I painted yesterday. Dripped, stroked, spread, poured paint upon a canvas. Let it run, flow, move across the smooth white surface without any design other than to see what became visible in letting it flow.

And then, just as I got it to a point of saying, “ooooh, that’s nice” all it took to take it from that place to ‘ooooh, that’s not working’ was a spray of water that came out too hard, too fast, too directed. Rather than the mist I meant to give it, I got a blast of water that muddied up the design and turned it into not so nice.

Sometimes, I have to let go of what I was doing, and step away — before I take it over the edge into that place where the water muddies and the image becomes unclear.

That’s what wasn’t happening yesterday. The paint was pouring just right, the colourings mixing just so, the design flowing just the way it was meant to. But I wasn’t quite satisfied with how fast the paint was moving (I was creating a ‘poured’ painting) and decided to give it an extra blast of water. In the process, I gave it more than I expected and the result was not at all what I desired.

Like life, I sometimes forget to ‘Let go and let be.”  Impatient, wanting it to be different, wanting it to go faster, flow differently, turn out another way, I leap in and force the results. And in my impatience, I end up overworking, over-doing, over-analyzing a situation and create a bigger mess than I anticipated. It’s that fine line of letting go to let be, rather than getting in to get dirty only to end up making a mess.

It is my habit — to get impatient and think I can hurry up the process by adding an element that doesn’t necessarily belong, but I think might hurry the process along. I forget, in my desire to make it flow my way, that miracles happen when I give myself room to breathe, to accept and move into the process. When I’m busy moving the process along the way I want it to go, there’s no room for the universe of wonder all around to work with me and create miracles.

It was a big realization yesterday as I scraped the muddy mess off my canvas and began all over again. I am the one who gets in the way of miracles happening all around me. I am the one diverting their flow.

Time to get out of my own way and let the wonder of the universe have its way within and all around me. Time to let go and let be.

I don’t have to be in control. I do need to give up trying to control every situation. And to do that, I need to trust in the flow and the process of creation.

I didn’t trust where and how the paint was flowing yesterday. I ended up making a mess.

Time to breathe in, breathe out and let go. Time to allow space for miracles to unfold.

Whew! So that was a whirlwind week. Long days, short nights, fast sleeps. And through it all, miracles unfolding with every breath. It was amazing.

On Wednesday, when the trainees walk into the room the air is filled with anticipation and… big dollops of fear, anger, resistance, disbelief, trepidation, skepticism – you name it, the emotion is present.  Why wouldn’t it be? It’s a new situation. The unknown. The suspicious. The curious. What are they really going to ask of me? Will they really make me change? Will they really be able to help me? Will they have answers for me? You know the questions. They’re always there when we are asked to step into the unknown and delve into our inner world — not knowing what me may find on the other side. And that’s scary.

The mind is a funny place. It likes to make up reasons why we can’t do something. And walking into the room where the unknown awaits is the perfect breeding ground for self-doubt, fear, anxiety and a host of other emotions to arise.

I remember the first time I walked into the training room 7 years ago this month. I was curious, and fearful. I was also a little big smug. I didn’t think I needed to be there. In fact, I thought I’d already ‘done’ all my work. I thought I’d fixed myself — and the only reason I needed to be there was because my girlfriend who’d help save my life when I was in a relationship that was killing me, had asked me to go. She had been the month before and wanted me to support her in her journey towards more whole-hearted living. How could I refuse?

How little I know how wrong I am when I’m busy proving myself right.

I didn’t need to be there, I told myself, but for her, I will sit it out and see what I found of worth. What I couldn’t see on that first afternoon was how my life would be enriched, and how my daughters lives would be impacted by my presence. All I could see was a room full of people equally as apprehensive, sceptical and resistant as me.

Seven years later, I embrace the truth I found in that room. It is in that room that I find myself again and again coming back to who I am when I let go of believing I need to be anyone else but me. It is in that room that I feel myself expanding out into all that I am when I breathe into the limitless possibilities of my life beyond the restrictions of my comfort zone that would have me hold back from leaping into the unknown — just because I can’t see into the future.

