Songs of the Season. Kling Glöckchen klingelingeling

My father loved music. An avid collector, he had over 2,000 LPs (for the younger set those are the big vinyl records that are making a comeback). 🙂 He kept his collection organized by artist in alphabetical order with a special section just for Christmas Music.

Throughout my teens, we lived in southern Germany. Heintje was a young boy with the voice of an angel who was one of my father’s favourites. He would play him again and again and again, always commenting on the clarity of his voice, the sharpness of his enunciation as if he had just discovered him all over again. My father was always enthusiastic in his passions.

Kling Glöckchen klingelingeling was one of his favourites.

Songs of the Season. Il Est Ne, Le Divin Enfant

For me, the language of Christmas is spoken in French. As children, we did not know the language well and as my mother’s native tongue is French and my father was fluent, they always spoke in French when speaking about Christmas. We children would listen and try to figure out what they were saying, did I hear them say I was getting that Bride Doll I really wanted? What is the word for red rubber ball? Is that what they said?

My mother would sing a lot when we were children and one of my favourites was Il Est Ne, Le Divin Enfant. Today, whenever I hear it I am transported back to my childhood days when French was the language of Christmas and my mother’s voice sounded like an angel to my ears.

Become and Let Joy Arise

On this day of your life,
Louise, I believe God wants you to know…

…that safety is not the thing you should look for in the
future. Joy is what you should look for.

Security and joy may not come in the same package.
They can…but they also cannot.
There is no guarantee.

If your primary concern is a guarantee of security,
you may never experience the truest joys of life.
This is not a suggestion that you become reckless,
but it is an invitation to at least become daring.
Neale Donald Walsch (Daily Message from CWG)

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When I read the message above from a daily note I receive in my Inbox, I felt this visceral, oh no! kind of response that said, “See Louise. No one can give you a sense of feeling safe or secure. Only you can do it and the only way you can do it is to seek joy, not safety.”

Dang.

Here I thought it was someone else’s job to make me feel safe and secure.

Wouldn’t you know it, the Universe knows and is constantly delivering what I need to learn. Sometimes, I’m just not ready, or perhaps not feeling safe or secure enough within me, to heed the lesson.

I have often confused feeling ‘safe’ with ‘trusting’, especially in relationships. Having been prone to trusting the untrustworthy, it was virtually impossible for me to achieve a sense of feeling safe so I constantly put the responsibility for my unease on the world outside.

“I need to feel safe so I need to trust you,” is very different than, “I feel safe within me so I choose to trust that I am capable of making loving decisions that support and honour me and my life, whatever you do.”

In the first, I am placing all the responsibility for my feeling safe and for having trust honoured (or not) on ‘the other’.

In the latter, I am acknowledging my accountability to creating my own sense of well-being within me, and acknowledging that I have the power to make decisions that create the more of what I want in my life — whatever is happening in the world around me — in loving, kind expressions of my truth.

And in living my life true to my inner knowing, I find joy arising with every breath.

The joy of freedom. the joy of knowing I am safe no matter how fierce the winds are blowing around me when I stand in my “I” and stay true to my beliefs, my values, my being who I am in the world.

At the talk I gave on Wednesday night at Canadian Business Chicks Christmas Social, I began with telling the group that I believe we are all born magnificent.

Within each of us, I told the group, no matter where we stand on the street, no matter our economic, spiritual, physical or emotional state, is the seed of magnificence that is our true essence.

When we’re experiencing homelessness or other life hardships, it is easy to forget our magnificence. It is easy to believe we are the labels we carry. Homeless. Addict. Bum. Emotionally disturbed. Mentally-ill. Broken-hearted. Rejected. Lost. Alone.

I shared with the group the story of a man in a class I was teaching at the homeless shelter where I used to work who was once a boy soldier in Africa.

I have done awful things, he said. How can I see myself as anything other than bad?

Do you want to be a ‘bad’ person in the world today? I asked.

