Category Archives: Essential Journey

All we have to do is let each other know, we care

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Yesterday, while on the phone with my eldest daughter, she stopped the conversation for a moment to thank a man as he walked past her. “Thank you for what you did,” I heard her tell the stranger. “You really made a difference.”

Earlier in the day, as she was leaving the hospital where her fiance has been for the past week, she started crying in the elevator. A man in the elevator followed her out of the hospital and walked behind her. After a few moments, he called out to her and asked, “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

That question from a stranger helped her feel better. Less disconnected. Less alone.

JM, her fiance, had surgery a week ago and it is not all going according to plan. Complications, set-backs have all impacted his smooth recovery. That morning, another set-back had caused concern for both her and JM. “This is not uncommon,” the medical team supporting him tells them, but that doesn’t ease their concern, and fear.

Fear is not a good companion, especially in times of medical unease. It causes the mind to wander into dark and dim corridors. It blocks the light.

For Alexis, my daughter, fear is the unbidden companion stalking her peace of mind and confidence in the medical system. “Nurses are so busy, mom,” she said to me on the phone after I commented that they were doing everything they can to help JM. “What if they’re not able to do everything they can because they’re too busy?”

My heart is heavy. It is not easy to go through any medical situation. Your fate is in the hands of strangers; of those you must trust to be doing their best, to know what is the best thing to do and to be putting your best interests at the forefront of every action they take.

It is not easy feeling helpless and for my daughter and her fiance, it is compounded by the uncertainty of his progress in recovery.

For my daughter, it is also compounded by the love she feels for this man, and her desire to ease his pain, to know that he will be alright and to help him with more than just her loving presence and calming words.

Sometimes, all we can bring is our loving presence and calming words. Sometimes, there is no other action we can take to change a situation or be of service than to be present for someone where they’re at.

It is how I felt Monday morning, kneeling beside the man on the sidewalk. There was nothing I could do to change his journey. Nothing I could do in that moment to change the course of history, the path that lead him to that moment in time when our paths intersected and he crumpled to the ground and I knelt down beside him. Uncertain as to what I could do, I did the only certain thing I knew to do. I could not leave him lying on the sidewalk without stopping to ask how I could help.

Eckhart Tolle wrote, “When you become uncomfortable with uncertainty, infinite possibilities open up in your life.”

Listening to my daughter tell me about the man who stopped to ask her what he could do, kneeling beside the man on the ground, reading your comments in response to my post yesterday, it struck me that, stopping to ask about one another, caring about each other, reaching out to support one another, that is what all of us can do to change uncertainty into infinite possibility.

I don’t know what will happen to that man next. I don’t know if he will awaken from the darkness of his despair. I do know that had I not stopped, I would have carried the uncertainty of wondering if I could have, should have, done something other than just pass him by.

We don’t have to shake up the status quo or write the next great novel. We don’t have to find the cure for the common cold or discover hidden treasure to make a difference in the world.

To make the world a different place, all we have to do is look out for one another. All we have to do is let each other know, we care.

And in our caring attitudes, in our compassion for one another, burdens are lightened, pain is lessened and the darkness slips away into the light shining from our hearts connecting us in love.

 

 

 

 

 

Learning to walk on my own.

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Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.  ∼ Ralph Waldo Emerson ∼

I walked at Nose Hill Park on Friday morning. Ellie, the wonder pooch, was with me every step of the way. Her spirit shimmered in the long grasses whispering in the breeze, her furry, waggy body bounced along the trail, nose pressed to the ground sniffing out gophers not yet risen from their winter sleeps and any other rodent foolish enough to stick their head up out of the ground.

I have not visited Nose Hill since long before Ellie’s passing last June. In the final months of her life, her body didn’t like long walks, especially when hills were involved, but, earlier in the week when a girlfriend invited me to join her for a walk, I suggested Nose Hill.

It was time.

Time to reclaim my joy of walking, with or without the pooch. So I did.

Yesterday, I walked alone. As I clambered up and down the trail that traverses through the woods along the river not far from where we live, I thought about the last time I’d scrambled along that particular trail.

Ellie was with me. It was summer, the year before she died. The trail from the ridge down to the river bottom is very steep and slick. Ellie liked to run ahead, racing up and down inviting me to hurry up. Didn’t I know? The water was not far away and it was never too cold, too hot, too anything to keep her from racing into its inviting depths.

