At River’s End
Acryllic 40 x 36
2014 Louise Gallagher

Art opens the doorway to the heart. Art-making opens the path to the soul.

As I painted and glazed and sketched and mused last night in preparation of the Artists Gone Wild Art Show & Sale this weekend, my fellow basement bombshell artist Tamara and I chatted about acceptance. About love. About life and living free of the past.

Most of my life, I told her, I wanted my mother to love me the way I wanted. It wasn’t until I let go of my expectations of how she loved me, and accepted she loved me the best way, the only way she knew how, that I found peace and acceptance of her, of me and our relationship.

At one point, my eldest daughter called me from Royal Roads University where she is currently studying. Someone had done something, or not done something, that she felt demonstrated their lack of love. She believed it made her unloved. Unloveable. Unworthy.

Mona’s Sister
Acrylic & Mixed media
10 x 10″
2014 Louise Gallagher

The truth is, I told my daughter of the beautiful soulful heart, regardless of what anyone else says or does, you are Loving. Loved and Loveable. It’s just the way you are. It is your nature.

It is a pattern. A pattern from my life to hers. Quite possibly from my ancestors lives to hers. The belief, need, yearning…

If you really love me, love me my way.

It’s not going to happen, I told my daughter, and my friend. Someone else is not going to love you exactly the way you want. They can only love you from where they are, how they are, who they are.

To be loved, to be the beloved our heart’s yearn for, we must surrender all fear of how unlovable, unloving and unworthy we are. We must stop telling ourselves we are failures, useless, unworthy, undeserving and choose to fall into Love with all of ourselves, our beauty and our beast, without expecting someone else to catch us, or paint us in another light. We must catch ourselves and hold ourselves in the light of Love, no matter what is happening in the world around us, no matter how we are presenting ourselves in the world. And when we can do that, when we can accept ourselves, as we are, and accept what is as it is, we will have all the Love we need to create the more, the better, the other we desire.

My mother loves me. She always has. I know this and still, there were times when I questioned her love. Her capacity to love. Her ability to be there for me in the way I needed. And in my questioning of her love (and the way she expressed it), I held myself back from stepping wholeheartedly into love with all of me, my beauty and my beast.

There have been times in our relationship when I have driven her crazy. Hurt her. Scared her. Not because I intentionally set out to do so. It’s mostly just that who I am has often been someone she has not understood. Someone who is very different than her. Someone who sees the world through their own eyes, and has difficulty accepting someone else’s worldview as their own.

It is my nature. To do it my way. When I was growing up, it is one of the things I remember my mother asking most often. “Why do you always have to do it your way? Why can’t you just do what I say?”

It wasn’t that she wanted to control me. Mostly, she wanted to keep me safe, and doing it my way, through her eyes, was a path of danger.

It wasn’t that I wanted to defy her. It’s just, I felt compelled to push the limits, test the edges, experience the unknown beyond the corridors of my mother’s world.  It was my nature.

It is my heart’s desire. To know life through my experience, not through someone else’s.

The same is true for love. I cannot measure my worth through someone else’s words and actions.

To know Love, I cannot measure how loving or worthy I am through someone else’s eyes. I must choose to wholeheartedly accept that I am worthy. I am loving, loveable and loved.

It’s just the way I am.

It is my nature.

It is all our nature. Because, no matter what anyone says, no matter what happens in this world of wonder and pain, sorrow and joy, we are all magnificent. We are all the divine expression of amazing grace. Loving. Loved and Loveable.

It’s all coming together. It’s all happening this week.

We are in the final stretch. The last few steps of the unfolding of an idea into reality.

It began last fall when the couple who organized the art show I was in last year told us (the Basement Bombshells Art Collective) that they would no longer be putting the show on. “Do you want to take it over?” they asked.

“Yes!” We quickly exclaimed.

Several months of prep and organization, getting easels built (Thank you Industrial Arts students at Centennial High School!) postcards created and printed, mail lists merged and a host of small and not so small tasks that had to be taken care of before the show could go on,  we are finally into the last few days of prep work leading up to the big show and sale this weekend!

