Category Archives: My Daily Intention

The Lightness of Living on Purpose

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Why the fear of not having a purpose is holding you back—and how to find freedom in every single act.

We talk a lot about purpose. We talk about finding it, earning it, and living it. But in our obsession with finding a purpose, we often trap ourselves in a constant state of anxiety and comparison. We get stuck in an unhealthy emotional morass, believing others have a grander purpose than we do—or that we have non at all. This leads to a cascade of negative beliefs: I’m not good enough. I don’t make a difference. I’ll never measure up. I don’t matter.

The fear of not having a purpose often propels us into dead-end streets and chaos corners. It compels us to keep searching, to never let our guard down, and to stand vigilant for some grand purpose to float by so we can claim it. We tell ourselves, “I’ll finally matter when I find my purpose!”

What if you don’t have to search for purpose? What if all you need to do is live on purpose?

The Heavy Load of Finding Your Purpose

Countless books have been written about finding your purpose. We often see purpose as “what we do in the service of others,” as if it’s a monumental job description we must earn. Yet, what we do in service is simply a reflection of how we live our lives every day, in alignment with our values, principles, and beliefs.

The other night, while having dinner with my two daughters, we went around the table and shared a unique quality we admired in one another. When it was my turn, both of my daughters said, “You have a unique ability to meet people where they’re at and see the good in them.”

My heart felt so light. Since retiring and moving to a quiet Gulf Island, I’ve struggled with the question, “How do I live my purpose when I’m not ‘out there’ in the world, making a difference?” Hearing my daughters’ words, I realized I am making a difference just by showing up in my world every day with an open and loving heart and mind. By being fully present, I am both living my purpose and living on purpose.

There’s great relief in that acceptance. A feeling of spaciousness and possibility. I’ve accepted that my purpose doesn’t have to be some grandiose idea of healing the sick or solving world poverty. It’s simply to live my best, in every moment of every day, so my ripple is one of love, joy, and harmony. In this act, I gift myself peace of mind, body, and heart. And from that space, living on purpose feels easy, and the world around me feels calm and accepting.

The Lightness of Living on Purpose

One of the biggest differences between having a purpose and living on purpose is that having a purpose is passive, while living on purpose is active.

A purpose can be a goal—a destination to reach. Goals are important, but when they’re the singular focus and not rooted in our values, we can lose sight of our impact on the world. Hyper-focused on attainment, we can believe our goal is all that matters – and everyone else better get out of our way.

Living on purpose, however, demands our full engagement with life. It’s an intentional practice that requires our attention. It’s the realization that everything we do, say, create, and think has a ripple effect.

If you want your ripple to be an invitation to others, you must be conscious of the waves you make.

Living on purpose is not about the things you acquire or the goals you achieve; it’s about how you live your life. Living on purpose illuminates the world all around you. And in that brilliance, your light becomes a beacon of hope for others.

Practical Steps for Living on Purpose

It’s easy to live on purpose when you know the values, principles, and beliefs that guide your every action, word, and thought. Clarity of what matters most will automatically underpin everything you do, creating space for you to live intuitively and intentionally.

Here are three simple, actionable steps to start living your purpose right now:

  • Clarify Your Values: Your purpose is built on your values. Take some time to identify what matters most to you—things like honesty, compassion, creativity, or courage. Ask yourself, “What do I stand for?” Then, write down a list of five or six values that resonate deeply with you. Ask yourself, “How do I live this? For example: The cashier at the grocery store misses charging you for an item. Do you let them know? If honesty is one of your core values, letting them know is never in doubt.

Knowing your values provides a personal compass for your actions.

Conscious Action: Connect your values to your actions. For example, if a driver cuts you off, you can choose to respond with your value of compassion instead of anger. A simple, “Bless them. Forgive me. Forgive them. Bless me,” can restore your equilibrium far faster than endlessly muttering under your breath. (And yes, ‘forgive me’ is important because if you’re human, you probably had a not-so-nice thought or two about them when they cut you off.) This reinforces the idea that every act becomes an expression of your purpose.

When we live on purpose, our values take centre stage.

  • Embrace the Ripple Effect: Recognize that every action has a ripple. One word shouted in anger can create shockwaves of unease. One word spoken in kindness can resonate like a single harp string pulled in a room full of harps creating a ripple of harmony.By consistently acting from a place of integrity, your positive influence naturally expands. Focusing on conscious living is far more sustainable and fulfilling than constantly searching for a monumental purpose.