Which is kind of funny. I can see the past pretty clearly. I can see the present with clarity only to the degree to which I am willing to be honest, open and truthful with myself. But I cannot, and will never be able to see the future with any confidence if all I do is look behind me at where I’ve been and judge myself as lacking in this moment now.

Life, like a river, never flows backwards. It is by its very nature forward seeking.

Me. Well, I can sometimes get stuck pedalling backwards, constantly seeking the safety exit, the fire escape, the easy way out, as if life itself were the thing I had to fear the most. I can sometimes be so busy trying to back away from the edge of possibility that I don’t see the impossibility of going backwards in time. Heck! I can be so entrenched in defending my right to stay stuck I don’t even notice that it’s the fact I’m holding my breath that’s keeping me from breathing freely!

For the past five days I have had the gift of living on purpose. Of being in the moment, feeling my way through each second as those around me stepped into the unknown only to discover — there really, truly is nothing to fear but fear itself. Because, in the end, beneath all the pain and tears, sorrow and grief, fear and anxiety, there is only one truth that can exist within each of our hearts, within every molecule of our human being.

No matter who we think we are. No matter who we believe we’ve become. No matter what has been done to us, what we’ve done to ourselves and others that would convince us we are not worthy or undeserving, or whatever other lie we tell ourselves — We are worthy. We are deserving. We are magnificent.

Seven years ago I walked into the Choices training room thinking I’d find answers that would help me help a friend.

What I found is to help another, I must first take care of myself.

To be the best that I can be, I must first trust I have the answers to who I am and who I want to be, within me.

No one else has my answers. No one else has yours. The answer to living life to the fullest, to being all that you want to be, to dreaming your dreams alive does not exist somewhere out there. The answers are within you.

And just as we needed help in learning to ride a bike or tie our shoelaces, sometimes, we need help in learning how to forgive, or let go, or stand up again after a fall. Sometimes, we need help in remembering our magnificence.

And that’s why I go back again and again, because I never want to forget, we are each unique. Fascinating.  Inspiring. We are all worthy of love. Giving and receiving. We are each of us human beings, here to live our magnificence and be all that we are meant to be, all that we desire in a world of wonder.

It was a day of joy, of heartfelt sharing, of minds opening up to the possibility of more, of hearts awakening to the beat of their own drum.

It was a day where I became, once again, immersed in the awe of our human being.

I don’t have a lot of time to post when I’m at Choices. Long days, short nights, early mornings create little space for time at the keyboard. And, as one of the most important rules of Choices is to take care of yourself, I must honour my bodies need for sleep — even when my mind is full of thoughts that want to spill out, my body says, shhhh. Be still. Be calm. Be quiet. You must rest.

Listening to my body is not something I’ve been particularly adept at. I am learning to heed it. I am learning to listen for its cues that tell me, I’m hungry. I’m cold. I’m tired. And then, to nourish it with what it needs — which is a big departure from past behaviours for me. Where once I would have disregarded my bodies insistence that I sleep, I have learned to give into tiredness and be still when stillness is required.

It makes a difference. To how I feel, how I act, how I am present in my day.

It was a great day yesterday. And it was only the beginning. We began at 9am. The trainees came into the room at 12:30 and at 10:15 we said good night to them and had a brief team meeting. Home by 11, I couldn’t sleep. My mind wanted to keep treasuring each moment of the day and my body wanted to dance.

But I know today is an even longer day. Coaches meeting at 8 and we won’t be out of the seminar room until at least 10. I want to sleep. My mind is full. And so, I do what I know will give me space to let go, to release, to find peace. I do what has always been my path to letting go, I write it out. I let these feelings of awe and joy and peace that wash over me like a warm gentle mist of Love out through letting the words form upon the screen into sentences and thoughts that say, I am content. I am replete. I am at peace.

I am. All of this and more. I am grateful.

And now, I shall sleep.

I am off today to be part of miracles unfolding. Off to that place where I become one with the energy of 100 people diving into their inner space as they uncover the beauty and wonder of their being who they are. I am off to witness spirits soaring free, hearts opening up and minds cracking open to the truth — We are all unique. Magnificent and vital to this world.