Colour me excited. Colour me over the moon. But don’t colour me exhausted! I’m not.

It’s been a busy few weeks. While getting everything ready for the Artists Gone Wild Art Show & Sale, I was always preparing my presentation for the Empower Your Butterfly Spirit women’s conference I spoke at on Saturday in Claresholm (it was a wonderful experience!). And, working with This is My City Art Society on the This is Where I Belong project  for the kick-off of the Calgary Homeless Foundation‘s newest affordable housing project in the Beltline Area. Along with the community engagement on two additional projects that the Foundation is getting underway, it’s been a busy few weeks!

But here’s the thing. I’m not  tired because all of these things engage me in living on purpose, in the rapture of now.

And what can be better than that?

On Saturday, as I drove south towards Claresholm where the Empower conference was being held, I thought about turning back. Overnight, a late spring snowfall (read – dump) had turned the roads from clear pavement to a mushy mess of slushy slickness.

It wasn’t pretty driving.

I gripped the wheel hard. Kept reminding myself to BREATHE… RELAX…        BREATHE… RELAX.

I slowed down, which was okay because I’d given myself lots of extra. The weather report had predicted this snowfall and sure enough, this time, they were right.

Driving along the highway, my eyes peeled to the snow/slush covered road ahead, I thought about turning back. But there were no exits within sight. Like Winston Churchill who once advised, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” I kept going.

And as I drove further south, the roads and the weather improved. There was snow, but not two feet of it! And, because it is spring, the warmth of the day had kept the lighter snow to the south from collecting on the pavement. It was wet, but not slick.

I made it to the conference centre where the conference was being held and had a wonderful day engaging with women who were all there to get inspired and uplifted. I had fun sharing my  story and insights, and I loved the opportunity to connect with some very powerful and interesting women and to learn new things too!

I didn’t stay right to the end as the forecast was for more snow and I knew I wanted to hit the highway before the coolness of evening set it. I’m glad I did. It was a safe and easy drive home without any clenched hand wheel gripping anxiety!

How we do one thing is how we do all things.

Sometimes, the going gets tough. Do I turn back? Stop? Quit?

Or, do I keep on going? Do I trust that where I’m at is not forever and know that to keep myself in the game means to believe that I am safe where ever I am in the universe.

I didn’t feel all that safe on the highway on Saturday. For awhile, I felt like turning back, but the road kept unfolding before me with no opportunity to quit. I kept breathing. I got conscious. I relaxed, my shoulders, my grip on the steering wheel. I turned my thinking away from thoughts of, “this is scary. Horrible. I can’t do this,” and focused instead on my capacity to drive safely and to take care of myself, even in tricky situations. I reminded myself that I have driven across the Rockies in worse conditions — and it’s true, I have. I reminded myself that I am safe in the universe and that includes even in those moments when I feel scared.

In carrying on, the journey became easier, the dangers less intense.

It was a good lesson.

To trust. To turn off the voice of doom and gloom in my head (Yup, the ole’ critter was looking to act out! I told him to take a long winter’s nap) and to stay present in the now.

I don’t recommend driving on mushy slick highways — not a good idea. But, when in the thick of it, the best response is to BREATHE… RELAX…. and keep on going until safe harbour can be found.

****************

PS — I had a painting to share that I just finished but for some reason, my iPhone has decided I have no photos on it and won’t upload or email to my computer. Very strange!

So, it finally happened, after 8 years of continuous blogging, I am at a loss on what to write.

And then, I read something over at Prophet of Bloom — The Missing Page — that got my mind stirring and chirring and whirring and wheezing and coughing and sputtering and thinking and breaking through the fog of “I have nothing to write about” to that place where I once again simply trust in the process and allow…

What I read was, “I have on many occasions also been a student.”

I am a student of life. I attempt, as often as possible, to enter any situation with the Zen concept of Shoshin or “Beginner’s Mind”.

