head in the sand. Because, I tell myself, burying my head in sand will probably be just as effective or even better than wearing a mask.

There are times when I want to throw caution to the wind and just pretend Covid never happened, isn’t happening, will never happen. Because, when I was a child, pretend was such a wonderful game, why not play it now?

Houston. We have a problem.

Self-care is spinning off its axis and I am falling out of control.

Time for some straight talk and radical loving-kindness to fill the empty spaces where peace, harmony, joy… created my beautiful life.

Which brings me to the things I can do today to create more of what I want in my life every day. — Peace. Harmony. Joy.

The practices and things that connect me to joy, harmony, loving-kindness are well-known by my body, mind, spirit. It’s just sometimes, my mind wants to fool my body into thinking it’s okay being left alone. And sometimes, my body wants to divorce spirit so it doesn’t have to be accountable for keeping it moving, uplifted and connected to its essential nature.

Ah… the games we play when first we try to deceive ourselves into believing life is just a game that only needs to be played when we feel in the mood for a little light workout.

Life is not a game. It is in us. Outside of us. All of us. All of all that is within and around us.

Life matters and what we do in and with life matters every moment.

So…. here’s the thing. I’ve fallen prey to the ennui of these times. I’ve given too much mindspace to the notion, “I’m so tired of all this Covid stuff. Make it go away. Now.”

Fact is, now more than ever, I need to turn up for me and all the world around me to ensure, together and apart, we have the well-being to make Covid go away. Not with death but with beautiful, healing, sparkling LIFE.

So… I’ve committed myself to a 21 Day Plan to Embrace All that Is Present when I turn up in Peace, Harmony and Joy.

That means, along with daily practice of writing here, time spent in my studio, my twice-daily walks with Beaumont the Sheepadoodle and my daily skincare routine (Absolutely essential!) I shall be consciously connecting my mind, body, spirit to the essential nature of my human condition through daily repetition of five key practices I know are good for my body, mind, spirit.

Fact is, I seem to have fallen out of the regular committed practice of these vital components of creating more of what I want in my life today through falling prey to critter-mind thinking that… it all doesn’t matter anyway because Covid is stealing my peace of mind and clouding up my harmony and diminishing joy in my world.

Fact is, Covid can’t steal any of my peace, harmony and joy unless I give into the belief I am not accountable for or worthy of peace, harmony and joy in the first place.

So, to keep myself accountable, especially for the next 21 days as I reform the habit of doing these things every day, I am sharing my five daily commitments here:

  1. Meditate for a minimum of 20 minutes every morning.  
  2. Spend half an hour reading something inspirational every day.
  3. Write in my journal at bedtime for 20 minutes.
  4. Take my vitamins. Eat more veggies every day. Cut back on carbs and sugars.
  5. Do something for my community (and that includes writing my blogs as you are part of my community).

Oh! And there’s a few other things that are essential I consciously add into my life every single day.

  • Laugh lots daily
  • Dance
  • Breathe and release. Breathe and release
  • Practice loving-kindness with myself and all the world around me

And, along with the things I will do, there are some things I also need to publicly commit to not doing. The biggest one being… STOP WATCHING SO MUCH NETFLIX and PRIME!!!!

And yes, I’m yelling that to myself because sometimes… I need to shout to be heard above the critter’s insistence it’s okay to lose myself in mindless activities.

It’s not.

And I’m not okay with and within me when I do it.

And to get okay with me again, I need to practice loving-kindness with myself. Stopping doing things that are unhealthy for me is the greatest gift of loving-kindness I can give myself today to create more peace, harmony and joy in myself and all the world around me.

Namaste.

Wednesday Morning Wonders

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The view from my desk.

My office view used to overlook a parking lot.

I like my view better now. My lifestyle too.

There is a quiet, slow, lyrical rhythm to my days. A calmness that never existed in the past, no matter how much I meditated or breathed into the moment.

And I wonder…

Is it possible to be ‘in the moment’ when working in an environment that by the very nature of the circumstances of those who use its services, is fraught with drama and angst?

