I was humbled yesterday. Brought to tears by one man’s story.

He’s 47. When he was 2 or 3 days old, he stopped breathing. Oxygen deprivation resulted in Cerebral Palsy.

His movements are jerky but he can walk.

His speech is limited, but he can talk.

My hearing’s okay, he motioned to the crowd who sat listening in awe to his speech at “Let’s Talk Hope” yesterday, a one day conference designed to create conversation, communication and connection on mental health. Organized by the incredible Connie Jakab of Movement with a Message, the day was jam packed with inspiring speakers, performers and attendees.

And then, Sheldon Penner took the stage, or Shel-dog as he likes to be called.

If you’ve wondered what someone with a disability can teach you, believe me, it’s a lot!

Sheldon can’t speak. At least not in the traditional form of speaking to which we were accustomed. Yesterday, Sheldon taught all of us that lack of verbal communication acumen doesn’t mean you can’t communicate.

For 15 minutes, the audience laughed, cried, cheered and sat in absolute silence as the words Sheldon typed on his laptop were projected onto the giant screen behind him.  They sat in silence as they read the words of his pre-loaded powerpoint and they held their breath as the poignancy and truth of his words dug into their hearts and minds.

What hurts me?  Sheldon asked.

People not understanding. People thinking I’m stupid. People judging me.

It was all there, in black and white on his screen. The limitations of we, the able bodied, to cope with someone else’s visible disabilities. Our inability to walk with grace no matter who we encounter.

I was humbled yesterday by a man who cannot speak but whose words touched my soul so deeply, I cried in the light of his beauty, courage and grace.

Thank you Connie Jakab for being such an incredible light in a sometimes dark world. Thank you for sharing your brilliance to create Let’s Talk Hope so that together, we can all see in the dark and shine a little brighter.

My father’s nickname for me was ‘Little One’.

I much preferred it to the one the rest of my family used, “The Brat.” More often than not though, I probably lived down to “The Brat” trying to make myself not feel so small and little.

I don’t remember when I first began to feel like I didn’t fit into my family. That somewhere in the cosmic journey my belonging got tilted into the twilight zone of not being part of the greater whole that made up our familial unit.

I remember though, the day I decided I had to do something about it.

I was in my early twenties. My parents, brother and sister-in-law had come to visit. I had just started my first ‘real job’ and had to work late. I left the key under the mat and told them to make themselves at home until I got there.

When I did get there, my father and brother were well into a bottle of scotch and having a grand time of dissecting my life. Under the liquid courage that buoyed them up, they decided to set me straight as to why my life wasn’t as great as I thought it was, and why I wasn’t that great a person either.

It was not a happy evening. Eventually I told them that if they wanted to talk about me like that they’d have to go stay somewhere else.

They left and went to stay in a hotel.

I lay on the rug in the living room and wept.

I couldn’t understand it. What had I done to them to make them dislike me so much? What was wrong with me?

I began a journey of self-discovery. It would be many, many years before I found answers that I could live with peacefully. In the process though, I discovered the greatest gift of all.

Self-love and acceptance of all of me. Beauty and the beast. Yin and yang. Lightness and darkness. Grace and hubris.

Yesterday, my ego got triggered. In its need to feel good about itself, to defend against what it perceived to be people undermining my worth, it acted out. It became ‘the victim’ and, just like in my twenties when I couldn’t understand why my family would think so poorly of me, in its strident screaming to ‘Dive! Dive! Dive’ for cover, I moved into that place where my vision of myself was clouded by thoughts of, ‘what’s wrong with me?’ and even more damaging to my peace of mind, ‘why don’t they want me? – which is really just an adult translation of my childhood pleading to my siblings ‘why won’t you play with me?’

I am grateful for those moments where I am reminded how quickly ego can leap into the fray and pull me from my centre.

I am grateful for the reminders that open space for me to find my sense of self-worth amidst ego’s assertions It’s not safe here. Run away! Hide! 

In the open space between the fear of “I’m not good enough” and the truth “I am worthy” is that place where I am free to ask myself ‘what’s really going on for me in this situation?’ and listen deeply for the answer within.

Deep within, in the quiet of meditation, in the waters slowly flowing past my window like liquid butter, I breathe into ego’s fears and find my truth shimmering in the light of understanding.

Love is calling me to rise up out of the angst of the there and then into this place where no matter what is happening in the here and now, I am safe in Love’s embrace.

In this space I smile at myself, lovingly, and laugh as I throw my hands up above my hand and exclaim, “Look at me being so human! How fascinating!”

I took an ego trip yesterday. I’ve come back to earth. Come back to the centre of my being present and accepting to all I am, all that is happening without fearing what’s happening will make me less than who I am.

I am a woman of worth, a divine expression of my life lived in the wonder and awe of amazing grace dancing brilliantly in the many facets of its human imperfections.

Namaste

Every morning at 6:45 I hear a screeching noise. It only lasts a second or two. It always makes me smile.