Not always trusting her where water, sandy river banks and people were concerned, I kept calling her to hold back, stay with me. Ellie was hyper friendly and a big lover of racing into the river, running back to shore and finding the first stretch of sand she could to roll in. If people happened to be around, bonus! She could then complete her personal mental health/happiness exercise by running over to greet them after her roll was complete!

People did not always take kindly to Ellie’s enthusiastic, let me shake my wet, sand covered body all over you.

I had intended to take the main trail down into the bottom of the river valley and walk around the reservoir. It was a glorious day. Sunshine, warm temps, a gentle spring breeze and the water sparkling in the sun. The parking lot was full when I arrived but someone was just loading up their car to leave so I waited and grabbed a spot.

The trail was busy and I could feel Ellie’s spirit urging me to let go the well-travelled path and head off along the escarpment to wilder trails.

I heeded her call and even though the main trail was packed with people out enjoying the beauty of the day, aside from a father and his two children hiking together, I met no one else on my traipse through the woods along the river. Given the mud clumped on my hiking shoes and along the bottom of my pants, I understand. The paved trail that circumnavigates the 15 kilometers of the Weaselhead/Reservoir can be much more appealing, not to mention clean, in spring’s thaw.

For me, navigating slick, slippery mud filled trails, stepping over deadfall, pushing aside errant branches blocking the trail didn’t matter. All that mattered was being outside, cherishing each breath, each moment and the pure delight of living right now.

It is not quite a year since Ellie passed away. For almost 14 years she was my constant companion on every walk I took. I can’t recall ever hiking in the Weaselhead without her.

Yesterday, I made a heart of heart rocks in the sand for Ellie and sat in the sun on a stretch of gravel beach by the river. I breathed in and out and savoured the warm air slowly entering and exiting my body. I closed my eyes and felt myself sinking deeply into the peace and serenity of knowing, with or without the wonder pooch running beside me, there is no excuse good enough not to get outside and savour life. And if the trail happens to be busy, it doesn’t matter. Get off the trail and find your own path through the woods. Don’t be afraid of a little mud. It’ll all wash off in the rain, or the river if you dare!

This is life. Messy. Wild. Free. Full of itself and calling out for more. Sometimes we have companions on the trail. Sometimes we walk alone. But no matter how or where we go, life is an adventure calling us to live it up for all we’re worth.  And we’re worth a lot!

Dementia dialogues 3 – a post from JM Goyder

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Julie Goyder’s husband has Parkinson Disease. She shares their journey on her blog, JMGoyder.

Following Julie and her husband, Anthony’s, journey is a voyage into marriage, relationship, compassion, kindness, loss and above all love.

Recently, Julie took a part-time job at the home where Anthony lives. One of the things she does is take patients with dementia for walks through the grounds surrounding the care facility.

In the beginning, Julie chattered away, asking questions her patients couldn’t answer.

Until, she decided to share ‘the silence’ instead of words.

I wanted to share Julie’s beautiful post about the silence, the third in a mini-series she’s written about what she’s learned working in the dementia house.

I found it profoundly beautiful and inspiring.  Please… keep reading. You will be moved.

Dementia dialogues 3

by Julie Goyder

Okay so this post concludes the little mini-series about what I have learned over the last several weeks of working in the dementia house.

Silence is golden!

To begin with, I would take various of the ten women for wheelchair walks around the gardens and through the facility, bombarding them with my chatter and questions, pointing to flowers or pictures on the walls, or just telling anecdotes or jokes that I hoped would elicit conversations.

In hindsight, that was idiotic in many ways….    to read the rest of Julie’s blog, please click HERE.

For my brother. To die means to return to the general and eternal source, love.

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Tolstoy wrote, “Love is life.  All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and eternal source.”

On this day, in 1997, my brother and his wife returned to love, the general and eternal source, in a fiery crash on a northern prairie road.

It was sudden, inexplicable, devastating and ever-lasting.

On the weekend, I watched a video my niece posted on her FB page from her wedding in Australia last month. She looked beautiful, radiant, happy. And In Love.

She was 17 when her parents were killed. They never saw her graduate high school, university. They never saw her struggling to make sense of an event that could never make sense. They never saw her get married.