I am off to coach at Choices for the next 5 days. Long days, fast sleeps. And time to reflect upon my own journey, my own evolutionary path.

It is why I do it. Volunteer my time for five solid days, plus every weekend that Choices is here. Not only to I get to be part of the energy of discovery that happen in the training room, I get to feed myself soul-nourishing, spirit driven food that fills me up with awe and wonder, that reconnects me to my commitment to be my one true self, my all that I can be when I let go of my fear of being vulnerable, real and alive.

Yesterday morning I had the gift of interviewing Christine Valters Paintner, abbess of Abbey of the Arts and a true monk in the world. (I’ll be sharing our conversation on Sunday, April 28 — stay tuned!) When I asked Christine, what is a ‘monk in the world’, she told me that monks long to reclaim their inherent contemplative nature that allows them to live in a meaningful, committed way. It is a shared belief and trust in that ‘something sacred’ that pulses through each of us and the world all around it.

Being in the Choices room, I feel that ‘something sacred’ Christine talked about as a very real and alive presence. It pulses through the hearts of everyone, it runs like a river, whispers like a breath of fresh air, a leaf falling gently to the ground. It is beautiful, inspiring and healing.

Choosing to coach at Choices feeds me. It inspires me. It gives me courage, strength, hope and above all, it reminds me, again and again, no matter what, no matter where, the choice is always Love.

May your day be filled with fresh ideas running like a river, whispers of love breathing into your heart and the touch of spring caressing your heart. May you know Love.

Namaste.

I was just turning thirteen the fall we moved to France. It must have been mid September. I remember being two weeks late starting school. A momentous year. Junior High. My first period. My first kiss. My first boyfriend. And, the first time I remember feeling fear of the world around me.

It was the time of the ‘Algerian Crisis’. It was just a couple of years after Algeria had won release from the reins of a foreign government that had held control of its lands and its destiny for over a 100 years. Internal strife was high, both in Algeria and France. The Algerian economy was in turmoil. So was France. It was a time of great unrest. Of armed disputes and bloody conflicts. A time when men in masks strode into bars and blasted machine guns, firing indiscriminately into crowds. A time when bombs blew up in town centres and hatred grew in the soils that bled the blood of fallen sons and daughters on all sides of the conflict.

I remember that first day we arrived. A man met us at the airport. He piled our luggage into his vehicle and we climbed into the back. As we drove into the city that was to be our new home, he and my father sat in the front seat talking about ‘the troubles’. I sat behind them listening. It was my way. I didn’t want to engage in the conversation with my siblings. I didn’t want more of the bickering and squabbling that four children could engage in. I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to know what the adults were saying and doing and thinking. I wanted to know.

The man who picked us up told my father about the unrest. About a bar on the corner of a street somewhere in ‘the Algerian quarter’ where a group of masked men had walked in the night before and shot machine guns into the crowd. It was that image that stayed with me. Of bullets ripping through flesh. Of bodies falling. Lives ending. It was that feeling of being unsafe in the world around me that struck terror into my heart.

When we got to our hotel, I started to cry. I want to go home,  I cried. I want to go back.

Back was to the land across the Atlantic. Back was to that place I’d lived for five years after the last time we’d returned from living on these foreign soils. It was the land of my birth. It was safe. In that place armed men didn’t indiscriminately shoot innocent bystanders dead.

Two bombs exploded on North American soils yesterday. Two bombs that will change the lives of many. Not just those who fell victim to this act of violence. Not just those who were there, who suffered injuries, who felt the blast ripple across their skin. It changes all of us. Because in that blast is the reminder that life is fragile. Life is a gift. And amongst us there are those for whom the gift of life is not as important as the fear that is sown into the hearts of many in their act of taking life away.

My heart is heavy this morning. My soul sick. I am reminded of those days long ago in France where I felt exposed. Those days when I first became aware that this earth upon which we walk, this planet whose air and waters and land we share with each other, holds both Love and hatred. Peace and fury. harmony and hostility. Amity and war.

My heart is heavy today. And I grieve.  I must choose. Which side will I walk? Which course will I choose?

And I am reminded. Choose harmony over hostility. Love over fear.