“If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything, it is open to everything. In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s mind there are few.”  ∼ Shunryu Suzuki ∼

And then, I forget. I walk in thinking I know it all, or have all the answers, or there’s nothing else to learn and discover once again, the limits of my understanding, the narrowness of my view, the shallowness of my thinking.

And I begin again. To return to Shoshin. To enter Beginner’s mind space.

I begin again to unhook my thinking from what I think I know, to accept there is more to what I don’t know about myself, someone else, or a given situation, than I think.

Ah, the humbling journey in the Circle of Hubris — especially in relationship to me.

Me:  Yeah. Yeah. I know. I got it.

The Critter:  Seriously? You think you got it? Here, let me show you something you don’t know….

And suddenly I see myself doing, saying, being something/someone I wasn’t quite expecting.

Me:  Oh dear. Maybe I don’t.

My Higher Self:   Stop. don’t listen to the critter. Listen to me. It’s not so much about what you know, it’s all about what you’re willing to learn.

The Critter:  Yeah? Well that Louise, she always wants to speak first and listen last. You know what she’s like.

Me:  Oh. Well, I need to prove how much I know. I don’t want people to think I’m stupid or don’t understand.

The Critter:  Yeah? Well, that’s just stupid-thinking. How can you understand if you don’t first seek to understand?

Me:  Well, I have all this information and I thought it was all I needed to understand.

My Higher Self:  Shhh.  Breathe.  Deep breath. Remember, you cannot know everything. you must first seek to understand. It is the path to being understood.

Me:  But what am I supposed to do with all this information I’ve got?

My Higher Self:  Does it live in your head or your heart?

Me:   Ummm… Well…. Now that you ask….

My Higher Self:   Seek to understand, not to judge — and that includes yourself. Now, breathe again.

Me:  (sighing)  Yeah. Yeah. I know. I got it.

Years ago, in the early stages of my healing from the very difficult relationship that almost killed me, a friend asked, “So, tell me Louise. We know he was a psychopath and lied and manipulated, but what about you? What does being in that relationship say about you?”

I asked my friend, “Are you asking to understand or to judge me? Because if it’s to judge me, don’t bother. You’ll never be able to judge me as harshly as I’ve judged myself.”

And it was true. I was writhing in self-condemnation and judgement. I was awash in dismay that I could have been so stupid, so weak, so gullible as to fall for his lies.

Even though I knew the space well, holding myself in self-condemnation and judgement was not serving me well. It was keeping me stuck in what he did, in what happened, in the past. It was limiting my capacity to step freely into the now, loving myself for all I was worth — and that included as a woman who was abused, a woman who was so lost she deserted her children because she believed they would be better off without her in their lives.

That woman needed to be heard. Understood. Known, in all her woundedness for me to find myself again in the light of Love.

And I couldn’t do that if I was continually turning up in the blackness of my limiting belief that who I was then was all I could ever be.

So many of my answers to life, to living free can only be found in my willingness to learn, to stay open, to stay in beginner’s mind space so that I can take each step of this journey called “LIFE” as if each step is a brand new way of being me, without fearing the me I was in the past is the only way I can be today.

I woke up this morning and told myself I had nothing to write about.

Whether I believed it or not, in the telling myself I didn’t have anything to write, I was limiting my capacity to step into the unknown and simply trust in the process and allow…

Hmmm…. I wonder where else in my life I do that? Turn up and assume I’ve got it covered. I know it all and in my knowing don’t need to understand anything else…

Hmmm… Breathe.  And begin again.

Breathe and surrender all fear of the unknown to fall into Love.

I slept in this morning. Two long days this week, back to back, and I was tired.

So I allowed myself to continue sleeping even when my mind said, “It’s time to get up!”

I feel refreshed. Rested. Excited about my day.

It’s all about giving myself medicine first — and for me, that begins with giving myself permission to not listen to my head when it is urging me to get going, get up, and instead, to go with what my body is telling me — to rest, refresh, restore.