But in her smile, in her laughter as she clapped her hands when she and her beloved were pronounced ‘husband and wife’, in her love of the music that accompanies their wedding video, I saw my brother’s smile, heard my brother’s laughter, felt his presence in the music and knew that while he wasn’t there in this realm, his love and the love of her mother, surrounded her on that day.

We come into this world in love and return to it to become, the general and eternal source, a particle of love.

My brother left this earthly realm 18 years ago today.

Once upon a time he taught me to ride a bike, to dance the twist, to listen to the beat and let my body bend and dip to its calling. And though he drove me crazy with his insistence I listen to this tune and then the next without ever letting more than a few bars of each song play, he taught me to listen deeply to the music, to find its beat and let it move me. He taught me to laugh at myself and to laugh, deep from my belly, at life’s peculiarities. He taught me the meaning of being generous, of giving from the heart and not judging. He taught me to never back down, to stand up for what I believe in and to always take care of others. He once dragged me from a disco when I was underage, telling me it was his job to keep me safe. And even though I was angry at him for interfering with my rebellious night out, I loved him for his care. I loved him for believing he could keep me safe and then doing whatever he could to make it happen.

My brother wasn’t perfect. He was however, just like all of us, perfectly perfect in all his human imperfections.

For in all his many facets, there is one thing about my brother that could never be avoided, never be denied, never be destroyed. He loved.

Deeply. Completely. Totally. Unreservedly.

He loved.

Life. Laughter. Music. Having fun. He loved his friends and family, his mother and father, his sisters and above all, his wife and two daughters.

My brother and his wife passed away in a fiery crash 18 years ago today.

In the fiery remains of that crash, the love they carried, the love they were, the love they are remains today in the crystal clear truth of their becoming part of the general and eternal source, a particle of love.

Loving you George and Ros on this day, and every day.

Namaste.

Racing against time: are we there yet?

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He rushes onto the C-train, his backpack slung off one arm, a travel mug in one hand, a slice of toast wrapped in paper towel in the other. He stands, both feet planted firmly on the train platform, balancing himself as it lurches forward.

He’s in a rush. To get to school. Gotta eat on the run.

She races towards the doors of he C-train, sticks her arm in between the about to close doors and slips through the crack. Leaning against a glass divider, she pulls out her mirror and begins to apply her make-up.

She’s in a rush. To work. To a meeting. Somewhere. Gotta get prettied up on the run.

He dashes across the C-train tracks as the light is turning from flashing amber to red. Down the avenue, a train is coming closer. It blasts its horn to encourage the man racing across the tracks to get out of the way. He ignores it.

He’s in a rush. Somewhere. Gotta beat the train.

I see it everywhere. People rushing, racing to catch, the train, the light, time.

And I look at my life and wonder, where do I do it too?

And I laugh. Even though it’s not really all that funny.

Some mornings, especially those where I’m driving myself to work and not taking the C-train, I get in my car, to-go cup in the cup holder, cut up slices of an apple in a baggie on the seat beside me. I munch and sip as I drive into the city center and see other drivers munching and sipping all along my route.

We are a hurry up and get there, get ‘er done, let’s get going, times a’wastin’ kind of town.

In my awareness, I am reminded to slow down and breathe. To put thought into each moment, to savour each breath, enjoy the here and now.

In my awareness, I commit to honouring time passing with my presence firmly planted in the here and now.

Namaste.

On Tuesday, the Calgary Homeless Foundation where I work, honoured recipients of the Arthur R. Smith Awards.

The amazing Bandi, photographer extraordinaire, took some wonderful photos of the people at the event. Here’s one of my very favourites.

Sharyn, Louise, Wendy

Sharyn, Louise, Wendy

 

What a gift each breath is.

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I was walking through a dark passageway. No lights. Trees shrouding one side of the lane which passed between two buildings.

It was a shortcut. One I’d taken many times from the visitor parking to my girlfriends condo.

This night, I had just dropped my freshly turned 18 year old daughter and some friends at the bar to carry on their birthday celebrations. I drove her car back to my girlfriend’s where I was staying while in the city and took the shortcut I knew well.

I wasn’t expecting trouble. I wasn’t expecting a figure to leap up from the darkness of the trees. To appear  like a ghost rising up from the shadows.

And there he was. A dark figure calling my name.

For one instance, I froze. I froze and felt fear vibrating throughout my body.

And then I screamed and ran.

I did not stop. I did not respond.

I screamed and ran.