No, he replied vehemently.

I invited him, and the group, to close their eyes and for just a moment imagine they truly were magnificent. That in that moment, they radiated pure, beautiful light. Live it. Breathe into it. Become it, I told them.

When they opened their eyes I asked the man who was once a boy soldier if he could feel it.

Yes, he replied. And he smiled and his eyes lit up and for just a moment, his magnificence shone.

Then it is true. I told him. You could not imagine it if it did not exist within you. Rather than fearing the truth that what you did when you had no choice but to survive or be killed is who you are, breathe into the truth that your magnificence is your birthright. Live that truth everyday and keep doing one thing, everyday, that awakens your magnificence.

I saw that man several years later when writing an article about one of the housing first programs in our city. He was working as a custodian/building manager. He saw me and took me aside and reminded me of that moment and thanked me. “I work at being magnificent everyday,” he told me.

When we live our magnificence, when we breathe into it without seeking anything other than to know it, we become it.

Just for today, let go of the fear you will never be good enough, or tall enough or rich enough or safe,  and simply, Become.

Become and Let Joy Arise.

what are you grateful for?

Thank you. copyWhen I was a little girl I wanted to be like the sunshine. I wanted to make people all around me feel warm, cared for, happy. I wanted them to know their hearts were capable of smiling, even when clouds blocked the sun and that if they couldn’t smile, I would smile for them until they felt the warmth of the sun once again upon their skin.

Yesterday, I was given the gift of feeling like I was immersed in sunshine, even on a dark December day, where snow clouds blocked the sun.

From C.C.s latte at my desk while I typed in the morning and an amazing dinner when I got home at 9 last night from Canadian Business Chicks where I was giving a presentation and received a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday lead by Canadian Business Chicks CEO, Monica Kretschmer, to my daughters calling to sing me happy birthday as did other family and friends, to the man who purposefully held the C-train doors open for me when he saw me running to catch it, to the singing of happy birthday by two handsome co-workers, to treats from my team and well-wishes from others, to the outpouring of birthday-wishes and thoughtful emails from friends near and far, I felt embraced in love, tenderness and celebration.

Dr. Seuss famously wrote, “To the world you may be one person; but to one person you may be the world.”

I am grateful for my world of people who care about me and about whom I care so much. My world filled with people who support me, love me and applaud me through every stage, every moment, every event and for whom I in turn get to be their cheerleader too.

I am grateful for all of you who come here every day to read and share and travel this journey with me.

I am grateful for those I meet whose hearts I touch and who touch mine. I am grateful for strangers who do kind things and those whose actions remind me to be kinder, gentler, more caring of our world.

I am grateful for the laughter, the tears, the silly moments and the sad. I am grateful for the moments that fill me with such joy my heart wants to burst and the ones that fill me with such sorrow my heart can only cry.

I am grateful for it all. And for all of you.

Thank you!

As the past fades, today awakens.

The past is not a place to live in. It is a place to learn from so that we can live in today and have hope for the future.
Casey Eagle Speaker

When I was a little girl, my birthday often got messed up into the Christmas festivities, leaving me feeling left out, not important, insignificant. You know, all those things children think are true about themselves because they don’t have the cognitive capacity to make sense of the world around them and see the world only through the eyes of “I am the centre of the universe so it must be all about me!”

As a child, I could not see that it wasn’t that my birthday wasn’t important or that I wasn’t significant or made a difference in our family. It was that my mother was often alone, had four children to tend to and was suffering from a great sadness that haunted her every moment.

Years ago, when I was a mother of young children, I asked my mother to tell me her life story. It was then I realized the great sadness that haunted her was not of my making. It had descended long before my arrival in this world. The tragedy wasn’t that she was sad. It was that over the decades she had not received proper attention for the darkness that filled her light and so drifted day to day through a haze of over the counter drugs she employed to soften the edges of her sadness.