For almost 20 years I worked in the homeless-serving sector. Aside from 4 of those years when I worked in a Foundation, my office was situated in a homeless shelter.

I loved the work. The people. The sense of purpose that filled my days.

I did not like the stress.

And I wonder…

With Covid’s necessity of working from home for so many people, and so many companies talking about reconfiguring their offices to include permanent ‘work-from-home’ opportunities, will stress levels decrease?

And, will decreasing stress levels change the timbre of the world’s heartbeat? Will the earth’s pulse slow down?

And I wonder…

If as a ‘people’ we become less agitated by our busy scurrying from here to there, will we collectively embrace a calmer, gentler way of being present in this world?

The sun is shining this morning. The smoke that clouded the sky for days has lifted.

Sun dances through the leaves that dance to the music of the wind whispering through the branches of the trees swaying provocatively.

The river flows. Steady. A blue/grey ribbon of life moving ever forward. Always eastward to a distant sea.

I sit at my desk and watch a squirrel run across the lawn, its mouth stuffed with edibles its found on its foray through the garden. It leaps up onto the fence, hops onto the closest tree trunk and scurries from branch to branch back to its lair.

It seems unconcerned by Covid’s presence. It is oblivious to my watching eyes. The branches swaying in the morning breeze. The river flowing past or the sporadic traffic travelling across the bridge. It carries its bounty home. It is preparing for winter days to come.

And I wonder…

Does the squirrel’s blood pressure rise as it scurries around preparing for icy days to come? Does it worry about its capacity to survive Arctic blasts of bone-chilling air or, is its mind filled with visions of being warm and toasty, curled up with its den-mates over the long cold days of winter that lurk just beyond the horizon?

Does a squirrel know there is a tomorrow to worry about or does it live naturally in the moment of collecting food to carry home?

Wednesday morning wonders bring me back to earth. To this moment where I sit at my desk savouring the beauty and the loveliness of the world around me. The sun shining, the leaves dancing and the river flowing.

This moment right now. This is where I sit.

Weaving Our Way Home

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I am home now. After two-weeks away, we drove back over the weekend, stopping along the way in the Okanagon wine-country for some tastings and relaxation.

My heart is full.

The time with my daughter and her family, including newborn Ivy, was pure love.

My heart is heavy.

We are back on this side of the Rockies.

In wine country, C.C. and I rented a delightful Air BnB for three nights. We visited Bench 1775 Winery where we married five years ago, as well as a couple of other favourites and a new one too.

Wine tasting at Nichol Vineyard

It was a beautiful, relaxing respite.

It was also the shortened version of the trip we’d planned for our anniversary in April that was side-lined by Covid.

Covid changes are visible everywhere in wine country. There are limits on the number of people allowed in the tasting rooms at a time. Screens in front of the servers and social distance circles on the floor. Our favourite bistro at Liquidity is closed – though you do get a gift of a wonderful bag of fresh veggies from their garden when you purchase wine.

And yet, despite of and because of the changes, there is a beautiful, relaxed, slowed down pace to it all.

On Sunday, the last winery we visited was a new one for us, Nighthawk Vineyards. Daniel and Christy, the owners, were on hand to pour and share their stories of life as ‘farmers’ as Daniel calls it.

As we sipped and asked questions and Daniel shared his love of wine-making and farming, which he discovered 9 years ago when they purchased the property, we felt the warmth of the late afternoon on our skin and savoured the view of the small lake at the edge of their property tucked between the hills that surround their property.

It was an enthralling and inspiring sojourn.

Their two adult sons also work with them, creating a beautiful story full of the mystique and mystery of viticulture soaked in their love of family and their desire to create wines and experiences that reflect their deep commitment to the earth and environment and exceptional customer service.

The reflecting pool at Liquidity

Sitting in the late afternoon sun, savouring their delicious offerings, breathing deeply of the bouquets of the wine dancing on our taste buds and the gentle late afternoon breeze caressing our faces, I felt my body relax into itself as I said a little prayer of gratitude afor Love and life and people who create with such passion and integrity and share their gifts so graciously.