I am far away from those streets of Boston and still, I want to reach out and touch the people of that city and say, “I see you. I hear you. I feel with you the pain of this day.” I want to find just the right words and know, there are none that can make sense of what has happened.

And in my silence, I surrender my fear and pray.

Matters of The Heart
Louise Gallagher 2013
Acrylic on Canvas

I know. I know. It may not feel earth-shattering to you, but to me, going away from this place where I write daily, where I become present to all that is within me coming out, well…. I’ve missed it.

Well, actually, beyond missing it, I’ve discovered I need it. I need the daily accountability, the expectation that I turn up here to be at peace in the presence of my daily foibles,  follies and triumphs with an open and seeing heart, and loving and peaceful mind.

I have missed the act, and the art, of writing here daily. I have missed the rhythm I feel when I am in the flow of writing myself out every morning.

And… truth be told, I haven’t used this time to actually get work on my book done. I’ve made progress, but not nearly as much as I had anticipated when I made the commitment two months ago to use this time every morning to work on my book. I have re-purposed that time, but not as purposefully as I had intended.

What I discovered in my hiatus was that this place is what helps keep me in balance, in the flow, in perspective. It helps me see where I am off, on, in, or out of alignment with living from my higher self and not my baser impulses. It is here that I come clean with myself every morning and dig into what’s eating at my peace of mind, what’s stirring my soul, what’s inspiring my spirit. It is here that I find myself each morning.

And, I miss all of you. I have purposefully not gone diving into blogs every day. I have purposefully not responded to comments. I have purposefully not been present here.

There are some advantages to all my purposeful withdrawal from this place. And not all of them are worth experiencing. I have watched way more TV than ever before. Gotten addicted to some vacuous programming that really doesn’t change my state of being other than to make me consumed with the desire to know if Bones can put all the pieces together again, if Arrow can shoot straight and the Blue Bloods get their man. But filling my spirit, feeding my soul? Nope. None of that appeared as I vegged out in front of a rectangular box that doesn’t really care if I turn up or not.

I care if I turn up and I have not been turning up for me in a way that pleases me.

So, beginning today, I am back. I am going to re-think how and to what purpose I use this energy we call time. I am going to be present, in all my foibles, follies and triumphs. I am here. I shall begin again where I’m at.

It may not be everyday — but it will be most days. One of the things that has changed is that I am now on staff with the Calgary Homeless Foundation 3.5 days a week. I love it, but it means I leave the house an hour earlier than in the past. It also means, I have the gift of 1.5 days a week to write, and not fill my time with running here and there, doing all those fun things I like to do to distract myself. I’m getting real serious about how I use my energy and the energy of time. I’m getting real serious about this thing I call, My Life.

Hope to see you here. Hope you keep visiting and commenting and sharing your foibles, follies and triumphs with me. I appreciate your light and presence on my journey.

I am sitting in bed, looking out the bay window at the snow falling and wondering…. where did spring go?

Oh, it’s not that they didn’t warn us. They did.  Every weather forecaster, every news announcement earlier in the week leading into yesterday came with the premonition of snow in the forecast. Lots of it.

And while I wish ‘they’ had been wrong, it isn’t so. Snow is falling outside my window and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve shovelled the walk, the driveway, the deck and path leading to the garage. I’ve filled the bird-feeder, taken Ellie, the wonder pooch, for a little walk (wearing my pjs under my coat, the pant legs tucked into my boots), let Marley, the great cat, out and in again. And now, I’ve come back to bed, nesting under my duvet, laptop on lap, Bach playing in the background to spend the morning revelling in a ‘no reason to go outside’ kind of day.

I can’t change the weather. I can choose how I weather its storms.

Which seems to be my lesson this week. To accept what is and create/find the value in every experience.

I learned this big time in a bit of an embarrassing way this week. An email intended to someone else accidentally got sent to the person directly connected to the incident I wrote about. I didn’t check the auto-fill name closely enough and it wasn’t until another recipient of the email (an intended one) asked me if I meant to send it to the other individual that I realized my mistake.

My first response was to swear.

Dang. It wasn’t that I said anything I didn’t want them to know about, they were the facts as I understood them. It was just, I know the other organization this person works for. What I wrote could be misconstrued and distorted. It could cause panic in their ranks. And that was not my intent.