To make a difference, live true to your values, principles and beliefs.

Is there a step that feels most accessible to you today? Please share your thoughts and inspire others to live on purpose.

Lessons from a Tiny Tugboat

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This morning, I watched a tiny tugboat wrestle with a giant of a barge loaded with what appeared to be the castoffs from the pulpmill. At first, I wondered if an island mountain had risen out of the ocean overnight. But then I realized the island was moving, pulled by the tiny tug.

Sometimes, that’s how life’s many challenges can appear. Mountainous. Overwhelming. Heavy. Illness. Loss. Divorce. Those life events that can knock the wind out of our sails.

Are you the tugboat, straining and striving yet always focused on its destination, or the barge, at the mercy of the currents?

For the past few years, I have struggled with adjusting to my husband’s health issues. Constantly repeating, “this isn’t the life I envisioned for us,” only invited my critter mind to hiss back. “It’s the life you’ve got. There’s nothing you can do about it.” The challenge was to tap into my inner wisdom, to hear its voice above the relentless negativity of my critter mind: ‘This is your life. What are you willing to do about it to create beauty, joy and love in it everyday?’

Most days, I heed its invitation to take control, be in charge of my own life and how I live it. And then there are those days where I just want to stay in bed, the weight of it all pressing down like an anchor. On those days, I lament that COPD has stolen away more than just his ease of breathing. Gone are Sunday morning bike rides, the wind in our hair, our laughter wafting out over the hills as we coast along the trail. Our new norm has required me to adjust my expectations of our ‘senior years,’ to include less physicality while still holding onto connection and intimacy.

I’m learning that joy can be found both in shared moments and in solitary pursuits. It’s about staying committed to a rich life together, even when it feels like I’m carrying the weight of the world. But the truth is, we’re in this together. And when we stop keeping score of who’s pulling more weight, harmony finds us, like gentle waves lapping at the shore.

Like the little tug, I’ve learned to adjust my course, find new ways to connect, and keep moving forward, one small wave at a time.

What about you? What ‘barge’ are you hauling around, and how can you become the tug?

How to Journey to Stillness

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Tuesday morning, Sun shine. Fluffy white clouds tinged with grey and blue shroud Vancouver Island in the distance. Sea a gently undulating blanket, always in motion. Trees stand tall, branches still, their filigree network of needles pricking the untouchable sky.

In meditation this morning, the invitation was to ‘let your mind dissolve into the clouds’. I struggled with it. Struggled to find the stillness and spaciousness of nothingness. To imagine my mind as dissolvable.

I am attached to my mind and its constant yammerings and yawings. It’s incessant litany of thoughts and ideas tumbling around inside my head telling me, ‘that’s a good idea’. ‘what on earth were you thinking?, ‘you need to do more’, ‘you’re not enough’… and all that jazz.

Stilling the chatter has been a lifelong journey for me. Meditation is my gateway to the stillness, and calm, of letting my mind dissolve into the clouds.

Some mornings, my mind feels busier than others. When I began meditating, I started small. Even 1 minute of sitting in the silence is better than none.

Whether you’re a beginner, or a seasoned meditator, here are four ideas on how you can begin to meditate or to enrich your existing practice:

1. Start Small:

  • Silencing the mind completely is a lofty goal, especially for beginners. If you’re just beginning, start with just a few minutes of dedicated stillness each day, gradually increasing the duration as you become more comfortable. If like me, you go in and out of your practice, sometimes leaving it for days on end, always begin again and do not judge yourself harshly!

2. Focus on the Breath:

  • The breath is an anchor to the present moment. Especially as you begin to practice, pay close attention to each breath. In. Out. In. Out. As you progress, focus the sensation of each inhale and exhale, noticing the rise and fall of your chest or belly. When the mind wanders, gently guide it back to the breath. In. Out. In. Out.
  • Remember not to judge your progress, or the stillness of your mind. Stay, ‘open minded’. Curious. Calm.
  • Tip: To support your practice, try this counting exercise: inhale for a count of 4, hold for 4, exhale for 4.

