Category Archives: making the impossible possible

What if I try… and don’t fail?

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At a popular restaurant, a young man with Down’s Syndrome has an important lesson to teach.

Several years ago, he wanted to find a job. He asked an agency that supports people with barriers to help him.

And they did.

His career advisor helped him write his resume, develop and practice his interviewing skills, worked with him on improving his ability to handle human interactions, change and conflict in particular.

The agency also works with employers on diversity hiring and best practices in accomodating special needs and had a roster of opportunities for him to apply to.

After several months, the young man went for an interview and got a job as a dishwasher in a busy restaurant kitchen.

His career advisor stayed connected, helped him adapt to a busy workplace and worked with the employer to develop their comfort in working with the young man’s ‘style’.

After 4 years as a dishwasher, he is a valued member of staff, one of ‘the family’. Well-liked, he is included in all social activities, has made friends and is considered an essential worker, so vital to the organization that even with COVID’s downturn, the organization didn’t lay him off.

One day, the young man announced he wanted to work front-of-house, in particular, the cash register. This is a big move and everyone, including his career advisor who has stayed connected, tries to dissuade him.

“I can do it,” he says. His persistence finally convinces management to give him a chance. They move him to front-of-house as a busyboy. He excels.

After several months, the young man still hasn’t given up on his dream. He wants to work the cashier register and serve customers at the counter.

Several months ago, he got his chance.

He’s a star. Friendly. Always accurate in his work. Steady and solid in his service. Customers love him and the rest of the staff, along with his family and support team and career advisor… They learned a valuable lesson.

Barriers are limitations that haven’t been tested.

Our human minds perceive barriers to be concrete. Immovable. Insurmountable. So why bother testing them?

Everyone involved wanted to protect the young man — taking on such a big challenge left him exposed. “What if you fail?” they asked.

His response, “What if I don’t?”

_________________

Next time you face a new opportunity, experience, barrier, ask yourself… What if it’s not about protecting myself from failure? What if, it’s about giving myself the opportunity to succeed?

What if instead of fearing falling, I chose to believe in my wings?

Namaste

Just hanging On!

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Hang on! Hang on! The leaves cry frantically to one another. The fall is coming. The falling is coming. Resist! Resist!

Let’s stick together, they tell one another as they huddle closer to the branch. There’s strength in numbers.

In time, none of it matters. Resistance is futile. Defiance unnecessary.

As predictable as the earth’s orbit around the sun, the fall beckons. The leaves fall. Winter descends. Spring follows.

Nature always has its way.

Let’s face it, hanging on is sometimes the only way we know to avoid the thing we fear even more than speaking in public or dying — change.

Change is in the air. It always is. Change is here to stay.

Have you ever…

Stayed in a job you hate? A relationship that made you unhappy?

Are there clothes in your closet that no longer fit? Shoes that hurt your feet? Sweaters with holes and pulled threads that you no longer wear but just can’t get rid of?

And, what about memories?

Do you keep a reel of unhappy stories on repeat in your mind? Do you replay them and replay them so that your ‘poor me’ story becomes the only story you know how to tell?

Do you wish you could change the past? Redirect the movie of your life into someone else’s story?

Well, here’s the deal. No one is powerful enough to change the past. And someone else’s story will never fit you.

All you’ve got to work with to create the life you dream of is this moment right now and your willingness to bet your life on your heart’s desires, whatever they may be.

So… what’s holding you back? What are you hanging on to?

Ask yourself,

“What am I feeling right now? Do I want to be feeling these same feelings I’m feeling right now in a week, a month, a year, five years time?”

“Is there a burning desire deep within me to make a dream come true and I am doing nothing to make it happen because I’m afraid to let go of… [name your poison] Fear of failure. Looking silly. Falling down. Being laughed at. Being right. Having to learn something new. My story of why it isn’t possible. My deeply buried belief my dreams are not worth fighting for…”

“Am I holding onto past hurts and pain because I tell myself at least I can count on the past? Nothing changes there. And anyway, I’m not ready to let go of them yet.”