By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late to recall my email. The recipient had already opened it.

I had to breathe. Accept what was and look at my options.

I called the other person. They weren’t in their office so I left a message apologizing and invited them to call me back. Later, I got an email clarifying the facts as they currently are.

And that’s where the value arose. If I hadn’t inadvertently sent my email, I would have continued to live with the belief that they had not brought their practices into alignment with ethical practices in this issue.

I forwarded their email to those who needed to know, and sent a reply thanking them for providing me the accurate information.

All’s well. Except of course, the niggles of  “OMG! I can’t believe I did that!” which wants to hang out in my head and disrupt my peace of mind.

I can’t change what was. I can accept what is and make choices that help me weather this storm with my integrity in tact.

I made a mistake.

I took measures to address it.

I did my best.

And in the process I learned once again the imperative of being scrupulous with my integrity. Paying attention to the details, and finding value in all things.

It’s snowing today and I am choosing to feed my soul a gentle morning of lingering in bed as I embrace the  beauty and joy of my life in all its many facets, no matter the weather inside and out.

I have been invited to participate in a group art show in May. It is my first, ‘public’ showing of my work and while I have sold some pieces, I’ve never really focused on my art-making as a means of making a living. I love to paint — I’m just not prepared to commit myself to living off my work!

And then, I laugh. At myself. Again.

It’s not about the destination. It’s always about the process. And painting, expressing myself through my creativity is always about process, not product or even end purpose. The only purpose to my art-making is to allow myself to flow into that space where time and place and playing small evaporate into the mists as I enter into trusting  that whatever happens, I will be okay.

Art-making has taught me that. Writing a blog every morning for almost seven years taught me that too. To simply trust in the process. To have faith that the words will appear without my cajoling them, corralling them, rustling them up into sentences and paragraphs. To simply, let be and let what is emerging, become.

These are hard lessons for me. I like to be in control. I like to take it, keep it, use it, be it. I like control.

Which is why the creative process teaches me so much about letting go. When I immerse myself, there is no room, or space, for that voice which would have me believe I can’t do it. I’m not good at it. It’s a waste of time. Why bother?

In the creative process there is only me and the muse and the space I fill where when I let go, anything can happen.

Yesterday, as I painted with my girlfriend, she suggested a new aspect to a painting I had thought was already completed. I liked her idea, but in my desire to hold onto control, I hemmed and hawed and hesitated. Thought about how ‘perfect’ the painting already was. Told myself painting into it could ruin it.

And then, I decided to let go.

And, in letting go, I let flow the wonder and joy of creating something that makes me happy become the happiness I feel in the process of creating.

And what could be better than that? To simply feel content. Satisfied. At peace. To revel in the joy of creating something that gives me pleasure. that feeds my soul. That stirs my creative juices and sets my entire being on fire with the passion and wonder of making art happen in my world.

I had an amazing day painting yesterday and along the way, I learned a thing or two about being present, and in the process I was reminded, when I’m present, magic stirs, wonder appears and miracles happen.

 If art is an expression, it only flourishes when people have the freedom to express themselves.

Art and Sacredness: A Hostile Relationship by SAM MCNERNEY

So… I am starting a food challenge. Two weeks of “Cleansing with Food” via my friend Barb Rempel and her cohorts at Cleansing with Food who have created a website along with a cookbook and a workplan to aid in the cleanse.

You may wonder what the quote above has to do with a food cleanse. What’s the connection?

This morning, as I was reading through Barb and her partner Kim Marchuk’s brand new cookbook, “Cleansing with Food” (it’s really beautiful) I was inspired by their creativity and passion. It struck me that while I am over-flowing in how I express my creativity outwardly, I am not so inspired internally. If what I eat is a reflection of how I feel about myself, or what is going on within me — then I’ve got a whole lot of cleansing to do to make it a creative expression of the beauty and wonder within me.

I have the freedom to make good food choices. I’m not exercising them very well.

Which is why I’ve decided to engage in the 2 week Cleansing with Food Challenge.