3. Engage the Senses:

  • Connect with your senses. Take a mindful walk in nature, noticing the sights, sounds, smells, and textures around you. Or, sit quietly and savour a cup of tea or coffee, paying attention to the warmth of the mug, the aroma, and the taste.
  • Exercise: When connecting with your senses, close your eyes and ask yourself: “What do I hear? What do Ifeel against your skin? What do I smell?” Don’t seek the words to describe what your experiencing. Feel it. Don’t name it.

4. Embrace a Creative Outlet:

  • Engaging in creative activities can quiet the mental chatter and induce a state of flow. There are countless individual ways of experiencing this – painting, writing, dancing, playing music, gardening, or anything that allows you to express yourself and get lost in the process.
  • As a mixed media artist and as a writer, getting lost in the process of creation has taught me to ‘trust in the process’ . Time disappears, the world around me fades as I become immersed in the pure joy and wonder of allowing my intuition and creative essence to express itself fearlessly.

5. Acceptance and Non-Judgment:

  • It’s crucial to approach stillness with a gentle, non-judgmental attitude. When thoughts arise (and they will!), acknowledge them without judgment and gently redirect your attention back to your chosen anchor (breath, senses, etc.).
  • Remember: Meditation is a practice, not a performance. There’s no “right” way to find stillness just as there is no wrong way to begin again.

What about you? What do you do to stop the chatter and open the portal to your heart?

Rediscovering Joy – Studio Spaces and Creative Practices

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Watercolour on paper — the little flecks are gold glitter sprinkled over it (hard to capture in a photo)

After a considerable hiatus, I decided it was time to reacquaint myself with my studio, a space that had been longing for my return.

Yesterday, I ventured in with a practical goal: to reorganize, reduce, recommit to daily artistic practice as well as creative writing (Since returning from my writer’s retreat in Ireland last month, I still haven’t touched the play I began crafting on that retreat) . I planned to relocate my ‘working’ desk out of the alcove at the bottom of the staircase, to a cozy corner near the French doors in my studio. This strategic move wasn’t just about logistics. It was more about capturing the serene beauty of my backyard, with its picturesque view of trees gracefully lining the river bank and, to create a welcoming space where I could write everyday, immersed in the creative energy of my studio.

In the midst of tidying up, arranging pens, and storing away the paints I had used weeks earlier for crafting name tags for a dinner party, something unexpected happened. I stumbled into a moment of spontaneous creativity.

Inspired by an Instagram video I’d seen a few days ago, I delved into the art of crafting simple yet charming Christmas cards using watercolors and pen. The focus was on replicating the artist’s technique of painting small, ball-like ornaments. What began as a practice session quickly turned into an exhilarating, yet meditative, journey of fun and discovery.

This playful interlude became more than just an artistic endeavor. It offered a respite from the heavy thoughts that have been weighing on my mind – concerns about my sister’s health, the ongoing turmoil in Israel, Palestine, Ukraine, and other troubled parts of the world. In those moments of artistic immersion, I found a sense of lightness, a reprieve from the world’s burdens.

The studio transformed into a sanctuary where possibilities felt endless, and even a fleeting sense of peace seemed attainable. Soft music played in the background, complementing the rhythmic flow of the river outside, a soothing reminder of the world’s continuous, unrelenting beauty.

In this creative escape, I realized something profound. While I may not possess the power to alter the course of global events, I am capable of calming the storms within my own mind. The fears, the worries, the disturbing thoughts that often invade my peace – I was reminded that I can quiet them, even if just for a while.

Those moments of artistic play were a gentle nudge, reminding me that amidst the chaos, love remains a constant, resilient force. And that, no matter how harsh the winds are blowing outside, it’s in these personal spaces of creativity and joy that we find the strength to face the world, reassured that even in the darkest times, love endures.

What about you? How/where do you find peace in turbulent times?

PS. Good news. My sister woke up yesterday. Though the intubation tubing limits her ability to talk, she can and did smile. The infection still rages and the doctors will be doing a CatScan today to see how much of her body it’s invaded, but, the fact she woke up is a great sign!

Thank you for your thoughts and prayers, words of encouragment and presence. ❤

Change: Are you willing?

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This morning, in the quiet of meditation, a profound question surfaced. “Aside from what Mother Nature creates, everything else on this planet Earth that we call our home has been built by humankind. If we don’t like what we’ve created, what are we willing to do to change it?”

We live in a world that is largely our own creation – a complex tapestry woven from the threads of human ingenuity, creativity, and ambition. It’s in our nature to be creators. From the simplest of tools used by our ancestors to the sophisticated technologies of more recent decades, we have always found ways to shape the world around us, molding it to better serve our needs, desires and aspirations.