Even in listening to my body, however, my thinking mind still wants to jump in and say, “C’mon. You shouldn’t be tired. So what if those were 12 hour days with lots of prep work and lots of personal interactions with strangers. You shouldn’t be tired.”

Actually, what it’s really saying is, “you don’t have the right to be tired.”

My mind thinks I should be super woman.

My body knows better.

It isn’t the length of the days that was tiring. It was the personal interaction. The talking to strangers. The ‘being on’ and while I am authentically interested in connecting to people, hearing what they have to say, learning their stories and listening to their perspectives, I find myself in need of a great deal of quiet time when I’m done, especially as I’m not done yet — with the personal interactions and connecting to people.

That work is never done — and this week, on Saturday, I am off to a Women’s conference to be the keynote speaker and to present an hour-long workshop on…. blogging!

So…. here’s where you can play a part in my presentation — Pretty please.

For those of you who blog, the question is.

What makes blogging? Why do you do it? 

And for those of you who don’t blog but read them… the question is still “what makes blogging great?” and:   What do you like/get/find worthwhile about reading blogs?

What I plan on doing in my presentation is to present some of your answers — with your first name or online name or whatever name you tell me you’d like to be recognized as — to provide my audience a big picture of bloggers and blog readers that speaks to our diversity and geographic location and in particular, our inspiration.

If you read here on WordPress, feel free to leave your response in the Comments section — pretty please. 🙂

If you read on Facebook — please just fill in the reply box and send away!  Pretty please. 🙂

And, if you’d prefer to simply send me an email, please do — louise[at]louisegallagher.ca

Pretty please and thank you!

And to answer my own questions — I started reading blogs firsts. Sometime in 2006 a friend send me a link to Mark is Musing. I started following Mark’s blog and then, inspired by Mark’s commitment to the craft of writing, I started my first blog in March of 2007 — “Recover Your Joy“. My original intent was to keep myself writing daily. Now, with eight years under my belt of daily blogging, it’s about keeping myself balanced, centered. As my eldest daughter, Alexis, said when she was writing her daily blog, How I survived myself” for a year, it’s a form of meditation.”

And it is. A form of meditation. I write free-flow. I don’t generally pre-plan my blogs. I don’t have a pre-determined message. I simply trust in the process and allow the words and ideas to flow. I have about 45 minutes every morning that I allot to blog writing. And then, mostly in the evenings, I will visit blogs I follow — I’d like to do more of that but some days there simply isn’t time (like this week). I love to learn from others. To be a part of their life experiences. To read their stories and be inspired by how their lives are unfolding and the things they do to make a difference in the world.

Bloggers are another form of community — and I love community.

So… that’s it. If you’re willing to participate. Thank you.

Your presence here is wonderful participation, connection, everyday — I love our community of spirited living!

Blessings to all. May your day be filled with moments so tender your breath escapes your body with a sigh of delight as your heart softens into Love.

Namaste.

In the course of the This is Where I Belong project unveiling Monday, Bill, an individual who is currently living the realities of homelessness, shared his story with a Global TV reporter. Listening to Bill’s account of the realities of his life, hearing his dreams of a future where art has become the foundation of his life, I was moved by his willingness to be honest, open and vulnerable. I was moved by his joy in finding himself surrounded by a group of people willing to work alongside him as he explored his human condition, his art and the condition of being homeless.

Homelessness is not a cake walk and it definitely isn’t a walk in the park without fear.

There is constant fear in homelessness.

Fear of what to do next walks beside fear of what might happen to you next. And while shelter life creates a community in and of itself, it is a community based on the shared experience of ‘lack’. Lack of stability. Lack of safe housing. Lack of money, social connections outside the homeless circle. Lack of everything, including for many, a sense of lack of purpose in life — though the act of trying to make it day-to-day, to stay alive could be considered a purpose in and of itself, it does not fulfill on our greater need to feel like we are contributing to the improvement of our own lives and the lives of our families. For an understanding of the fear that stalks individuals in homelessness, check out this 2007 report I co-authored on a survey of clients at The Calgary Drop-In & Rehab Centre and their experiences of crime — Mean Streets. Safe Streets.