And I kept screaming until I reached my girlfriend’s who, on this night thankfully, had not locked the front door.

I burst into her home, locked the door and she called the police.

And I collapsed.

Later, her next door neighbour would tell me how she could hear my cries through the walls. How my wailing, gut-wrenching sobs broke her heart. How she wanted to cry with me and hold me and rock with me.

I have not thought of that night in a long while. Yet, last night, as I left the office and waited for the elevator, it came back to me. It arrived, unbidden, with the opening of the elevator doors and for a moment, a fissure of fear entered and I wondered if there was a dark figure waiting on the elevator.

It was empty. As was the main lobby of our building.

And I smiled. And breathed deeply. And stepped out into the early evening light.

Spring has arrived early and the air still held vestiges of the day’s warmth.

I was on my way to meet my beloved, C.C., at a restaurant for dinner.

I had nothing to fear.

It was only my mind playing tricks on me.

In the passing of the fear though, I was left with thoughts of my deep-seated tears that flowed that night. I was left with the feeling that those tears, those tears that tore out of my gut and hurled themselves into space were vastly, deeply healing.

And I am reminded of the poem I shared on Monday. Rain, like the sun, are necessary for growth.

Perhaps it is that tears are not grounded in the pain, but are rather, the pain’s release. Tears released my heart to beat freely.

Perhaps it is that tears are necessary to rid our bodies of painful memories, to turn sorrow into wisdom, wounds into joy.

Perhaps, my tears that night 10 years ago were a right of passage to flowing joyfully in love today.

I know it is so.

I do not think of that night often. And when I do, I think not of the man who rose out of the bushes to try to capture me once again in his weave of lies and deceit and hold me prisoner to his abuse. I think instead of the power of my voice to cry out against abuse and rise up above the pain to sing my song of freedom today.

Smiling, I stepped out into the spring night and drove off into the sunset to meet my beloved.

What a gift each breath is when filled with love.

 

When I get clear, the path to well-being is clear

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Not everything that is faced can be changed;
but nothing can be changed until it is faced.

~ James Baldwin ~

I am on a diet. Yup. The wedding looms and I stepped onto the scale and scared myself! How did I let 10 pounds creep back on?

But wait! Maybe they didn’t creep on. Excess pounds are sneaky little devils. Maybe they just sort of snuck in while I was sleeping and attached themselves to my body in the dark of night with the stealth of barnacles clinging to a whale.

Oh right, Not everything that is faced can be changed; but nothing can be changed until it is faced.

Time to face the truth. They didn’t sneak in during the night and they’re not some seaworld crustacean clinging to my flesh.

They are self created examples of me not paying attention. They are the result of me not balancing what I was eating with how much energy I was expending. When food in is greater than energy out, weight adds up to greater than what I want, need, is healthy for me or even desirable.

Oh, and then there’s the fact that I might have been, ok, no ‘might have been’ about it, I was not eating what was healthy, nurturing and good for me. I was all out into junk!

In times of stress, or when I’m tired, I am more apt to think the things that are not good for me are perfect. They call to me, inveigling their way into my lesser goodness-self, shadowing my inner wisdom with thoughts of, “it’s ok. you’re tired. You’ve worked so hard. You deserve a break. Worry about it tomorrow. Right now, you need to focus on the task at hand and not think about what’s good for you. Why beat yourself up for not eating healthily? Why not let yourself have a little give and take?”

Yea. Right.

The give and take becomes more giving in to the unhealthy and taking on the pounds and inches!

Just to be clear. I am not beating myself up about 10 extra pounds.

What I am doing is getting clear and focused on what I want. And going public with my belief I deserve only the best.

When I get clear on what I want, the path to what I want is clear and less becomes doing more of what I want in my life.

I want to be healthy. I want to feel healthy. I want to feel energized, excited about everyday. I want to wake up every morning feeling like this truly is the best day of my life to live well and live fully in the rapture of now.

That means finding value in all things.

It means being truly committed to living my best life yet. It means focusing on what I can change, and letting the things I can’t change go.

I can’t change the fact I allowed myself to indulge in bad behaviour for the past couple of months or so.

Just as I can’t change the past, I can’t change the fact I am 10 pounds heavier today because I quit doing the things I know create balance and harmony in my being present in this world everyday.

What I can change is what happens now. What I do next.