Yet, our creations aren’t always perfect. We’ve built towering cities that touch the sky, but at the cost of pristine forests and ecosystems. We’ve developed incredible technologies that connect us instantaneously, yet we often feel more isolated than ever. We’ve striven for efficiency and convenience, only to find ourselves bound by the chains of consumerism, a consumerism that too often gives rise to a deep-seated dissatisfaction with what we have, and what we have not.

Which brings me back to the question that arose in my meditation. “What are we willing to do when we don’t like what we’ve built?”

It’s not an easy thought. There are parts of me that are willing to let go of things, ways of doing and being that don’t serve the world. But, let’s be honest here, there are also parts that don’t want to let go of the things that make my life easier. The things I really like. Like electricity, driving my car, flying places, new clothes, a well-stocked fridge, a mindset of discarding things I don’t need only to replace them by ‘newer, better, bigger’..

This morning as I gaze out at a perfect blue sky day, I wonder, “What am I truly willing to change?”

In August, C.C. and I will be driving to the west coast to visit family and friends. Taking gifts for my grandchildren fills my heart with joy. Yet, they already have a wealth of toys, books, clothes, THINGS. Am I willing to forgo my consumerism to simpy be present within the joy of our connection?

Am I willing to change for the better of the planet?

Given the state of the world today, do I have a choice not to?

Embracing the idea of change can feel unsettling, but it’s crucial for our planet today, and for my peace of mind.

In this world of floods, raging wildfires, war, hunger and starvation, isn’t it time to challenge the status quo and push our boundaries? Isn’t it time we all advocate for sustainable practices to conserve our environment, promote genuine human connection over virtual interactions, or resist the incessant pull of mindless consumerism?

If not now, when?

Individually, there is a lot we can each do. And if we each start doing similar things, we have a chance to create collective action that does make a difference. Because, the kind of changes Planet Earth needs us to make do not occur in isolation. It’s going to take a collaborative effort, requiring us to bridge our differences, pool our resources, and unify our goals. It may demand sacrifices and require us to forgo certain comforts, but if the end goal is a world that is sustainable, a world that aligns more closely with our true desires for life on earth, then the effort is surely worth it.

Which brings me back to the question that arose from my meditation: What are we willing to do to change the world we’ve built if we don’t like it?

It is not just a passing thought. It’s an urgent call to action. If we can learn anything from our past, it’s that we are the architects of our own reality. We have the power to dismantle the structures we’ve built and create something far better in its stead.

Our willingness to change is the first step towards a more harmonious and sustainable future.

Are you willing?

Namaste

Why Change Now?

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I think one of the most challenging aspects of aging is the growing awareness that our one last breath is drawing nearer with every breath we take. By perforce, that awareness embodies the realization that time is fleeting. It passes quickly – and there’s less time to do the things we want to accomplish, to achieve our dreams, to heal relationships, to change directions – to step joyfully into whatever we see before us.

That pressure of time passing can act as both a deterrent or motivator to making change happen in our lives.

Sometimes, we can fall into the habit of acting out on our belief there’s no point in doing anything. We don’t have enough time to make change happen and we’re too old anyway. Our acting out looks like inaction — but the act of thinking about doing nothing is action in and of itself.

When we choose to believe every breath matters and every breath is an opening into wonder and awe, the possibility of our taking active, committed and passionate steps towards whatever it is we want to achieve or do overrides time’s insistence we keep watch of each passing minute, without doing anything else.

I like to multi-task. Keeping watch of time motivates me to keep doing the things I want to do to add richness, variety, excitement, joy, mystery, wonder and awe into my life.

I’ve lived most of my life like that. Why change now?

She Dares To Follow Her Own North Star – in Loving-Kindness

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When my youngest daughter was about 9 months old, I enrolled the 2 of us in Gymboree. I wanted time with her alone and this seemed like a good option.

The first session, we sat in a circle and talked about how challenging being a parent was and how easy it was to lose our identity when faced with the 24/7 demands of parenting.

“What’s something you do to retain your ‘identity’ outside of being a parent,” the facilitator asked each of us as she went around the circle.