Homelessness is harsh and when we try to explain it away with platitudes such as ‘he chooses to be homeless’ or ‘well if she’s not going to quit [name of addiction] then she deserves what she gets’, we are sentencing people to a life of crime — not necessarily crimes that they commit, but, as the Mean Streets. Safe Streets. shows, crimes that will be committed against them.

Sometime ago a man I was working with on another project told me about his plans of going ‘undercover’ in a shelter. I really want to understand, he told me.

Don’t do it, I cautioned.

In his late 40s, he believed he had it all covered. I can handle myself in any situation, he said.

Shelter life isn’t ‘any situation’, I told him. It is a way of life, a way of living that none of us are equipped to live up to — even those who find themselves in its circumstances.

Well, I was only thinking of doing it for a week max, he said. I’m sure I’ll be okay.

I understand the need for experiential learning. Years ago in an effort to understand what happens when a woman goes ‘eyeball to eyeball’ with a john, as the police sergeant I was working with described it, I chose to stand out on the street dressed as a prostitute.

It is not something I recommend to anyone.

Just like living in a shelter.

It is not something I recommend to anyone.

It’s not that those who operate shelters are not doing good work. They are. They do amazing work. They are caring. Compassionate. Thoughtful in what they do.

And it’s not that shelters aren’t filled with good people. They are. There are beautiful, caring, loving people living and working in shelters.

It’s just that, by its very nature, homelessness is chaotic. It is unstable. It tears away an individual’s sense of self. It rips apart a person’s belief in their capacity to make a difference in their life, and the world. It destroys their belief in their right to have more, do more, speak up more, be more. It undermines their attempts to change circumstances, to change direction, to change anything.

I watched Bill’s interview and felt hopeful.  While Bill almost breaks down in the video, Bill is hopeful. He has a dream. A vision. A path to change his life. His dream is unfolding because of his belief that he is more than the label ‘homeless’. Working with Linda Hawke, the President and facilitator of the amazing team at This is My City, the art society that mounted the This is Where I Belong project, Bill has found himself in a community of people focused on creating better through the act of creating art together.

This is My City does not measure progress by the past, nor do they limit their thinking of what one person is capable of by the circumstances of where they are living. They see possibility in every person. Find value in every stroke of paint, whisper of poetry, thread of needle that is shared, regardless of what side of the street the person lives on.

And in the act of standing together in creative expression, This is My City and all the artists involved, create a world of difference. A world where possibilities open up and limited thinking falls away beneath the stroke of every picture they paint, whether it is through words, photography, sewing, — it is through their creative expressions that lives change and people find themselves again beyond the label of homeless.

Thank you Linda Hawke and all the artists involved in this project, and in every project that is created to make a difference in our world. You rock!

And thank you Bill for having the courage to share your story with such grace.

If the video from Global TV does not appear below, click HERE to see Bill’s interview.

To read Jason Van Rassel’s Calgary Herald article on the project, click HERE. To read his follow-up blog, click HERE.

Robson Fletcher wrote an article Monday on the art/community event in Metro Calgary, HERE.

It was a day bracketed by dignitaries and celebrities, laughter and fun, dreams and possibilities.

It was a day of community at its best.

It began with the invited guests, Acting Minister of Municipal Affairs, Greg Weadick, Minister of Human Services, Manmeet Bhullar, CEO of Cedarglen Living, Scott Haggins and CEO of Boardwalk Residential who was also standing in front of the crowd as Chairman of the Boards of the Calgary Homeless Foundation and The Resolve Campaign, all of whom marked the occasion with their words. Our Emcee, Gerrad Oishi, Acting CEO & Pres of CHF shared his vision of how the property, and homeless will be transformed and then en masse, the group unveiled the plans for Stepping Stone Manor, and wrote the first wishes to be hung in the Wishing Tree as the assembled crowd huddled beneath umbrellas and applauded.

