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As I journey through the inevitable process of aging, I’ve come to realize it’s high time I extend an apology to my body and seek its forgiveness.

Growing up with a blend of East Indian and Catholic influences, I’ve absorbed various cultural perspectives, but am, by and far, a product of western culture. In our Western-centric world, I’ve often treated my body like an Uber for my brain – a mere vehicle for my thoughts and ambitions, sometimes paying it with rich nourishment, sometimes with trash-talk and trash TV.

But here’s the challenge: although I might treat ‘my body’ as simple the arms and legs to move my head around, there’s no body-mind separation. I am my body – my body is me; it’s not just a sidekick I occasionally acknowledge like a distant cousin at a family reunion. My body isn’t just a vessel; it’s me, through and through.

And here’s the kicker: my mind has this annoying habit of trash-talking my body, especially those parts that are showing the wear and tear of time or my own neglect. Which, to be clear, given that there is no part of me that isn’t all of me and my body, when I call my right knee which is currently in one of its depressive states, stupid, I am calling all of me, stupid.

What’s even more amusing – or perhaps alarming – is how I feed my mind with garbage and then blame it for feeling sluggish. Hello, pot, meet kettle! Pouring junk into my “mind” is akin to dumping it directly into my body. Remember, there’s no compartmentalization here.

So, it’s time for a heartfelt apology to my body – and that includes my mind, my whole being. I’ve realized I’ve been verbally and at times physically, abusing myself in a way I wouldn’t dream of with my closest friend.

Mind, body, et mois are inseparable. We are one.

Forgiving myself is a crucial step in aging gracefully without lugging around the baggage of self-condemnation. It’s about letting go of the unkind words I’ve whispered to myself and the neglect I’ve inflicted on my body by treating it like a second class citizen in the world I inhabit.

Ultimately, forgiveness isn’t just a ticket to peace; it’s the path to gratitude. This morning, as I listen to the geese honking and watch them strut and fluff their wings on the ice bar where they are gathered, the sun is gracefully painting the sky in hues of rose and gold.

This is my world and all of me is welcome, no scratch that, needed in my world. In this place where I sit, one with the world within and around me, all of me gives thanks for this miraculous, mystical, and yes, occasionally creaky, vessel that houses the entirety of who I am.

Saturday Morning Haiku – Homage to Omar Khayyam

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I still possess The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam I gifted my father in October, 1972. I know the date as I wrote it on the inside cover when I gave it to him. A voracious reader, my father had a remarkable knack for recalling passages from beloved texts, often prompting me with, “What does that mean to you, Little One?”

I loved it when he called me by my nickname, a name only he used. It brought me closer to the enigma I always saw him as.

A not very patient man himself, whenever I displayed hints of my own impatience, he loved to quote from The Rubaiyat. “The Bird of Time has but a little way To fly — and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.” I’d sigh and say, “Slow down. Enjoy the moment.”

He never just skimmed the surface of words; he delved deeper, seeking their core meaning. He also never gave me the deeper meaning, asking always to probe, to think about it, to consider the possibilities.

It is this legacy of questionning and probing I cherish most. His reverence for the written word gave me glimpses into worlds I never could have imagined. Books were sacred in our home, so sacred, he never marred their pages, except to inscribe a note inside the cover when gifting one.

In contrast, as the youngest of four, often feeling overshadowed by my only brother, the son upon whom the sun rose and set, or so I thought, my small acts of rebellion included annotating my books. This habit, perhaps a way to feel connected to my father, persists despite his admonitions I not do it.

This morning, as a flock of geese echoed over the river, my mind wandered to my father, his adoration for words, and the Rubaiyat. Inspired by Val Boyko’s inquiry on her blog, Find Your Middle Ground, “What brings a spring in your step these days?” I went in search of my father’s copy of The Rubaiyat and crafted this haiku.

Spring is on the wing,
Geese sing nature’s symphony—
In rest, time flows on.

Opening the book, I discovered my youthful dedication: signed, “The Brat.” This nickname, bestowed by my mother, was one she urged me to outgrow as I neared the end of my teenage years. “You’re not a child anymore,” she remarked once, with a wistful sigh, “though sometimes I wonder.”

That period marked a significant year—I had presented my father with The Rubaiyat and embarked on a bold attempt to attend university in Moscow. This move drew the attention of the Canadian security service, sparking a series of interrogations fueled by concerns over potential communist ties. Immersed in the world of my father’s spy novels, I found the situation amusing rather than alarming, cheekily inquiring, “Do you think I’m a spy? How thrilling!”