Once you’ve examined your feelings and thoughts around those questions, ask yourself, “What’s the worst that can happen if I let go of [fill in the blank] and my fear of change and the stories I tell myself and decide to just do it anyway?”

Fact is. You might fall.

Then again. You might soar too.

You’ll never know until you let go of what is holding you back…

_____________

About this post:

When I took this photo yesterday on one of my walks with Beaumont, I was fascinated by how this one bush was still covered in leaves when all through the forest the trees stood bare, stripped of their autumn finery by wind and snow and the changing of the seasons.

I wonder why this one tree hasn’t lost its leaves yet, I wondered… and then, the parallel to my life began to form.

What am I holding onto that I need to let go of? I wondered.

I think it’s a great question to begin my day.

Namaste

My Tears Have No Name

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My Tears Have No Name
©2020 Louise Gallagher

My tears have no name this morning
no one simple reason, no one single purpose
but to fall for all of this,
for all the world, for all of us,
for everyone and everything.

My tears do not need to be named
they are tears born of these times,
tears for these fears that walk with each of us.
They are tears for loss and grief, illness and death.
They are tears for those who are feeling lost and alone
and those who are hungry and frightened
and those who are ill
and those who are afraid that someone they love will fall.

My tears are all I have to give
to a shuttered-in world wrapped in fear.
My tears are the words I cannot speak
to a family I do not know, whose circle is broken,
a child who lost their grandfather
a son who lost their mother
a neighbour who lost a friend.

I have no words to name these feelings
my tears must speak for themselves,
and in their speaking
may they ease your pain as they ease mine
may they wash away your fear as they wash away mine
may they help relieve the burden
of being alone and isolated
of being laid off and frightened
of facing an unknown future
in a time when the future holds so much certainty
of sickness and death, loss and grief yet to come.

May my tears flow into the ocean
of your tears washing away the darkness,
letting in the light so that together,
we can see the path to where
what feels like life as we knew it ending
is actually the beginning of life that we create,
together, springing forth
out of Love for all humanity rising as One.

All Things Are Possible

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Iris as a little girl.

Lent leading up to Good Friday and Easter Sunday were very important and sacred times to our mother. To give up her earthly body on Shrove Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, was a testament to her faith and her belief of the forgiveness of sins through penitence and prayer. For our mother, there could be no holier time than this to ascend to be with her Father and those she loves.

As a child, I remember my sister Anne and I going to the church on Friday evenings and helping my mother change the flowers. She loved flowers and looked upon her duty of keeping the altar and church filled with beauty as a sacred trust.

Anne and I would rather have been out playing but mom insisted we attend to the needs of the church first, especially during Easter season.

Solemnly we’d kneel with her in front of the altar, pray a rosary and then, help remove the deadened flowers from each bouquet. My job was to place each dead flower on a sheet of paper, wrap them up carefully so that no stray leaves or petals fell out and carry them to the waste bin in the church offices. Older and bigger than me, Anne was allowed to carry the water-filled vases to the sink and empty them.

Then again, Anne’s being allowed to carry the glass vases may have had nothing to do with age and size and everything to do with the fact my mother knew she could trust Anne to take her job seriously. Me. Well… She probably feared I’d try to dance with the vase in my hands or even sprinkle the water on the floor of the sacristy like a priest sprinkling holy water on a penitent’s forehead.

I liked to play in the make-believe. My mother never quit praying that one day I’d learn to keep my feet on the ground.

She often felt I was too irreverent, too wild by nature, too free-spirited and strong-willed. I can still hear her cautioning me to ‘be careful’. To take heed. To watch my words, my steps, and even my dreams.

She wasn’t big on dreaming. Life was meant to be lived in the service of God. It was serious business, too weighty for dreams to take flight. Life, for my mother, was about living by God’s will. Walking humble. Staying true to her faith and being His servant here on earth.