Seven hours later, the day ended with three performers from Cavalia who marked the occasion with their words too. Words they hung in the Wishing Tree as one stepped onto the shoulders of the other and balanced high above our heads, stretching high to place her wish in the upper most branches she could reach.

Hanging the last wish

“We wanted to make our wish hanging different,” the one performer said, the lyrical notes of her French accent trickling in the chilly evening air.

Those of us left at the house applauded their dexterity and daring and agreed, it was different and fitting for the occasion.

And thus the day came to a close.

A day that began with sunshine peeking through grey clouds and then transformed itself into dark skies that showered rain then sleet then snow upon the heads of the almost 100 people who gathered to mark the kick-off of Stepping Stone Manor, the name of the project we were celebrating yesterday.

And then, the speeches concluded, the plans unveiled, the first wishes hung, and the sun shone again!

And still, people stayed to engage and learn and take part in the festivities by hanging wishes in the trees and reading ones already hung. Over the afternoon another 100 people walked by, stopped in, chatted, engaged and hung wishes. Some wishes for community, for the people who would one day reside at Stepping Stone Manor. Some wished for themselves, for loved ones, for the environment and the world. One man, hung wishes with the names and date of birth and end of life of his friends who had died on the streets. “It is my memorial service for them,” he said. It was touching and moving to see the care and thoughtfulness he took in hanging his wishes.

It was the best way to celebrate community and people. There were neighbours, people walking to and from sections of the city. There were people experiencing homelessness. There were school girls completing an assignment on philanthropy and school children running home with their mothers who stopped to make sure they hung their wishes too. Everyone hung wishes. Everyone shared in the spirit. People from all walks of life, including those who brought their dogs as they took their evening strolls and checked out what was going on at 222 15th Ave SW.

And everyone was interested, supportive, appreciative of the work being done.

We constantly heard, “We need more of this housing.” “What a great idea.”

Some, leery of stopping, asked if we were taking donations.

Not at all, though you’re welcome to donate anytime you wish, we told them. Today is about celebration. Today is about hanging wishes on the tree so that your wishes can be part of the wish for communities to be strong, vibrant, welcoming places.

And so they wished.

And chatted.

Had a cookie. A cup of coffee.

They spent time admiring the artwork on the side of the house. The photos on the front as the music played and laughter and chatter filled the air.

It was a wonderful day to celebrate all that makes us strong. All that makes us people. All that makes us a community.

It is a big day today. For the past week, a group of artists from This is My City Art Society, have been painting and affixing large-sized photographs of the community to the exterior walls of an old rooming house that the Calgary Homeless Foundation purchased last year. In May, the tired old house will be demolished to make way for 30 units of affordable housing for formerly homeless individuals. it is part of the RESOLVE Campaign and the Calgary Homeless Foundation’s housing first initiatives.

And first, before it comes down, we are giving it a facelift. Dressing it up for the kick-off party that will be happening today in celebration of the past and future of what is possible when we share a vision of ending homelessness.

Friday, one of my co-conspirators in The Basement Bombshells Art Collective, Tamara, joined me for the day to paint alongside the other artists at the house. It was an awesome day. We laughed. Share stories. Ideas. Inspiration. We painted mailboxes and window frames. Doorsteps and door frames and windows and trees. As people walked by, they stopped to chat.  About the house. Our work and also to share their thoughts on the need for affordable housing in our city and their support of the project.

It is not always the case. That people support affordable housing in their neighbourhood. Sometimes, fear of the unknown, fear of what they think they do know, fear of what they believe will happen to their community if ‘those people’ become their neighbours, diminishes people’s capacity to see the benefits of building homes for people experiencing homelessness.

They think their safety will be compromised, their property values diminished, and maybe even, their parks taken over by ‘those people’.

It is  ‘those people’, that gets me working harder to find common ground.

When we speak in us and them, we separate ourselves from our humanity. We put a rift in our human condition. Because, ‘those people’ are first and foremost, people. They are human, just like you and me. What’s different for them is the condition of their lives, not their human being.