Thankfully, my father was acquainted with the interrogators and eased their concerns. “She’s merely pushing boundaries,” he assured them. “It’s just her way.”

Now at 70, it remains my way: to constantly challenge myself, to push boundaries, and to explore how high I can soar without wings.

This morning, geese rest upon the frozen river bank. And though I cannot ascertain the remaining flight left in their wings, I vow to extend my horizon until time rests.

Thanks dad.

Let Us Remember The Mothers #IWD2024

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On this International Women’s Day let us not forget the mothers. The ones who are fleeing war torn lands, their children’s hands gripped firmly in theirs as they navigate the uncertain terrains they must cross to reach safety.

These women are not feeling the war. They are risking their lives to safeguard the future of all humankind by taking the children out of the line of fire.

They are future-makers, memory-keepers and peace-makers.

They carry with them the memories that make lives rich. Traditions handed down through generations. Recipes passed from one generation to the next. They carry the scars on their bodies of childbirth, of watching their sons go off to war, of burying their children before their time, of moving through exhaustion and fear to care for those who cannot care for themselves. And always, despite the hardships they’ve endured, the losses they’ve experienced, the fear their children would not make it to safety, they carry with them, Love.

It is the courage of these women to love in times of war and unspeakable losses and fear and turmoil as they struggle to get their children to safety that will carry us beyond the tragedy of these days so that one day we can all stand united in peace, together in Love.

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IWD 2024 image of woman speaking up for justice, freedom and dignity for all women

The original of this image appeared in my #ShePersisted Series in 2017. The #ShePersisted quote is: “They said, calm down. She blew in the winds of change with every breath.”

There are times, (like almost always) when it comes to the challenges women of the world experience, that I feel discourage. Rape as a weapon of war. Reproductive Rights. Genital Mutilation. Denial of Education. Equal pay for equal work. Poverty… the list is long and egregious.

If we do nothing else on this Day, let us commit to making Women’s Day everyday!

Together we are stronger.

Together we are louder.

Together we are a force to be reckoned with.

Let’s Rise Together.

The Last Time – Letters to the Other Side #3

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As often happens, the muse found me just before sleep embraced me. Quietly, she murmured sweet words of encouragement inviting me to wake up and write it out.

I wasn’t all that willing a participant in her urgings. My turning on of the light and sitting up in bed was more reluctant than excitement at the prospect of writing out the glimmer of a thought she’d sprinkled in my mind.

I wanted to sleep.

I wrote anyway.

That’s the thing about the muse, and grief. You can’t just turn it off. You can only let it flow free.

The Last Time
by Louise Gallagher

The last time we chatted
I didn’t know there’d never be
another word connecting
my story to yours.

The last time you came for dinner
I didn’t know you’d never again arrive
with your habitual half hour earliness
arms laden with bags of food and gifts
you always brought for all the guests to enjoy.

The last time you sat at our table
I didn’t know we’d never share
another recipe
or I’d never again hear you giggle
and ask for just one more dram of Scotch.

I didn’t know.

And in my not knowing, I wonder
what would I change if I had known
that before the fall
that lead to your last breath
leaving
me here 
breathing
the magic of another sunrise
the wonder of another day
the beauty of another moment
passing into the next.

Would I have insisted you join me at the park
as we so often talked about
me helping you navigate 
the uneven pathway with your walker
just so you could witness 
nature’s beauty along the river?
 
Would I have insisted 
we take that trip to France
to fulfill on our mother’s dying wish?

Why didn’t I?

Death leaves no space or time for ‘why’.

There is only the finality of time stopping
for one,
as we
carry on 
with each moment
pulling us further and further away 
from that final breath,
that final touch,
that final word whispered
into the empty space left behind.

Missing you was easier
in the first days of your leaving.
I could pretend you were just away
on a trip
or shopping
or simply busy.

But now, months after death’s arrival
I can no longer avoid the certainty
of death 
and its irrevocable invitation
I accept
no matter how heavy my heart
the last time I saw you
was the last.

Radiant Bold Aging – March 26, 4 – 5:30 pm MDT

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Welcome to the “Radiant Bold Aging” Masterclass

Embark on a transformative journey where aging is not just a process, but an art form. This masterclass is tailored for those who aspire to step boldly into their next chapter, cherishing each moment and living free of the past. This masterclass is your guide to thriving at any age, celebrating each moment with grace and creativity.

Join Me and Discover 3 Vital Secrets to Living with Purpose, Passion and Pizzazz.