She was ‘pure of heart’. She held no hypocrisy. No guile. No hidden motives. She dedicated her life to God and through extension, to her family and community.

She imbued the spirit of the Church she loved so much. She wore its traditions and rituals, its liturgy and songs like a beautiful velvet robe of grace and sacred service.

She told me once that most of the gold and silver jewellery she carried with her from India when she left to build a life with my father at the end of WWII was sold off in the early days of their marriage. Times were tough in those days and she had to do what needed to be done to take care of her family.

There was no regret in her voice for the loss of her jewels. Family always came first.

What never left her possession, however, was the rosary and wooden crucifix her father gave her as a child, and the statue of her beloved Saint Teresa of Avila. They had travelled the seas and continents with her, always finding a place at her bedside no matter where in the world she was.

Like Saint Teresa, my mother prayed for peace. Of heart. In her family. In the world.

She prayed for her Church. For her family and everyone she knew.

My mother prayed. Always.

It is one of the things I admire most about her and hold in awe.

No matter the challenges, no matter her losses, her sorrow, my mother never gave up her faith.

She also never gave up praying I would learn to keep my feet on the ground.

It’s something I never had to learn how to do, keep my feet on the ground. I am blessed. My life has been grounded in the constancy and faithfulness of my mother’s prayers.

This morning I sit at my desk, tears flow and my heart breaks open, filled with the beautiful gift of my mother’s prayers. I know,  deep within my being, my mother is looking down on me now, clicking her rosary beads in an endless circle of love, whispering her words of benediction and praying I keep dancing and laughing, living and loving with all my heart.

My mother is praying I have faith. In Love. In God. In her prayers.

She is praying I live my life in kindness, grace and Love.

It’s what she prays for all of us because she believes, like St Teresa of Avila, all things are possible.

 

The Invitation

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Photo-Credit-Sebastian-Buzzalino-4

It was just one of those invitations I could not refuse.

My beloved thinks I’m crazy, or at least a little weird.

“You’re going to do what?” C.C. asked when I told him about the invitation and my response.

“It’ll be fun!” I told him.

“And you think this is a great birthday gift?”

I do. I do.

Yesterday, my ‘tall’ daughter CJ (she’s actually the daughter of my dearest friend JD but, she’s so wonderful, I like to claim her as mine too!) and her partner, J, called to wish me happy birthday. Towards the end of our conversation, they threw in the idea that maybe, just maybe, I’d be interested in helping out in the kitchen at Mount Engadine for a couple of days.

“That would be the most amazing birthday gift ever!” I told them.

They laughed.

“You’d consider doing it?” J asked incredulously.

“Yup!” I enthusiastically replied.

After chatting with the general manager of the Lodge, I said, “Count me in!”

J is one of two chefs at the Lodge. Due to some paperwork issues with his landed immigrant application, he’s unable to work at the moment. It’s put a great deal of pressure on his co-chef at the Lodge who has worked two weeks solid and needs to get away for a couple of days this week.

Hence the invitation.

Cover off for the other chef for two days in the kitchen at Mount Engadine Lodge.

All the professionals they’ve tried are tied up.

I’m the only person they know who a) loves to cook, and b) isn’t phased by cooking for large groups of people. In this case, it’s only 14 – heck our Christmas dinner will be more than that!

For me, it is a dream come true.

I love the backcountry. I love mountain lodges. I love to cook. And, I get to help J out as he is feeling stressed by the fact he is causing undue hardship on his employer and the team.

I leave today.

I’ll be back Thursday afternoon.

Which means, I’ll see you Friday!

I’ll be shadowing the chef for dinner tonight and then… on my own for the next two days.

Colour me over the top excited. I get to bake bread. Bake cookies. Make dinner and breakfast and stretch myself by cooking for strangers in a remote mountain setting.