As a child, my father was often away. I used to make up stories about where he was. What he was doing. Who he was talking to. Mostly my stories revolved around him saving the world because he was a super hero and had great things to do. In his absence, my mother would often threaten to tell my father of all the wrongs I’d committed. It worried me. Did that mean he was away because I was bad? I tried to be good. I really did. But my attempts were futile. My father stayed away. And so, I told myself stories of why he was gone so long and how it couldn’t be all about me, even though my child’s mind believed it was.

In reality, he was trying to make a living to support his family and was doing what he knew best to do when faced with challenges that threatened to overwhelm him. Run away. Disappear. Be silent and distant. It was all he’d ever known to cope with childhood trauma’s and a troubled past he could not understand. He too was doing the best he could. It’s just children don’t come with an instruction manual. How was he to figure us out?

The beauty of time and growing older is, the past is not as welcoming as it grows further into the distance. In its fading days, I am learning to be more present in today, more conscious of my now, more grateful for what I have in this moment, right now.

And I am truly grateful.

Yesterday was C.C.’s birthday. we celebrated with a dinner for two at home. A delightful evening of candles and music, wine and food carefully prepared with Love.

Today is my birthday. His kiss stirred me from my sleep. His birthday song awoke me.

What a delightful, loving, tender way to greet my day.

Oh. And Beaumont got in the mix too!  He stuck his nose in my face as I lay on the bed savouring the morning and gave me a great big birthday lick!  How sweet is that! (I guess now is not the time to tell him I don’t like doggie kisses! )

It is my birthday and I get to celebrate and be thankful for my life and all the years I’ve spent learning how to live it with passion, joy and Love.

I am truly blessed and very grateful..

It is his way. A message from the other side.

The three sisters.

The three sisters.

The first time he comes to visit it is in the time between restless slumber and awakening.

I am surprised to see him. He has been gone almost 20 years. I did not expect to see him in my dreams, let alone this semi-awakening state.

He smiles, his white teeth appearing between his black mustache, the impish almost dimple on the left side of his cheek puckering-in like the stem side of an apple.

He does not say hello. He does not even seem surprised at my surprise to see him.

“I’ve been worried about you,” my brother says.

“You’re dead,” I blurt out. In retrospect it might have been a little rude on my part but when a dead brother comes to visit unexpectedly, thinking straight is not my forte. Anyway, what’s he going to do about it? Not like he was still around and could whip me with a towel or stick me in a closet as was his yen when we were young and locked in sibling disputes over who was boss of who.

He is older than me. The only son, or as I used to like to say, “The son for whom the sun rises and sets.” Yeah. I wasn’t too mature where my brother was concerned.

My brother and his wife died in a car accident March 27th in 1997. There was a lot of angst and anger and sorrow and unfinished business in the wake of their passing. Having him pop in now, years later, without so much as a hello or even a postcard from the other side feels a tad disorienting.

And for that matter, who knew ghosts could worry?

“Not relevant,” he responds when I ask him about worrying ghosts. “I’m worried about you. You need to take better care of yourself.”

And then, he’s gone. Poof. Just like that.

But I do not question that he was real. That he really did come to visit. He was there.

The next time he comes back I am in the shower.

“Excuse me!” I squeal when he makes his presence known. “I’m in the shower!”

“So what?” he says without batting a single one of the jet black eyelashes surrounding his big brown eyes. “Spirits can’t see human matter. They only see the essence of what matters most. Did you get my message?”

“What? That you’re worried about me?” I want to shrug him off. To ignore him like I always tried to do in our growing up years.

My brother can be persistent and insistent. He can be dogged in his approach to just about anything. When we were young he once dragged me out of a discotheque in Germany where I was not supposed to be. Something about being 16 and underage he told me. I did not want to hear him and tried to go back. He got all his friends to come and make sure I didn’t.

“Yeah, I heard you.” I reply quickly reaching for a towel. I don’t care if spirits only see what matters most. He is my brother.