The noise is the sound of bicycle brakes being applied as a rider takes the curve at the top of the hill on the path that curves under the bridge along the river.

It makes me smile because, while I can’t hear the noise of the traffic crossing the bridge, every week-day morning I hear the bicycle rider. His screeching brakes are at a different frequency.

Like conversations.

People say something and I hear something else, or nothing at all. I’m not listening. Or perhaps I’m thinking of something else (like how to argue my point if I don’t want to hear their’s) or it could just be we are speaking different languages, even if we both speak English.

Speakers provide the context through their words. The listener makes the meaning through their context.

Recently, my beloved and I were having a conversation about an issue that is a bit ‘hot’ for both of us. His response didn’t make sense to me. Okay. honestly — I thought his response was stupid. Fortunately, rather than tell him that, or say something else that would have inflamed the situation, I asked for clarification. (I didn’t want to respond too sharply and needed to breathe and listen deeper. A good way to give myself that opportunity is to ask the other person to ‘tell me more or ‘help me understand’ what they mean.)

When he replied, I laughed. Even though I thought we were talking about the same thing, we were actually talking about two different situations. It’s just we’d both assumed the other knew what it was we were discussing. He thought we were talking about something we were going to do and I was talking about something we hadn’t done but had agreed we would do.

It’s easy to get mixed messages, to hear things that are not said or to not hear what is being said or to think the other person knows what you’re talking about even when you haven’t talked about what it is you’re talking about.

As the listener, we make meaning of what the other person said. Sometimes, our meaning-making is different than what they meant. (Okay, almost always because the listener is the one who makes meaning of what they heard and their meaning will always come through what they believe, know, think, feel, see, and perceive.)

I heard the screeching of bicycle brakes this morning and was reminded that what I hear is not always what is being said. Sometimes, the speaker and the listener are not on the same frequency. Sometimes, I’m just not listening to what they’re saying. I’m only hearing what I think and feel about what I hear.

It’s important to tune in to the other to hear what they are saying and to tune out what I think about what they’re saying. To do that I must breathe and seek first to understand.

This morning, over at David Kanigan’s blog, he shared a quote from Eckhart Tolle:

When you get into your car, shut the door and be there for just half a minute. Breathe, feel the energy inside your body, look around at the sky, the trees. The mind might tell you, ‘I don’t have time.’ But that’s the mind talking to you. Even the busiest person has time for 30 seconds of space.

– Eckhart Tolle, from Oprah Talks to Eckhart Tolle (Oprah.com)

When I stepped into the role of Interim Exec. Dir. at the family emergency homeless shelter and housing provider where I work, I made a commitment to write a weekly intention and share it with staff. I’ve been doing it ever since.

Yesterday, I forgot.

Oh, I thought about it at one point but we’re in the middle of budgets for next fiscal year and thinking about it did not translate into creating and sharing my weekly intention.

This morning, I sent it out.

I thought about not doing it this week, of skipping it, but that would not be the right thing to do.

I made a commitment. It is very important for me that I keep my commitments.

For me, my listening for my daily intention is all about that ‘space’ Tolle writes about.

To hear my intention, I must take a few moments to slip into the silence, breathe into the quiet and let the words rise up as I feel the energy inside my body, the air on my skin, the darkness and the light that surrounds me.

In the beginning, when I first started sharing my weekly intention with staff, my head-chatter warned me, “Don’t do it!”  They’ll think you’re stupid. Crazy. They’ll laugh at you. Snicker behind your back.

Since the first time I shared my weekly intention, I have received many comments about how people appreciate my taking the time to do it. “You remind me to stop and breathe sometimes and not get all uptight about what’s going on in the shelter,” one staff member wrote.

My intention when I began sharing my weekly intention, was to create a space for transparency, openness, thought-full conversation. I wanted staff to know who I am beyond just the ‘title’. I wanted us to share a moment of space each week.

As Tolle suggests, what’s most important is that in setting and sharing an intention, an opportunity is created for each of us to step into a moment of ‘space’ where, amidst the busy-ness and chaos of a homeless shelter, everyone is invited to stop for a moment, breathe and remember that even in the busy-ness, there is always space to connect to the calm within and be present to all that is happening without worrying about all that is happening.

Namaste

Recently, I saw a couple making out in a bus stop as I drove by. I mean, really making out.

Later, I read a news article about a movement in Vancouver to provide homeless couples freedom to have sexual interactions in parks. The theory being, they have no where else, why not in a park?

Which got me thinking about freedom.

Freedom doesn’t mean living a life free of moral responsibility, lawful living and justice. It means, the freedom to own my own destiny — within moral reason and lawfulness. To act in accordance with my values, beliefs, principles — within the context of the society in which I live, its laws and social mores guided by my moral compass which hopefully, always points me towards doing the right thing.

On the surface, I might think that’s not freedom. It’s got too many constraints and boundaries limiting what I can do. With all those limitations how will I be happy?