It means, I can change my focus on what happened, and turn to what I can do, now.

That means, loving myself completely and doing the things I know nurture and nourish me into well-being. It means loving me as I am present today and moving with grace and ease into eating well, exercising, and meditating — All three of those very important foundational elements of my daily routine have been missing from my daily routine for awhile.

Time to….

Begin again.

Always begin again.

Namaste.

 

From grumbles and gripes to gifts and gratitude

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When I unpacked the new toothpaste tube from its box I grumbled. I’d bought the wrong one! I actually had to unscrew the top not flip it open.

Really? That’s going to take me seconds more! And it requires two hands. And I’ll have to put the lid back on too!

Harrumph.

And then I laughed at myself.

Such a first world problem.

Everyday I encounter big and small problems that cause me to grumble and gripe in silent sufferance of their presence in my first world existence.

I forgot to stop at the grocery store on my way home to pick up milk for my coffee in the morning. The hot water is taking too long to get through the tap.  I forgot to take out the laundry from the dryer. The driver in front of me didn’t signal he was turning left and now I have to wait until he clears the intersection. What if I don’t get through this light? That pedestrian walked on the flashing orange. Doesn’t she know she’s not supposed to? She’s making me wait.

And I could go on.

And on.

In every life, we have grumbles and gripes that ruffle up the waters of our sailing smoothly through each day.

It’s not that we’re looking for trouble. It’s just we don’t have time for these irksome little issues that pop up and slow us down or distract us from getting on with what we’re doing because, don’t you know? We don’t have time for this!

And seriously. Can’t the rest of the world see that what we’re doing is more important than someone else getting where they want to go. That their having what they want to have comes after me getting what I want? That their doing what they need to do is not as important as my ‘to do list’?

Life is a journey of interdependence and cooperation. It takes all of us to keep the peace. All of us to create it too.

And it begins with the little things in our world.

It is not that serious an offense to buy ‘the wrong’ kind of toothpaste. But that fissure of irritation that rippled through my mind when I discovered what I’d done, that did create discord in my being.

Until I moved to gratitude.

I am grateful I have choice when I go out to buy my toothpaste. I am grateful I have a job I love that provides me the money with which to buy it.

And I am grateful for the reminder that I can take my good fortune for granted.

I am grateful there are traffic lights to govern traffic flow, and that people adhere to them making it safe for everyone to drive on the roads.

I am grateful that person got to cross the intersection without getting hit. That they trusted me enough to know they didn’t have to fear my running them over. Sure, they’re ‘not supposed to’ cross on the flashing orange. It’s not a big wait to let them get safely to the other side. And truthfully… Don’t I sometimes rush across the intersection on the flashing light when I’m walking too? Don’t I rationalize when it’s okay for me to do it?

I am grateful for the opportunity to see where my actions are not congruent with my thinking.

I am grateful I have the choice to do better, to change my actions, to see the parallels in what I do and what others are doing too. It reminds me, we are all on this human journey together.

If I’m going to carry anything to help me get through my day in grace, let it be tolerance, compassion and gratitude.

Let me let go of gripes and grumbles and turn instead to gifts and gratitude.

What a gift to be able to have choices, to have hot and cold running water, a fridge to keep my milk cold, and a store to go to when I run out. What a gift to be able to drive to the store so I don’t have to carry heavy groceries too far.

Let me see the gifts in every moment of my life and give thanks for all its possibilities.

Let me let go of gripes and fill my heart with gratitude.

Namaste.

 

Life is a work in progress

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Art Journal Feb 21, 2015

Art Journal
Feb 21, 2015

Val Boyko writes beautiful and enriching words on living life in the balance of all things at her blog, Find your Middle Ground. Last week she shared a delightful acronym for the word STOP in her post, STOP and Find Balance.

STOP in Val’s words is a good reminder to,

S = Stop for a moment…

T = Take a full deep breath…

O = Observe… What am I aware of right now? … What is alive in me? Can I be with it whatever is coming up right now.

P = Proceed… What do I choose to do now that I have stepped back and been an observer of myself. The options are many…

I don’t work Fridays. By design my work-week is four days. As I’ve got so much to do right now, however, taking Friday’s off is not my choice.

Which means, I need to STOP more often to find myself amidst all the lovely things on my plate because, no matter how lovely the things, I can get lost in the busy-ness of it all.