And I smile as I write that as the critter’s voice awakens and whispers (okay screams), “Are you kidding me? This is crazy even for you Louise! You are not a chef. You’ve never been in charge of a professional kitchen, especially in the mountains and cooking at altitude. Seriously?  That’s way outside your comfort zone. And btw. Did you notice you turned another year older yesterday?  You’re too old to be doing this.”

I breathe deep into my belly. Gently move my conscious awareness from the centre of my brain, where it likes to hang out and pass judgement on pretty well everything I do, down into my belly. I ask my deep knowing self, “When you let go of judgement, fear, worry, what feels most alive right now?”

The critter hisses, “Staying home where you belong!”

I gently invite the critter to ‘BACK-OFF!”

Okay, that wasn’t so gentle but honestly, sometimes that critter can be sooo annoying!

I breathe deep into my belly again. The critter breathes with me. As I sink down into being present in this moment, as I move into my inner knowingness, the critter’s fear opens up to the possibility that this adventure might be fun! It might even be good for me because stretching and doing things outside my comfort zone makes the most of my experience of life. It’s where I feel myself come alive.

I am off to cook at Mount Engadine Lodge for two days. It’s a beautiful place nestled in the Kananaskis mountains, 35km from the closest town. And while many years ago I helped out in the kitchen at Mount Assiniboine Lodge and cooked at Selkirk Mountain Lodge for a work crew, I’ve never taken on a kitchen in the Rockies all by myself.

It promises to be an adventure!

 

 

To Be or Not To Be. What’s the Real Question?

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how bright will

A bird does not ask if one day it will fly. A fish does not wonder if it will swim just as a river does not worry about where it’s flowing. It just flows.

It’s only us human beings who wonder, “What will I be?”

It starts at an early age.

When I was a little girl I would tell people I wanted to be an actress when I grew up because I wanted to make people laugh and cry and feel all the colours of the rainbow. That occupation did not sit well in my household so I changed it to a psychologist – maybe I could help people smile more?

And then, I grew up, (well at least kind of) and neither of those occupations were on my radar. But then, neither was becoming a leader in the not-for-profit sector working in homelessness on my agenda either. It just kind of happened.

Which brings me back to Hamlet’s famous question,

“To be or not to be.
That is the question.
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer,
the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
or to take arms against a sea of troubles.”

There is nothing noble in suffering. No rewards. No commendations. No aspirational title like, “Chief Sufferer of Life’s Slings and Arrows.”

There is only suffering in suffering. And I don’t know about you, but when I’m suffering, I kinda like to see the world as suffering along with me. It feels less lonely.

The situations that create suffering in our lives are not always of our design or choice. The things we do to keep us tied to the suffering, well, those are sometimes based on choices we make, albeit often unconscious and often circumscribed by the limitations of our environment and history. And while it is possible to change our circumstances, when we’re mired in suffering that keeps us tethered to the pain of our existence, it’s hard to recognize — there is another way To Be.

Working in a homeless shelter, I encountered daily people whose belief in themselves was so limited by their circumstances they could not see any hope of the possibility of change. Their roads had been dark so long, there was no glimmer of light in the tunnel of the dark and gloomy past, present and future they believed was theirs and theirs alone.

When I first started working in the sector, I started an art program in the shelter where I worked. I believe that it doesn’t matter where we’ve landed on the road of life, what matters is we stand up again and again and take one little step after another, again and again.

And that can be hard when the bottom feels like it is constantly falling away.

Which is where ‘creative expression’ plays a leading role. Standing up is hard without a foundation. Tapping into our creative core gives us access to a solid place to begin to see there is a possibility of some kind of ‘different’. As we dive in, we begin to see the world in varying hues of grey until the darkness opens up to all the colours of the rainbow.

And so, I come full circle.

The view from where I sit this morning as I type.