I have been noticing my eating habits of late. With a daughter as courageous as mine who writes about her journey through healing from an eating disorder every day (The Wunder Year), I have been given a mirror to see where I have used food to soothe, beguile, avoid and hurt myself. I am not the cause of her disorderly eating. I do, however, acknowledge that my own relationship with food is not, and has seldom been, healthy.

I don’t binge and purge, but I do ignore my body’s appeals for  food that nourishes, nurtures and celebrates me. And the best way I can support my daughter, and myself,  is to clean up my act.

I express myself through food — but not in healthy ways.

That is going to change. And I am the one to change it.

Last week, at my Essential Journey mastermind group, one of the members commented on how when wanting to make major change, we all wait for someone else to come and ‘fix it’. Or give us the magic pill. Or provide us the missing pieces.

We’re the one’s we’re waiting for, he said. There’s nobody else who can do it for us.

His words resonated.

It’s true. Inside me is that place where I have always been waiting. For the right time, the right space, the right reason, the right anything to make the changes I want to make. I’ve been hoping someone would come along and say — hey! I’ve got all the answers. I can ‘make you’ into (fill in the blanks). And then, pouff! it would happen and I would be…. that ‘other’ I’ve always wanted to be — without having to do the work of making change happen.

It ain’t that easy. But it is that simple.

There is no one coming. I am already here. I already am all I want to be. And within me, I hold all the power, ingredients, capacity, tools, knowledge, wisdom, muscle, authority — you name it, I got it within me, in spades, to make any changes I see fit to create a world of wonder within and all around me.

What am I waiting for?

Anyone can join in the 2 Week Cleansing With Food Challenge. Just click on the link and get into action. There’s no magic potion. No secret ingredient, elixir or concoction to drink. Just a knowingness and desire to get clean, and engaged, in eating it all right.

Namaste.

I have an anniversary, of sorts, coming up. A time, a marker placed on the calendar turning over the leaves of days, moving through the passing of years converging with time now.

It is a significant date for me. A notable occasion and while I tell myself, don’t make a big deal of it, it’s just ‘a date’, I feel the swell of memory, of gratitude, of appreciation welling up, sweeping over the intervening years from what was then to what is now. I feel the lightness of being and I rejoice.

Ten years is a long time. It is a short time. It is no time. It just is. Whatever I make it, it becomes part of the flow of my life moving in and out. It becomes part of the journey from there to here. It becomes and is, all part of the undertow, the ebb and flow, the washing over and the moving into living every day with joy and gratitude.

I have an anniversary edging its way onto the horizon. I want to scour my memory banks, dredge through my veins cleaning out all remnants of ‘those times’ to free my blood to flow clear today.

I feel the presence of those days more at this time of year. This is the time I was ‘disappeared’. These are the months when I was not alive. Not here. Not present. These are the days when I waited, frightened, alone, terrified, yearning for release. Waiting to die. Those were the days. This is now.

I live. Free. I live. Alive. I life in the flow of life all around, gratitude swelling my heart to bursting. Love beating a fierce tattoo within my being all present, all here, all encompassed by life in the rapture of now.

It will be ten years this May since that morning I awoke and was given the gift of my life. Freedom. Release. Ten years since the fear that encased my heart with invisible bonds were broken. Ten years.

A decade.

A time of growing. Of deepening. Of becoming.

A time of celebrating all that is true and beautiful and wondrous. A time of letting go. Of releasing. Of forgiving. Of loving.

A time to reflect upon and see how far I’ve come since that morning in May when I sat in catatonic disbelief that what I feared the most, his disappearing from my life, was the one thing that could set me free.

I am in awe of the power of love and forgiveness. I am in awe the healing that comes when I let go of fear and stand with love in the broken places.

I am in awe.

I have an anniversary coming up. I don’t know how I’ll mark the day, but I know, this time is a time to rejoice, to cherish, to celebrate all that I am when I let go of fearing who I am is not enough.

I am, me. And that’s enough for me.

May your day be filled with the wonder and joy of knowing there is no one else just like you in the world. You are unique. A gift. A wondrous being of light. A magnificent soul of love and beauty. May you radiate love and joy in everything you do, through everything you are and may you know you are loved, just the way you are.