Yes, for many, addictions take a toll. Poverty extracts its price. And lack of social networks, lack of support, of self-resilience, impact each person’s capacity to weather life’s ups and downs.

Once housed, and as long as individuals and families receive appropriate supports, the factors that cause such dismay and disruption in their life, and in community, begin to abate. Addicts begin to see the path more clearly, people with mental health issues begin to find themselves again, and lives begin to change.

It’s not easy. It is not a straight path. But getting out of emergency shelters or leaving sleeping rough outside and moving into stable housing makes a difference.

For everyone.

Just as the decay to the house we were painting didn’t happen over-night, the tearing apart of someone’s life doesn’t happen over night. It is a slow process of slippage, of one agonizing step after the other away from what people want towards that place they never imagined they would end up, homeless.

In my almost ten years of working in this sector, I am always in awe of the desire of the human spirit to survive. It is strong.

Working in a shelter where over 1,000 people a day come through its doors, I was always amazed how fiercely people fought to stay alive, to keep their space on earth filled with their presence.

It is humbling and inspiring.

We are born to live. And even when all the odds are stacked against us, even when the only thing we have left to hold onto is our story of how we got to be in this space, we still fight to keep it. We still fight to stay alive.

This afternoon, dignitaries and community members will stand together to mark the beginning of the end of homelessness for 30 Calgarians. It will take hard work, commitment and time to build their new homes.

But it will happen.

And in its happening, the past will be set to rest so that the future can be built on solid ground today.

This past week, we transformed the exterior of an old house. Today, we will come together as a community to celebrate its history, commemorate its past and share our dreams for its future.

If you are in Calgary, please do drop by anytime between 2 – 8 pm to say hello, place a wish in the Wishing Tree and to view what can happen when people come together to transform a house, and homelessness. Amazing things happen when people stand together to make room for change.

This is Where I Belong

A community building event to celebrate the past and prepare for the new.

222 15th Ave SW

Calgary

2 – 8pm.

Come and view the art, place wishes in the Wishing Tree and enjoy community.

Thank you to The Calgary Foundation, CHF and RESOLVE Campaign member Cedarglen Living for supporting this important initiative.

I am on the C-train. I have a 5:30 interview with a woman for an article I’m writing. I know that I am getting off at a different platform than my normal stop on the way home so walk to the front of the train. It’s closer to the exit I need for where I’m going.

Three women have babies in strollers in the area at the doorway. I get on. Manoeuvre between them and tuck myself into a space by the far doors.

I hear a voice raised in anger further down the train.

I hear another voice.  I can’t make out their words but they sound slurred. Disoriented. I think they’re seated but I’m not sure. I can’t see.

The first voice says loudly.  “f***in’ scumbag.”

I think it is the voice of the tall man. Late 20s. Early 30s. Sandy coloured hair. Short, neatly trimmed beard. He’s dressed in labourer’s clothes. Hard hat in his hands.

There is a collective stiffening of the people around him. A noted silence. There are children with the mothers with the strollers. No one could avoid hearing him.

The other voice moans something again. There is a look of disgust on the face of the sandy-haired man. People try to back away but there’s nowhere to go. It’s rush hour. The train is full.

We come to the next stop. One person stands to get off. It is the person who was muttering. People make room.

I am not sure if they are drunk or simply disoriented. From where I stand on the far side of the train, hemmed in by strollers, there is not much I can do, I tell myself. I think about getting off at the same station if only to check if they are okay, but the thought comes slowly and the train doors close before I can make up my mind.

They leave the train. I watch them on the platform struggle to get their feet steadied beneath them. It isn’t that they are visibly homeless. It’s more a sense that homelessness has played a role in their life. Dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Backpack slung across one shoulder. Khaki jackie hanging from their frame.

No one on the train says anything. The train moves on.

I get off at the next station. I say nothing to the sandy-haired man. I wonder, was there anything I could have done or said?

And I think about the man who got off.