It was a good question, except, by the time she got to me, I was vibrating at too high a level because of what I deemed the ridiculous way she framed her lead-in to the question. As in, rather than use each person’s name, she started the question with…

“So, [Insert baby’s name} mother/father, what’s something you do to retain your identity outside of being your child’s mother/father?”

I admit, I probably could have framed my response a little more gently, but I had a point to make and after listening to her ask the question of about 10 people before me, I wanted to get my point across. So, I began my response with, “Well… the first thing I do is make sure people use my first name, Louise, rather than calling me “Liseanne’s mother.”

Ouch.

I know. Not gracious. Not kind.

So, here’s the deal. I believe I had a right to my position. However, I did not have the right to be rude. And in infusing my response with my flippant and sarcastic ‘attitude-driven’ nature, I veered from the underpinning value I want to use to light up my own North Star — to BE KIND.

To dare to follow my own North Star is to always be true to my values. And kindness is a value I cherish.

I value walking in my integrity. Speaking truth to build bridges, not tear apart the hearts and minds of others.

I value treating everyone with respect and doing no harm.

I value doing things to create better. Being fair and above all, I value walking with Loving-Kindness as my guiding light.

Sure, I got my point across that day, but in the making of it, I became the problem. That woman leading the group and I never did forge a strong relationship – to the detriment of my young child and the very reason I joined the group — to spend quality time with her amongst children of a similar age and other parents. I eventually left the group because I never did feel like I fit in — all because being ‘clever’ superseded my need to be understanding and kind (it was our first gathering and she had a lot of names to remember – I could have given her a break or at least a kinder response). In my need to be clever, I acted out with little regard to the woman, which means, in the end, I carried ‘the shame’ of my bad behaviour within me – which led me to leave.

And while I’d love to go back and apologize to that woman, I have no idea who she was. To make amends, I see to find value in the many lessons my bad behaviour taught me.

  • When I think I’m being clever and am coming from that place where the chip on my shoulder is digging a hole in my values, it’s time to take a step back and give myself a reality check.
  • Being right doesn’t make me or anyone else happy when my being right supersedes being kind.
  • Daring to follow my own North Star doesn’t give me the right to be a problem for everyone else. it does give me the right to always create my own path, as long as my path is built on Loving-Kindness of myself and everyone around me.

Do you have a memory of something in the past that taught you an invaluable life lesson you still breathe into today?

I’d love to hear your stories!

Namaste.

_______________________________________________________

AND…

I’ve posted my She Dares Boldly 2022 desk calendar on my Etsy store.

You can check it out and order it HERE... (and for those ordering from outside Canada — Etsy’s shipping fees are out of whack — the only thing I can do to fix it at this point is to refund some of the shipping after you pay it — my apologies. It’s really weird!)

Between Each Breath

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Between Each Breath
 ©2021 Louise Gallagher 
 
Between each breath
 there is a stillness
 within the stillness
 there is the space
 to breathe
 deeply
 into the beauty
 of all that is present
 in this moment
 embodied
 in all you are
 when you breathe
 within the stillness
between each breath.

Beaumont the Sheepadoodle and I have a new routine. Instead of taking him outside every morning via the lower deck, I put my longest coat on over my pyjamas, don my boots and hat and gloves to ward off the chill of these winter mornings. I drape his harness over Beaumont’s head and attach the retractable leash and off we go into the darkness that is still morning this first week of January.

We walk out of our cul de sac, turn right onto the street that leads from the top of the hill down to the main road and, at the corner where it meets the main road, we turn right again and walk along the well-litpath leading to the pedestrian bridge over the river.

There is a spot about halfway across where someone has affixed a red plastic wreath. Inside it is a photo. It is of a man smiling. His smile is frozen in time. His body lost to the rushing waters some months ago when he leapt from the bridge and disappeared.

Every morning since I began this new routine just before Christmas Day, I stand below the wreath, close my eyes and take a breath. A deep one.

Beaumont sniffs in the snow that covers the pathway, pulling on the leash as long as I let him. And then he stops and stands watching me. Patiently waiting. As if he knows this is a moment of reverence.

I listen to the river. Its flow is fast and furious in the winter. The ice island keeps growing larger between the two buttresses sunk deep into the water to support the bridgedeck. Between the buttresses, where an ice island has formed in the centre of the river, the flow is blocked, forcing it to either side. It pushes and shoves its way through the narrower waterway, slipping off the ice where it grows outward from the shore towards the centre and from the centre of the river out. Ice locked.