 The “Radiant Bold Aging” masterclass invites you to redefine aging as a period of growth, creativity, and mindfulness. With a focus on embracing your beauty and truth, cultivating creative expression, and nurturing a mindful connection with yourself and the world around you, this course offers a path to a life filled with vitality, relevance, and energized enthusiasm.

Register now and celebrate the art of aging with grace, creativity, and mindfulness.

Click on photo above or CLICK HERE to register for this Free Masterclass

________________________

A Masterpiece of Time

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Winter has returned for a visit this week. Temperatures that hovered several degrees over freezing for almost a week dove into Arctic temps over night. Back out came my long heavy down-filled coat, fur-lined boots and warmers for my mittens.

When you’re a human to a dog in northern climes, weather must be weathered, regardless of how cold the winds might blow.

This morning, as I walked along the river, immersed in a world of Mother Nature’s wintry artistry on display, my thoughts drifted back to a quote I included on the vision board I crafted at last night’s ReWrite Journey workshop. “I am going to make everything around me beautiful– and that shall be my life.”

The universe, it seems, is my silent accomplice, generously dusting the landscape with splendour and awe.

This morning, as Beaumont the Sheepadoodle and I meandered through the woods, I paused to marvel at the splendour of a world cloaked in winter’s magic, reminding me of another quote that appeared on my vision board last night. “Seek to see the magic in the moment.”  

Even with the mercury clinging with chilly determination to -18°C, with windchill, – 26C, magic shimmered all around me. Each breath I exhaled danced like white mist before me. And, even though the mistiness of my breath forced me to shed my sunglasses, which had steamed up above the scarf safeguarding my face against the biting cold, I couldn’t deny, the world looked even more beautiful when I saw it through clear-eyed wonder.

Beaumont bounded through the snow, sniffing and snuffling at the base of trees and fallen logs and with every step I took, my thoughts cascaded back to this morning’s meditation and its gentle reminder: “Acknowledge the beauty present in every moment.”

It was all there before me.

A symphony of light playing upon snow-draped branches, two Canada geese skimming the surface of the ice-covered river their wings swooshing in harmonious flight, a squirrel, embodying the spirit of the woods, bounding energetically across the earth before leaping up into a tree with one enthusiastic stretch of his body. And on the strip of river still joyfully flowing free of winter’s icy embrace, sunlight sparkling like the dancing fairies I used to spin stories about when my daughter’s were younger.

Enchanted magic, all of it

Eleanor Roosevelt once remarked, “Beautiful young people are merely accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of art.”

In the exquisite and enduring splendour of nature, which has witnessed aeons more than any of us, I breathe deeply into the truth of her words.

Our human nature is to grow older. Mother Nature, in her perpetual cycle, is a masterpiece of time. As am I. As are you.

Grief is Messy

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Four years ago today, my mother drew her last breath, stilled her heart and surrendered to the ever-after.

It has been four years of healing, growth, transforming pain into wisdom, opening to the spiritual nature of life and death and moving deeper into being embodied in this one life I am living now.

I wrote the poem below a year after mom’s death, still in thick of Covid’s thrall, and still aligning to this expected yet, still surprising role as, as a motherless child

At the time, I shared it on my Facebook page and this morning FB Memories brought it forward. I am grateful. In the wake of my sister’s death last November 24, it is a comforting and welcome reminder of grief’s erratic and capricious nature If you are walking within grief’s aura, I hope it brings you comfort too.

Grief is Messy.
by Louise Gallagher

Grief is messy.
It follows no well-known path
travelling to the beat
of its own drum
as it pummels your defences
pushing its way through the boundaries
you desperately put in place
to keep its presence at bay.

Grief is stealthy
It dresses up in familiar clothing
masquerading as your best friend
while it sneaks in through the side door
of memory, stealing into
the broken places
of your heart
you want desperately to avoid touching.

There is no taming grief.
There is only its heavy cloak
of companionship
wearing you down
until one day
you find yourself arriving at that place
where moments spent wrapped
in grief’s company
die away
as softly as the sweet melody
of the voice
of the one who is gone
fading into memory.

And for life on ther lighter side, I’ve posted one of Beau’s blogs on Sundays with Beaumont this morning. As always, he wins! 🙂

Radiant Bold Aging

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Sir Beaumont and I were walking with a friend who shared her hesitation about taking a much-anticipated trip. Her husband’s mother is not in the best of health, sparking fears of what might happen if she becomes ill while they’re across the world. It’s a valid concern, yet it cuts both ways. What might happen if they went on the trip? And what if they didn’t?