Happiness guru Dr. Dan Gilbert proved in an experiment on synthetic happiness that putting boundaries on choices makes people happier. He says, we should have preferences, we all need boundaries. When our ambition is bounded, we work joyfully. When it is unbounded, we lie and cheat and manipulate to get what we want. When our fear is bounded, we are prudent, cautious, thoughtful. When fear is unbounded, we are reckless and cowardly.

In freedom, I know contentment when I know that what I am doing fits within the moral construct of my world, and does not leave me exposed to risk of arrest, condemnation, and the fear of self-loathing.

Just because I want to do something in the name of freedom doesn’t mean it will make me happy. If it pulls me away from the True North of my moral compass, I risk being unhappy with my choice and the consequences as well as myself.

Thoughts to ponder.

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To learn more about Dan Gilbert and his research on choice and happiness, watch the video below. I found it fascinating!

There’s a wonderful story, by David MacNally which he put to video with Mac Anderson, about an eagle who, in the process of helping her babies fly, must push them from the nest — because if she didn’t, they would stay forever stuck in the belief they don’t know how to fly.  At one point, the mother Eagle asks herself, “Why does the thrill of soaring have to begin with the fear of falling?”

Most things I’ve tried in my life, I have felt fear.

Sometimes I’ve ignored the fear. Sometimes I’ve given into it.

Whenever I’ve given into my fear, I’ve carried with me a regret — because fear is not a good motivator of growth. Fear keeps me stuck.

When I took on my current role as Interim Executive Director at the Family Emergency Shelter and Housing agency where I work, fear kept whispering in my ear, “You know you’ll fail… you know they’re going to find out you don’t know what you’re doing.”

I had to choose to breathe into my fear to get to the place where my courage was calling me to leap; even if I didn’t know if I could fly.

Fact is: Failing is always an option. So is flying.

I have been blessed. In my four months in this role, I have surprised myself with my capacity to lead. And I have been surprised by my willingness to accept support and encouragement from others.

Because that’s the thing about my fear… to hide it, I have been known to pretend I know what I’m doing, even when I don’t. And, when I’m pretending I know what I’m doing, I put up walls that are meant to protect me, but mostly just keep me isolated and repeating the same mistakes again and again.

One of the lessons I’ve learned to appreciate and embrace as I’ve stretched myself into this role is that, it’s not about avoiding mistakes. Mistakes are part of learning new things, stepping into a different role, challenging myself to grow. What doesn’t have to be part of it is, giving up or not attempting it in the first place. What I’ve learned is that as long as I trust myself enough to acknowledge my mistakes and have the courage to not put up walls by defending against them, I am open to receive their lessons. And in that place, grace has appeared again and again in the form of the people around me who are willing to encourage and support me to get back up.

I have had a lot of people encouraging and supporting me throughout this journey. They are the best kind of people to have around. I am so grateful.

Over the next few weeks, I will be stepping out of this role as a new ED will be appointed. I don’t know who it will be. I do know that whatever the outcome, I have been blessed with this incredible opportunity to work alongside some of the most compassionate, intelligent and passionate people I have ever met.

My life is richer for this experience, not because of the things I’ve done or learned or achieved, but rather, because the people I’ve walked alongside have made my journey so much richer with their presence and their willingness to give me a push when I needed it, a hand up when I fell, a shoulder to lean on when I grew weary and a light when I struggled to find my way.

I am truly blessed. I began this journey with fear and have found myself courageously soaring with heroes all around me.

Mixed media on card stock 6″ x 6″ Louise Gallagher

Rumi’s poetry always captures my heart, opening me up to the simple and provocative truths of our human condition.

This morning, I visited a poem I have not read in a long while, The Water You Want.

The Water You Want  Jalaluddin Rumi

Someone may be clairvoyant, able to see
the future, and yet have very little wisdom.
Like the man who sees water in his dream
and began leading everyone toward his mirage.
I am the one with heart vision.
I have torn open the veil.
So they set out with him inside the dream,
while he is actually sleeping
beside a river of pure water.
Any search moves away from the spot
where the object of the quest is.
Sleep deeply wherever you are on the way.
Maybe some traveler will wake you.
Give up subtle thinking, the twofold, threefold
multiplication of mistakes.
Listen to the sound of waves within you.
You are dreaming your thirst,
when the water you want
is inside the big vein on your neck.

Slipping into meditation I carried the phrase, ‘heart vision’ with me. The following poem moved through me, writing itself into creation.

Heart Vision ©2019 Louise Gallagher

In my heart vision I tear away the veil
that blinds me to nothing
but my fear of falling
into the dark stagnant abyss
where love will never find me

Silently
I rise above
the fog of my delusion.

Truth shimmers dancing in the light
of fear held silent
in arms of molten lead
pinioning me to the pain of believing
that I must seek love to find it

Searching for the way I find myself
listening to the sound of my ears opening
to the truth where hope rises
into the mists of my fear falling
into nothing but Love.

Joyfully I embrace
the vision of my heart.

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And as a special treat, here is Coleman Banks’ reading of The Water You Want.