This morning, as I look out through my window at the beautiful blue sky above, two birds fly swiftly by. A gentle morning breeze brushes the snow clinging to the bare-limbed arms of the tree lining the river, pushing it gently into the air. Beneath the surface of the swiftly flowing river, fish swim in its depths.

Birds fly. Fish swim. The river flows. The sun rises and I smile at the symmetry of my life.

Once upon a time, I wanted to be a light so that I didn’t feel so alone in the dark and maybe, others wouldn’t too.

Today I know there is no choice to be or not to be a light. The question is, “How bright am I willing to shine?”

How bright are you willing to shine?

Dancing with the muse

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The finished front cover – “Grow only love in the garden of your heart.”

You know when you do something and think, “Well that turned out better than I expected!”?

That was my day yesterday.

The original notebook.

In preparation for the workshop I’m leading on Art Journalling at  Kensington Art Supply, November 19th, I am testing different ways of creating an art journal. Yesterday, I took an inexpensive scribbler and transformed it into the beginnings of an art journal.

The process includes gluing and taping together with masking tape every 3 pages so that they are stronger, masking taping the spines and creating a more sturdy cover. I’ll also gesso (a medium designed to strengthen the page’s ability to accept paint without soaking it up) all the 3-page layouts I’ve taped together as well as the cover so that we can begin to create and journal without spending time waiting for the paint to dry!

My process yesterday was all about painting the cover as I’d spent the evening before taping the pages together and affixing the heavier paper to make the cover.

Let’s just say, I’m pleased with the outcome – which is quite different than what my original ‘vision’ for the cover had been – and that’s the joy of art journaling. There’s really no destination other than where the muse, and your willingness to be open and present to the process, takes you.

Now my goal is to have several pages of the journal completed by the workshop so that I can use them as examples, and to have journals ready for the participants to begin painting. Each participant will be provided with a journal that is ready to paint — that means the cover and the first 3 page layouts.

For the workshop I will also have a journal example where rather than painting the cover, I’ll have glued paper to create the design. I’ll use papers I’ve already printed/painted and affix them to the cover – at least that’s my ‘vision’. We’ll see what happens when the muse and the creative process meet up on the cover page!

Art journalling is about the freedom to flow and be present to the moment. It’s about living the questions, not the answers or things you tell yourself you know.

Questions like, ‘I wonder what is calling within me to be expressed?’

What is the most brave thing I can do right now?

What am I not saying?

What if I give up thinking I know and allow myself the freedom to be present? 

Or, ‘I wonder what will happen if…?’

If I spread some teal over this pink paint and then use a stencil and babywipes to rub out some of the paint?

If I cover this area in gesso and let the images beneath peek out?

If I stop trying to make the page ‘look like something’ and just let it become what it is yearning to express?

Art journaling is all about expression, not perfection.

It’s about experience the freedom to create all over the page, not creating in a box.

And it’s about being present in the moment, letting what is appear without fearing what will happen if you just let go.

The muse and I danced together yesterday. I am grateful for every step of the dance we created together.

Namaste.

Spin Your Own Dreams

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When my daughters were little I wrote them a story about an unhappy caterpillar who cried and cried all the time. One day, his tears fell on a leaf fairy sleeping on a leaf. Surprised by the sudden rain pouring on her head, she awoke and demanded to know why the caterpillar was crying.

“I hate being a caterpillar,” the unhappy fellow wailed. “I hate it. Hate it,” and he shook his tiny body ferociously and cried some more.

“If you weren’t a caterpillar what would you rather be?” asked the leaf fairy.

“What a stupid question,” said the caterpillar. “How can I be anything else? I’m stuck in this body.”

“Well, I’m a fairy and I’ve got magic and I can turn you into anything you want,” the leaf fairy told him. She wasn’t used to being questioned so she had a bit of attitude around her response.

The Caterpillar thought about this for a moment. Magic. Hmmm… Anything he wanted…. Well in that case. “A rose,” the caterpillar promptly replied.