And when we were done, We drove back down the mountainside towards our little cottage, our hearts full of this time together.

The view from Bench 1775 – where we got married

When C.C. surprised me with his plan for our trip home, I whined. I wanted to get home. To be in-place again. I was tired, and not all that happy about stopping off.

I’m so glad he was patient and persistent and wise enough to know, I was tired enough to not know what I truly needed. The respite in wine country was perfect!

Home again, today I unpack, take a long walk with Beaumont and settle into being in-place.

While in wine country, I spent the mornings at our cottage, sitting on the deck painting and creating in my art journal. As with all the pages in this series, one of my mother’s prayer cards is collaged into the background – a now invisible thread weaving her prayers for everyone.

The text woven into the painting reads:

“We are the memory keepers. The weavers of threads of beauty and mystery and wonder into the warp and weft of life.

We are the story-tellers. The speakers of truth shimmering with grace and love into the tapestry of life unfolding as we journey through time and space.

We are the story-creators. The women gathered at the well throughout the ages. The women dancing around the fire, tending to the vestal flames of life on earth. Bearing life. Gestating. Birthing. Communing. Divining. Weaving.”

Namaste

PS. I am back home but not back regularly to these pages. I am relaxing over the summer, divining my schedule, and giving myself space to create so will be posting irregularly. I hope you visit and leave a comment. It is always such a gift to hear your voices and ‘see’ you here.

How To Surrender Fear

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When we began self-isolation, I stopped walking the path along the river to get to the off-leash park near our home. Instead, I drove the five minutes it takes to get there, telling myself there were too many bicyclists and too many people on the path.

I was scared of the very air I breathed.

A couple of weeks ago, I started walking it again.

My fear still lingers. Joy of walking, being in the open air, of the tranquility of the walk keeps calming fear into quiet surrender.

My walking to the park again came about by accident.

One morning a couple of weeks ago, I’d driven over. Walked for an hour and then, when Beau and I returned to the car, I discovered I’d lost both my phone and keys.

It was a lengthy search. Beaumont was delighted of the extra time at the park as well as the imperative of walking home along the path to get C.C.s’ phone so I could go back and search and ring and listen for it ringing. With Beaumont’s assistance, of course.

Eventually, my phone and keys were found. By a fellow dog walker.

When I saw the man on the trail in the woods ahead of me, I called out and asked if he’d seen my phone. He held it out towards me, smiled and said, “It’s been ringing and I keep answering but there’s no one there.”

Sheepishly I explained what I’d done. – held it away from me so I could hear it ringing. I never thought someone would be answering, I told him.

We both laughed. I thanked him profusely (I really wanted to hug him but I couldn’t) and we went our separate ways.

The next morning I began walking to the park again.

All because the day before my lost phone and keys forced me to walk along the path and face my fear.

There are still bicyclists on the path. And other pedestrians. But I no longer view them as ‘the enemy’. Like me, they are enjoying the park. The fresh air. The river flowing.

Like me, they do not want to contact Covid, so we keep our safe distance and when bicycles approach, I step off the path to give them room.

No matter the path, fear is an awkward companion.

Fear limits our thinking, sending our thoughts in spinning circles of anguished contortions filled with dire predictions of dark and gloomy possibilities.

Fear sucks the life and breath out of our bodies.

When self-isolation first began, my fear was reasonable. Not enough was known about the virus. Being cautious, taking precautions was imperative.

I still take precautions. I’m careful about who I see. Where I go and when I’m out and about, I wear my mask. (Thanks to my friend Wendy C I have several stylish options in mask wear!)

The difference is, I have faced my fear and embraced it, thanked it for doing its best to keep me safe, and let it know that it is no longer in charge of my thoughts and actions.

I am.

And in my being in charge, I lovingly embrace my fear and acknowledge its presence while also acknowledging that compassion, light, joy, love are also present. Together, they cast a brilliant light that shines brightest when I breathe deeply into my fear and surrender it to Love.