I stand, eyes closed, heart open, breath stirring deep in my belly and listen to the river. I stand and say a silent prayer for this man for whom life became too great a burden.

I stand and say a prayer for all those who will today let go of the burden of their lives and fall into the everlasting.

I stand and say a prayer for all those fighting to cling to life with every breath they take and for those who stand by their bedsides giving aid and comfort. They are standing in for the ones who cannot be there. They carry their pain.

I stand and say a prayer for this world. So hurting. So bruised and battered. Battle weary. For the leafless trees standing sentinel in the dark along the river banks. For the geese honking and flapping their wings somewhere out on the ice island. And for the river and the ice and the mountains and the sands, the oceans and the seas. I stand and say a prayer.

I stand and say a prayer for those who are sick or for whom the separation of these days sits like a heavy cloak upon their shoulders, bending their backs.

I stand and say a prayer for those who are struggling, who are feeling lost and alone. Frightened or confused by these days of solitude.

And then, I bring my prayers back home to my heart.

I stand and say a silent prayer for those close to me and far away, I stand and say a prayer for my mother and my father and brother, his wife, my family members who are gone and my cousin who lost the battle to Covid and all those who will lose the battle today.

I stand in the stillness between each breath and say a prayer.

My mother taught me the power of prayer.

It is teaching me how to be present in the grace of stillness.

I am grateful.

In Years To Come…

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In years to come, when time has passed and the edges of memory have softened and mellowed with age, we will sit close together around a table, or snuggle up in front of a fire or walk arm in arm under a clear blue sky and tell stories of these days. We’ll laugh and sometimes shed a tear or two. We’ll raise a toast to those who did not make it through and we will remember.

We’ll remember how we stood on balconies and front porches and clanged pots at 6pm every day for weeks on end to honour the heroes of these days. The nurses and doctors and lab techs and hospital porters and emergency responders and schedulers and cleaners and so many more who risked their lives so we could live ours without fearing each breath would be our last. And the researchers, labouring long days and nights, weeks and months garbed in hazmat suits and protective shields just to find a vaccine to help preserve lives for years to come.

We’’ll talk about how heroes didn’t wear red cloaks and carry golden shields but donned brown and blue and tan coats as they drove all over the country to ensure we received the things we needed. Things to eat. To read. To listen to. To play with. To keep us amused. And laughing. And feeling alive and less alone.

How there were heroes who stood behind plexiglass screens and sanitized counter tops again and again after we visited stores where we bought our necessities and smiled with only our eyes visible through our masks.

How we greeted each other with a wave, careful to keep our distance and how the distance between us felt so foreign. Lonely. Far. Even when we stood six feet apart.

How hugs became a rare commodity, so precious some would risk their lives just to get one. And how some did risk their lives, not just for hugs but to ease the loneliness, the pain of being separate from the rest of their human family.

And how some chose to stand united against the things they could not stand for — Wearing masks. Social distance. Stay-at-home orders. Like all of us, they wanted their voices to be heard. It’s just their way was different.

And hopefully, we’ll talk about how those of us who did our best to abide by stay-at-home and wearing-mask orders struggled to understand how others could not grasp the severity of our situation. And how, our condemnation and judgement of those who suffered these times in different ways than us became a greater distance to traverse than the loneliness we all felt during these days of sheltering-in-place.

There will come a time when we will tell stories of these days and while we may not remember them fondly, let us remember how we each did our best to weather this storm. And how, while someone’s way may have been different, they too were doing their best to make sense of it all and to make a difference in whatever way they knew how.

And as we remember, let us let go of our human tendency to condemn those who think differently, believe differently, express themselves differently. Instead, let us cross the divide of our differences so that we can celebrate having come through these days of a global pandemic sweeping the globe, together.

Let us not remember our differences but instead, let us share our memories of love for the millions of lives lost, the millions of lives fallen ill, the millions of lives forever changed.

Let us remember our loved ones not with the regret of not being by their bedsides as they struggled to take their last breath, but rather, of all the times we sat by their sides laughing and sharing in the love that binds us in life, and in death.

Let us remember we were all struggling. Believers and non-believers. Mask wearers and non-mask wearers. Instead of making outcasts of those who did it differently, let us say a prayer. For one another. And in our prayers let us hold onto what connects us, what makes us who we are, what makes this human condition so remarkable.