“Okay,” said the Leaf fairy. “Close your eyes. Here comes the magic.”

And the caterpillar scrunched up his eyes tightly and held his breath. And the leaf fairy whispered a few magic words and poof, she changed him into a beautiful red rose.

Alas, the rose was prickly and thorny. No one could get close to him. He wanted to be more… likeable. He cried again and asked to be turned into an iris.

“Okay,” said the leaf fairy. And once again, she cast her magic and he became an Iris.

The iris, however, was too blue. He was tired of being blue all the time and wanted something happier. Like being a bright, sunny faced daisy he pleaded with the leaf fairy.

The leaf fairy was getting a little put out with the caterpillar’s demands but agreed to give him a little more magic.

And once again, the caterpillar was dissatisfied. Being a daisy was sunny and bright and he had lots of arms to reach out and touch people with, but it was rooted to the ground. Everyone had to come to him!

Just then a brilliantly coloured butterfly flitted by. The caterpillar watched her in awe and then he knew what he really wanted to be. He wanted to be a beautiful butterfly with gossamer wings that shimmered in the sun, free to fly wherever he wanted.

He pleaded his case one more time with the leaf fairy. “Okay,” she said, “but this is the last magic I can do for you today.”

The caterpillar closed his eyes and waited. The leaf fairy whispered the magic words, sprinkled leaf dust all over him and when he opened his eyes anticipating wings to fly free, the caterpillar wailed in dismay. He was a caterpillar once again.

“I told you I wanted to be a butterfly,” he cried. “I hate being a caterpillar.”

“You are a butterfly,” the leaf fairy told him. “Inside you there is a beautiful pair of wings yearning to be free. But first, you must learn to spin your own dreams.”

_________________

Sometimes, I have not believed I could fly. Sometimes, I have clung to my disbelief in the possibility of change as I held steadfast to my resistance to dream. Sometimes, I have embraced the lie that I am not powerful enough to make my dreams come true, and sometimes, I have grounded myself so deeply in my fear of flying, I haven’t even bothered to try to stretch my wings for fear I will fall.

Regardless of the reasons why I haven’t catapulted my dreams into reality, when my dreams don’t come true the way I want them to, I have a choice. To find value in what is, or…. to hold still, take a deep breath, and keep on spinning my dreams into reality.

When dreams don’t come true, it’s because the dreamer spun in a different direction, changed their course, or simply gave up spinning in any direction at all or perhaps it’s because they were spinning cotton, not silk.

Today, I commit to spinning my dreams in the direction of my goals. Today, I choose to affirm, my dreams are mine to spin in every colour of the rainbow.

Today, I commit to spreading my wings. I don’t know their full extent until I reach beyond the edges of my imagination, out into the universe where dreams come true because I’m willing to spin my own dreams.

What about you? Are you willing to spin your own dreams?

__________________

For Renee.

She is Coming Home.

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She is coming home today.

Since she came into creation four years ago, she has hung in my office, a reminder to always give voice — to truth, kindness, compassion, justice, integrity.

Today she comes home.

There are fewer than a handful of paintings I’ve created that I am not willing to part with. She is one of them.

I call her my Spirit Voice.

She sings to my heart, my body, my soul, my spirit to always speak up. To not give into the voices of doubt, criticism, fear.

To sing, loud and clear (or as clear as my voice will sing — but there’s no judgement with Spirit Voice so clearly I sing!) To call out to my dreams, to the Universe, to all who will listen to come, join me on this field of possibility where we can dance together in a world of love, harmony and joy.

Today I begin to dismantle my office. In its coming apart I come together with my dreams of next steps, future visions. Rejuvenation.

Today, I dismantle one space to begin the creation of a new space where my world becomes a daily leap into the world of possibiity, setting off landmines of opportunity with every step.

I have loved my work. Loved the opportunity to give back to community and to those for whom poverty and homelessness have stolen so much.

I too once felt the despair of losing everything. I too was lost.