“Look. I’m not here about your vanity. Pride means nothing after you’re dead. I am worried about you. You need to take better care of yourself.”

And once again, he’s gone. Poof. Just like that.

Later, I tell my sisters about our encounter.

I heard his voice, my eldest sister tells us. Just the other day.

I wonder why he’s visiting, my middle sister asks.

It’s Christmas, I reply. George always loved Christmas.

And he did.

Just as he always loved us. No matter what. No matter where. No matter how difficult our encounters. He always loved us.

My brother came to visit. Twice.

In death as in life. My brother always had something to say, something to tell me about how I was behaving, or mis-behaving. He always wanted the best for me even when I thought he was being a pain, a pill, an interfering older brother who wanted to control me and my life.

I want to ignore him, just as I always wanted to  when he was alive and pestering me with his silly game of ‘name that tune’ or thinking he can beat me at Scrabble.

I want to tell him I hear him. Finally.

I’ve tried every which way to re-conjure him up in my mind, and I can’t. No matter what thoughts I create, I cannot feel his presence though I can still hear him laughing all the way from the other side.

I’m hoping he reads my blog so he will know — Message delivered. Loud and clear, bro.

And then, I smile. He doesn’t need to read my blog to know I got the message. He’s watching over me, just as he’s watching over all the ones he loves.

It is his way.

 

An Advent Invitation: Week 2

Make time for the sacred copy

What is precious
inside us does not
care to be known
by the mind
in ways that diminish
its presence.
David Whyte
The Winter of Listening

It is the second week of advent. As you wait for the sun’s return, as you listen for your deepest knowing to awaken from these long dark nights of winter, listen to your heart. Listen to the silence and winter calling you to know ‘the otherness’.

The otherness of letting go of busy. Of releasing that which pressures you into doing too much. The otherness within when you allow time for breath to arise easily from deep within your soul. The otherness of knowing peace, hope, love and joy is here, right now, in this moment when we stop and breathe into its essence.

This is the time of endless nights growing darker. Of day’s light growing weaker in the soft approach of winter solstice, in the coming light of the child’s birth drawing near.

This is a time when our patience grows thin as we rush about, fighting crowds and traffic, endlessly hurrying towards one more checkmark on the list, one more item scratched off on the gifts we must buy.

Patience is a virtue and at this time of year, a necessity. Yet, we struggle against giving it time to grow, to take form, to inhabit our being present in the darkness of these wintery days so that we can lean into the silence to hear the song of joy being born within our hearts.

We cannot change the course of night, just as we cannot change the path of the earth moving around the sun. Winter will pass in its time, and whether we wait with calm heart, or battle against time’s slow passing, the sun will appear upon the horizon, raising itself up into the sky, with or without our permission. No matter how many items are checked off on our list, the sun will return, days will lengthen and nights grow shorter. The cycle of time passing will continue, again and again, in its never ending circle of life.

This is a time when I seek that place of quiet within where I can hear my heart giving birth to the new life I must call my own. This is a time when I yearn to fall into place with the world around me and the world within me. A place where the hustle and bustle of the season wanes as I find that place within where I know communion with the world, within and outside of me. This is the place where I let go of that which I ‘hate’ about me and find the courage to live from my poet’s heart growing up within me. It is in this place I sense the world through the beauty expressing itself through my soul’s desire to give birth to the one I have been waiting for, just as over 2,000 years ago, Mary gave birth to the One the world awaited.

And in that moment of quiet, as I sit in the stillness of the night, a song arises within me, and I find myself settling into my heart. In silence I wait patiently for the sun to return like a mother awaits the birth of her child.

And the world awaits the coming of peace, hope, love and joy to become the essence of my world.

Expectant Silence  (An Advent Poem)
©2012 Louise Gallagher

In expectant silence
the world awaits
the coming
of a child whose birth heralds
a world
of peace
hope
love
and
joy.