Covid is still to be feared. Fear no longer needs to control my life.

It is my choice.

To choose Love over fear.

And when I forget, I breathe and once again walk the path back to the light so that I can begin again to choose Love over fear. Always.

Oh The Times They Are A-Changin’

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The sky is very different today than when I took this photo last week. It is grey and lowering. Heavily pregnant grey clouds release their bounty upon the earth, nourishing plants and trees and soil. A prayer of hope for all life on earth.

The forest outside my window is different today than it was a week ago. The forest canopy is lusher. Full of spring’s delicate breath. Green leaves dance in the wind upon branches that sway with hypnotic grace, like a thousand Sufi mystics spinning in prayer.

The river too is different. Spring runoff in the mountains has begun in earnest. Snowbound slopes have given way to spring’s promise, releasing their burden of snow to the streams and rivers below. Outside my window, the river waters are swollen. They run high and fast. Their rushing waters flow with the secrets of time gathered from mountaintops and valley bottoms leading them to the mystery of a distant, unseen sea. Listen. The waters are chanting. They are pregnant with a luminous prayer echoing through time. May the river never stop flowing, they whisper. May time always pass.

The world is different today than just a few short days and weeks ago. Not just because of Covid 19’s sinister presence that still cautions us to slow down, to stay sheltered. It is different because the voices of the people are rising up as one voice, clamouring for change, marching for justice, kneeling on bended knee in unified prayer for the sake of our humanity.

Bob Dylan’s 1964 iconic song says it best:

Oh the times they are a-changin’.

Everything I Create. I Am.

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A quadriptych of bookmarks created on cast-off pieces of watercolour paper.

I wrote the following in response to a post David Kanigan of Live & Learn shared this morning. (Do go check it out — the quote and his photo are beautiful and provocative and peace-inducing. Click HERE)

“For the past month, I have been creating daily what I’ve called my Sheltered Wonder Art Journal. I wanted to explore what Covid brought beyond sickness and death, fear and loss.“

Covid brought silence. Deep. Meaningful. Exquisite, and sometimes painful, silence. It brought the opportunity to walk at a quieter pace, to speak more slowly, to act more thoughtfully, to be present in this moment more completely. To be still within the silence and the noise.

These are the lessons from these times I want to embrace. To carry with me. To hold as true to living a rich, fulfilled and compassionate life that does not seek its purpose in getting more out of life, but discovers it in giving more to enrich life on this planet we call home through everything I do. Everything I create. Everything I am.“

David, a master of words, condensed my response into two powerful sentences:

Everything I create. I am.

Yesterday, I had intended to take a rest day from the studio. And then, as she does, the muse floated in on a wave of joy enticing me to create ‘something’. “If everything you are is what you create, then what are you creating with your today Louise?” – I’m pretty sure she would have asked that if she’d read David’s response to my comment.

What am I creating?

Everything I create is an expression of my essence. My creative core. My joy. My love. My curiosity. And, my fears and sadnesses. My worries and confusions.

What I create is a reflection of all of me. I cannot separate one from the other. Everything I create. I am.

Not just in the studio, or the kitchen, but everywhere in my life.

Everything I create. I am.

When I let anger become my voice through words that hurt, I am those words. I am that anger.

When I allow fear to raise my arms against another, or turn my back on their suffering, I am that raised arm. I am that suffering. I am that fear.

And when I embrace life in all its beautiful nature and imbue everything in my world with Love of all life on this planet earth, I am that Love in all its beautiful nature.

Everything I create. I am.

I can chose to create from a place of anger, fear, worry. Or, I can choose to allow Love to be my inspiration. My muse. My spark.

Whatever I create. It is a reflection of all that I am.

Everything I create. I am.

I am sitting within the beauty and invitation of those words. Allowing them to slowly float down out of my conscious awareness deep into my belly to become my entire body attuned to their resonance.

Everything I create. I am.

Namaste