C.C. plays hockey Friday afternoons and afterwards was watching the NHL game with team mates. When I got home I had the house to myself and in the quiet of it all found myself immersed in the joy of creation in my studio.

Saturday, I had intended to work on the final proof of the report we need to have printed this week, but I didn’t have the final version back yet, so let my plans go. I spent a bit of time cleaning up some work I needed to do and then, once finished, slipped back down to the studio to keep playing.

Yesterday, still no final proof and a great opportunity to keep creating.

But, rather than paint, I worked on the brooch bouquet I’m creating for our wedding. If you’ve never seen a brooch bouquet, check out Pinterest ideas. They’re stunningly beautiful and as in the case of my bouquet, have meaning. Some of the brooches I’m using were contributed by family and friends. There’s an elephant my sister gave me years ago, one from my father’s sister, another from the wonderful Kerry Parsons who will be officiating at our wedding.

I’d started working on the bouquet after Christmas and was stalled in that space of chaos in the middle of creation — the not finished project hasn’t had enough space to breathe and my head wants to tell me to give up. It is quite time-consuming as each brooch needs to have two wire stems affixed and spun together to create enough stability to hold their place in the bouquet.

Brooch Bouquet -- A work in Progress

Brooch Bouquet —
A work in Progress

The process is meditative. As I worked, I felt myself settling into the rhythm of creation, and even though I was watching “Romancing the Stone” 🙂 on Netflix, I found myself slowing down, I felt my breathing deepen, my heartbeat quiet.

I listened deeply to my heart yesterday. As I wired and spun and worked to create a thing of beauty to carry on our wedding day, I rejoiced in the wonder and awe of walking in love. As I carefully constructed the bouquet, I cherished the memories of each piece of jewelry and savoured the essence of the person who gave it to me and the gift of carrying them in my heart, and hands, today and every day.

It still needs some work to find its balance, some added space fillers to find its symmetry. But I’m happy. It is, like all things creative, a work in progress.

 

 

The Poetry of a river

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FullSizeRender (25)

Art Journal Entry February 17, 2015 ©2015 Louise Gallagher

The poetry of a river
is heard
in the depths
of its joy
flowing freely
into the sea
of life.

The poetry of life
is found
in the river
of joy
flowing endlessly
into the heart
of Love.

I can’t remember where or when I read or heard the line, the poetry of a river,  but I remember thinking, I must remember that, it’s beautiful.

Last night, when I entered the studio to spend some contemplative time, the line appeared and the word/art flowed.

I am grateful for the quiet. For the time to simply be present in front of a blank canvas or journal page.

In the presence of its invitation to let creativity flow, my mind empties and I become full of wonder and awe at how easy it is to find my balance when I let go of holding onto the thought, ‘I must find my balance’.

I am neither out of or in balance. I simply am where ever I am, living whatever label I give myself for where I am.

In letting go of needing to find my balance, I find my path through the questions that are percolating on the edge of my consciousness.

I am in a phase of extreme busy at work right now.

I am planning a large event for 400 people for March 3rd, which entails not only planning for the event, but also editing, publishing, printing a large report along with a website and video. It is work I love but the timeframe to get it all done is very tight given that the date for the event was set at the end of January.

It’s meant some busy days, and as is apparent by the time at which I’m writing, sleepless nights.

Spending time in the studio is essential for me to keep balanced and present. Spending time in the studio is something ‘the critter’ would like me to avoid.

“Just veg out Louise,” he hisses into my left ear when I change out of my work-a-day clothes into my paint splattered comfies. “Go on. Sit in front of the TV and turn your mind off. You don’t need to create.”

Of course, there’s the voice of ‘uber conscientiousness’ trying to cut in too. “Louise. You have not yet read that report on Collective Impact. What is your problem?”

Ever notice how critters and other nefarious voices have a definite style and place? Mine sits on my left shoulder, jumping up and down in its attempts to get me to pay attention, flinging its arms and flapping its tail as it whispers un-sweet ditherings into my ear.

He likes to ensure he’s hard to ignore!

Fortunately, I know what’s good for me even in the face of his insistence he knows better.

Fact is, when immersed in busy, I need to give myself the gift of time to create in order to let go of the pressure building on my list of ‘to do’s’ if I am to avoid the panic that sets in when thinking about all I have yet to get done.

What’s your path to balance? Where do you go to give yourself space to be present?