In the quiet
of dawning light
I await
morning
streaming rose and gold
threads of glory
filling the sky
with the promise
of a new day
born in the darkness
of the night

silence descends
light enters

I feel
the breath of the Divine

rising up within me
awakening my soul
with fluttering wings
and with each breath

I become an oasis
of peace
hope
love
and
joy.

REFLECTIONS for Week 2

Reflections:

  1. What song is your heart listening to?
  2. Where do you need to stop listening to ‘those who had nothing to say’ so that you can hear the miraculous within you?
  3. What can you do this week to make space for the ‘new life’ that you must call your own to be born? During the meditation, was there a space where you felt yourself letting go of diminishing your presence?
  4. How can you carry that sense of the vastness of your being into the world with you today and for the next week?

For the meditation, please click HERE.

To read Make Time for the Sacred: Week 2, Click HERE.

 

O Come O Come Emmanuel. Music of the Season.

Like with Pentatonix, any music The Piano Guys publish strikes a chord in my heart.

When I was a little girl I remember my mother singing O Come O Come Emmanuel. It is one of my very favouritest Christmas songs and the plaintiff  songs of the cello with the lyrical lightness of piano that The Piano Guys bring to it stirs my imagination and my desire for Hope. Peace. Love and Joy.

Blessings on your day.

Songs of Christmas wonder and awe

I pretty well love anything Pentatonix releases and their songs of the season are no different.

Here is their version of Carol of the Bells.

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While I don’t normally post on the weekends, throughout the month of December I will use the time to sahre music of the season that fills me with wonder and awe. Hope it does the same for you too!

Blessings on your day.

Darkness is light standing still.

Don’t only practice your art,
But force your way into its secrets,
for it and knowledge can
raise men to the Divine.
Ludwig van Beethoven

 

Almost every morning since my first post at my original blog, Recover Your Joy, on March 3rd, 2007 (Scooping Up The Shadows), I have sat before a blank screen and forced my way into the secrets of my art. Trusting the process for no reason other than I am part of the process, a willing servant to the muse’s desire to have her way with me, I have placed my fingertips on my keyboard and let the words come.

In allowing vowels to follow consonants and making way for thoughts and ideas to dance their way into sentences strung together by words of every imagining, I have forced my way into the secrets of my heart, my vulnerability, my creative essence.

In this commitment to sit at my computer and explore the questions that arise simply because I am committed to being present here in dawn’s questioning light, I have discovered the power and joy of writing it out. Immersed in the wonder and awe of being connected to the Divine essence of my creative soulfulness. Practicing my art every morning has forced me to embrace my humanity and our shared human condition.

This is a journey of revolution and evolution.

I have chosen to take this journey because to not take it would have left me cowering beneath my fear of the dark, hiding in the shadows of my uncertain belief that this life, my life, makes a difference.

In appearing here every morning, in witnessing my words unfold and reach out far beyond the letters appearing on my screen, I have discovered truth shimmering in my fears. Light shining in the darkness.

On Tuesday, Liz at Be. Love. Live. shared a powerful description of the darkness in her post, Here’s How To Stop Being Afraid of the Dark:

“In a black hole, much of the light is trapped inside of the actual black hole, so there is a massive amount of light inside of it. The perception of a black hole is that it would be a physical manifestation of darkness, and yet, the black hole itself is filled with dense light. The vacuum of space, which we perceive as darkness, is filled with matter and anti-matter which is a form of storing light. In this sense, the darkness of the vacuum is just a state of light that is standing still. So it turns out that all of the physical perceptions of darkness around us are just another form of light. This brings us to the fact that the physics, if it is mirroring the spiritual, is telling us that the darkness itself is another form of the light and that darkness is dense light. Darkness is light that is standing still and is stored in a state of readiness to become light. Darkness is potential light and therefore, darkness is the source of light.” – quote fromspirituality information 101 (you can also check out what NASA says >>> here).

Darkness is light standing still. Densely packed, full of potential. Fully embracing its source. And that source is light.

How Divine.

Namaste.