Our humanity is not one colour, one belief, one common roadmap. It is diverse. Colourful. Multi-faceted. We stand on deserts and mountaintops. We walk on gravel paths and paved roads. We swim in salty oceans and freshwater lakes.

And still, we breathe air into our lungs. We flow blood through our veins. Our bodies are supported by skeletons made up of bones, 206 in every adult body. Our body is covered with the epidermis, no matter the colour of our skin.

In years to come, when we look back on these times and tell our stories of grief and hardship, of great feats of heroism and simple acts of kindness, let us remember to speak with gratitude and grace and kindness in every word we share about one another.

Because, in times to come, when we speak of these days, we will be speaking of ourselves. Of we, the people.

All of us. Coming through this. Together.

Let us carry with us the memories of how, no matter how dark the day or long the night, we never lost sight of the Love that binds us. The Love that brings us into this world and carries us through every day of our lives. For we each come into this world in the same way. Crying. Kicking. Gasping for breath. And we all leave it on one final breath.

And in between, though our lives may be different, let us remember that it is our capacity to love one another that connects us. Through good times and bad. Dark and light. Life and death.

In years to come, let us tell our stories. Let us remember. And let us hold onto Love.

It Is. Enough.

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This morning, when I visited David Kanigan’s blog before coming here to write, the sight of his photos married to the quote he shared brought tears to my eyes. (to experience the quote with the photos click HERE – you won’t be disappointed)

The quote that stirred my emotions (though to be honest, it was his photos of clouds drifting in a rose-drenched morning sky that got me first) was Keep Moving: Notes on Loss, Creativity, and Change, by Maggi Smith.

David offers up this quote from the book, 

Remember when you would have been over-the-moon thrilled to have just a fraction of your life as it is now?

Look around you: it is enough.

KEEP MOVING

And the tears wash over me as I write a response…

I want to rail against the notion, that if I look around me, I will see it is enough.

I want to cry out in strident opposition, No. It Is Not Enough.

And then I smile (wistfully and a bit sheepishly perhaps) as I remember, whether I think it is enough or not, what is around me right now is all there is. It is what is.

I do as Maggie Smith suggests. I look around me.

The house sleeps in the quiet of the darkness before dawn. The white Christmas lights that I spent an afternoon festooning along the glass railings of the deck, in an effort to bring me into the Christmas spirit, glow softly like candles in the dark. Inside, on my desk, the light of a candle flickers on the photo taken at my mother’s 95th birthday two years ago. I am with my 2 sisters, my 2 daughters, my then 6-month-old grandson and my mother.

4 generations that now live on in 3.

It wasn’t a Covid loss. My mother’s passing in February was just time having had its fill of her life.

And perhaps that is where the tears come from. Not only will my mother not be amongst us this Christmas, we will all be in our separate houses. Alone.

And my heart aches in the reality of what is.

I want to say, it’s not enough.

And must breathe into the reality — It is what it is.

______________________

We are all facing that reality – a global experience of loss, change, aloneness, separateness.

Perhaps, out of all of this, what will truly be known is how we are all connected. How we need one another. How it is our relationships that make our life rich and beautiful and oh so vibrant.

Perhaps, when Covid has had its way and we are on our way to healing these months of sequestered solitude, we will find ourselves together again and in that togetherness, will let go of the squabbles and differences that keep us apart.

Perhaps, when we are together again, we will celebrate our human condition in all its billions of unique expressions and let the gazillion things that we tell ourselves about why we must maintain our separateness, go.

Perhaps, we will relate through our magnificence and not our mediocrity.

Perhaps, we will all remember that we are all on this one earth, this one giant ball spinning its way around the sun year after year, together. That it is not our differences that separate us, but our thoughts and ideas and notions of what is right and wrong, possible and impossible, mine and yours.

And perhaps, in discovering how much we need one another, in realizing how connected we are, we will find the courage, strength and compassion to invite everyone into our hearts so that no matter where in the world we are, no matter how fragile or fabulous our human condition or how tiny or large our square footage, we will remember, We Are One.

And perhaps, in that oneness, we will know, once and for all, that we do not own this earth we call our home. We are its inhabitants, its guests and above all its guardians.

For what I do to the earth, I do to you.

Let me only do Love with all my heart, all my being, all my magnificence shining on yours.

And so it shall be.

And so it is. Enough.

Namaste.