As I’ve grown in wisdom and life, I’ve learned that dreams wither without action, and with age, the belief in our potential can dim and, even fade away.

Ultimately, facing the question, ‘What might happen if I do, or don’t’ transcends more than just the realities of our day to day living. It brings us to the portal of possibility, opening us up to all that is possible when we choose to live beyond our fears, our comfort zones, and, our limiting beliefs. Ultimately, it asks us to lean into the question – Do we let worry and fear hold us back? Or, do we seize life’s opportunities, whether that’s embarking on a journey, returning to school, or asking someone out.

For me, it’s about overcoming fear to launch the business I’ve dreamt of for so long.

Doing nothing about it was keeping me stuck in that place where my dreams were just that—dreams, withering as I grow older and feeding into the diminishment of my self-confidence and growing doubts about my abilities and capacity to stay Vital. Relevant. Energized.

As an example, last October, despite my reservations, I traveled to Ireland alone. Overcoming the “monkey mind” that wanted me to stay put, ‘be realistic’ – the timing was all wrong. Travelling alone was scary… yada. Yada. Yada. I realized that succumbing to the incessant monkey mind chatter full of fear and doubt, was keeping me mired in inaction. Not stepping out of my comfort zone to travel alone, not giving myself permission to believe in my own capacity to ‘be okay’ whatever happened, which included renting a standard, not automatic, car with the stick shift on the left hand side of the steering and navigating uber-narrow Irish roads on the right hand side, was me buying into the notion, I’m too old.

I am not too old. I’m simply the age I am – and being 70 doesn’t mean I can’t learn new things, try new ways, explore new adventures. Not doing those things because I’m afraid will only teach me how to live a life unfulfilled, draining my vitality, relevance, and sense of contribution.

Aging is an inevitable journey from birth, but how we age is a choice. Our bodies, like roads exposing potholes after winter, accumulate aches and pains. However, with regular maintenance—exercise, nutrition, rest, and check-ups—we can manage or prevent these discomforts.

Living fully means facing fears and embracing life’s opportunities. It’s about proactive maintenance of our physical and emotional well-being, ensuring our life’s roads are navigable and our journey fulfilling.

What about you? Have you faced a moment where you had to choose between safety and growth? How did you decide, and what was the outcome? I’d love it if you shared your stories below. Let’s inspire each other to fill the potholes on our paths and move forward with courage and purpose.

We’re all aging. Let’s do it with passion, purpose and pizzazz! Together.

_____________________________

And… I am holding a free online masterclass to share some of the secrets of aging. It’s March 26, 4 – 5:30pm MDT — click HERE if you’d like to learn more or to sign up! There are limited spaces available and it would be lovely to see you there!

Beautiful Tender Mercy

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Beautiful Tender Mercy

by Louise Gallagher

One day, when you least expect it
you will stand at the threshold of your heart
and hear its pounding insistence
you step across the liminal space between not loving yourself
and loving yourself with all your being awakened to every beat of your heart.

In that moment, you must choose between
staying locked in the darkness of believing your flaws and many imperfections
are too wide and bulky to fit through the doorway to your heart
or
stripping away the heaviness of your belief you do not deserve your love
because you are so imperfect and scarred and scared of loving yourself
you will never be free of the fear of loving yourself.

To choose to stay locked in darkness is easy.
It’s the comfortable shirt you’ve worn forever.
The one you thoughtlessly put through the washing cycle so often
you no longer worry about putting the machine on delicate.
You know this shirt is tough enough to take your abuse.

But, to risk stripping away the shirt and tearing it to shreds.
To risk standing exposed with all your scars and scared self naked
to the prying eyes of imperfection.
Ah, well that is the penultimate act of courage you will ever commit.

One day, you will stand at the threshold of your heart
and be asked to commit to loving yourself in all your wounded, flawed beauty.

On that day you will know the sound of freedom is not a song
sung by those with the courage to climb every mountain and ford every sea.
It is the sound of your heart falling
deeply in love
with the perfection of the beautiful tender mercy of being held
in the loving embrace of your arms wrapping themselves around your heart
as you whisper joyfully, I Love You.

#dareboldly #dareboldlypoetry #dareboldlyart #poetryofinstagram #poetrycommunity #poemsoflove #selflovepoetry #selfloveisgoodlove #selfloveisgoodforthesoul #mydailydoseofcalm #loveyourselfpoem #beyourbestfriend #instagood