It took a community to bring me back to life. I am grateful to have been part of that community for others.

And, while my retirement from the formal work force doesn’t mean an end of that work, it does mean a change. A change I cannot at this point see, nor wish to discern.

I am entering my last four days of ‘formal work’. I stand in this liminal space and draw in a deep breath of gratitude.

Over 13 years ago, I stepped into an office at a homeless shelter and began this part of my working journey. Being a voice for those whose voices have been drowned out by the harshness and challenges of homelessness has been one of the greatest and most humbling opportunities I have ever had in my working career.

During that time I have been gifted with hearing and carrying countless stories of those who were swept away by the raging waters of homelessness only to find themselves safely on shore because of the countless many who line the banks and wade into the waters to help them reach the safety of solid ground.

And, during that time, I have been changed by ‘the work’.

Changed and moved. Humbled. Broken. Healed.  Forever made better as a human being.

Working  in the homeless-serving sector has taught me about true compassion. It has taught me that we are not our differences. We are all connected through this condition we call being human.  It has taught me about judgement. Privilege. Scarcity. Humility. Courage. Strength. Hope. Love.

And, it has taught me about our human will to live.

When I first started working in this sector people always asked me, “Isn’t it depressing?”

“No,” I’d reply. “Every morning hundreds of people whose lives I may not understand awaken and get up and take another step and another. I may not always agree with the steps they take, but every one of those steps is a testament to their fight for their life and their will to live. That is inspiring.”

She is coming home today. My Spirit Voice.

With her home-coming I carry with me all my hopes and dreams, aspirations and ideas for what my future will look like.

No matter what I do, what happens, what dreams may come, I will carry with me always the lessons I’ve learned, the stories I’ve heard and the people I’ve met who have made my life so incredibly rich, vibrant and fulfilling.

I am grateful.

Namaste.

___________

The reference to ‘Little One” is an ode to my father whose nickname for me as a young girl was, “Little One.”

Ruminations of a misty morning

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Silently, it rolled in from the west, snaking up the river valley, a soft gauzy blanket of white obscuring all that it enveloped.

I watched its approach. My eyes straining to see through its ethereal nature.

This is the way of falling asleep. The way of losing sight of clarity, of all that is real and true in life.

I watched the fog roll in and remembered a time when I lived within its depths. When my world felt like I was breathing shallowly in the marshmallow stickiness of lies and deceit that encompassed my entire being.

Those were the days when I was lost in dreams of shortcuts to happiness. When I believed in happily-ever-after.

And then I awoke to the dark and unforgiving truth that I was lost on the road to hell.

Frightened and trapped in my fear, I could not breathe deeply. I could not see my hands in front of my face, or feel my feet on the earth.

Terrified I would never find myself again, I became lost in a world of hopelessness.

And then, the fog lifted and I could see the world around me. I could feel my hands touching my face, my feet touching the earth.

Found again, I breathe deeply as the mist rolls in.

There is beauty in the mist gently undulating along the river valley.

The beauty is not in losing sight of the world but in knowing, no matter what the weather outside, I am safe, here, in this place where I stand in the eye of my truth. In this place, what happened then is nothing compared to what I am creating in my life today, day by day, standing true in me, myself and I.

We all get lost on the road of life. We all lose our way. Whether for a day, a month, a year or years, it does not have to be forever.

We can awaken.

We can step out of the mist. We can claim our place in the centre of our world.

For me, it took a miracle and a deep desire to seek forgiveness, to be forgiven and to forgive. It took believing that I was worthy or more than abuse and lies and deceit. It took believing that I am worthy of Love. Of self. Of others. It took believing I am worthy of life.

This morning, I watched the mist roll in and remembered the wonder and awe of being alive.

This morning, I watched the mist snaking up the river valley and saw the beauty of its gentle nature caressing the trees that line the water’s edge. In its memory I saw the beauty of my world today and gave thanks.

I am so blessed.