How many times has he been called a scumbag? How many times have people created room for him to get through, as if he is diseased? How many times have they let him pass by without stopping to ask, “Are you okay?”

There was a woman at the shelter where I used to work. Addictions. Living rough. Street life had all taken their toll on her physical body, and her mind. She was sober. Had been for several years when I met her. But her speech, her gait, her unsteadiness often left people believing she was under the influence. She shared the stories of the names she’d been called. The treatment she’d received.

For her, those names had become her truth. No matter how hard she fought the names, they lived within her.

Born on a reserve, she was adopted out to a white family as a child. She never felt accepted in the ‘white man’s world’ as she called it. And never knew where she belonged in her aboriginal world either.

I think about the man on the train. He too was aboriginal. I know that just a few blocks from the C-train station where he exited, there is an apartment building owned by the Foundation where I work. It provides permanent, supportive housing for formerly homeless individuals. The agency that operates it works primarily with first nations peoples. I wonder if he lives there. I hope he does.

At a meeting earlier that morning, a program manager from one of the agencies the Foundation contracts with to provide housing in our buildings told the principal of a school with whom we were meeting that, ‘this work requires great patience’.

It can be slow. Arduous. If we’re not careful, our judgements can slip in and undermine someone’s progress — progress we deem to be too slow or invisible. “Sometimes,” she said. “We can’t see the progress, it is so slow, so tiny. But it’s there. We simply need to be patient, and kind.”

Kind.

I think about that man’s words on the train. I think about how it serves to call another human being a scurrilous name, regardless of their state of being.

And I wonder how many times the other gentleman has heard those names.

And I wonder how deep his belief runs that those names are who he is.

I don’t know what happened to cause the one man to call another such a name. I do know that there is nothing in this world that gives us the right to name another with words we would never want to be named ourselves

And I wonder, what could I have done differently. I don’t know that there was. But I wish there was. I wish there was some way to show the world, how we treat another, how we do one thing, is a reflection of how we treat ourselves, how we do all things.

And I decide, next time, I will get off the train.

Namaste.

I have a rule when I walk with Ellie. That rule is: Do not answer the phone.

I’m not always conscious of following my own rules. Yesterday was no exception.

While C.C. was resting from the procedure that removed a cancerous lesion on his forehead, I decided I needed to clear my head, restore my balance and find my centre. The best way I know to do that is to get out into nature so, Ellie the Wonder Pooch and I headed off to our favourite walking trail.

It was a gorgeous spring day. A slight breeze blew in from the west where the Rockies lined the horizon, their snow covered ridges a sleeping dinosaur’s razor edged back separating earth from the blue sky above. Birds sang and squirrels skittered along tree branches. Ellie, whose age no longer allows for a fast pace or off leash running, toddled beside me, eagerly sniffing spring scents in every blade of grass.

We walked westward along the ridge that parallels the river below that flows in from the Rockies in the distance. Patches of ice and snow still clung to its banks in tucked away places and behind us, the centre of the reservoir was a giant island of ice surrounded by still dark waters that had freed themselves from winter’s grip.

It was beautiful.

Ellie and I sat on the ridge. I breathed in the fresh air, the sounds and scents. Ellie snuffled about in the grasses then lay down beside me for a bit before getting up to sniff some more. She knows this spot well. It is where we always stop. It is where I meditate, legs crossed, face slightly uplifted to feel the air against my skin. Ellie is not that impressed with meditation. It bores her to sit still and mostly she rolls in the grass, nudges my leg with her nose, wanders off to check out a new scent.

It is our ritual. Our ‘thing’. We both like it.

As I sat and let my mind rest, I felt the tension easing. C.C.’s results from the surgery are good. The doctor removed all the cancerous cells and is satisfied — he got it all. Of course, the critter mind would like to play in that field. Stir that pot. Create fear where none need tread.

I don’t let him. I breathe into what I know. The doctor removed all the cancerous cells.

Ellie grows tired of my stillness and leans up against me. She pushes her head against my shoulder, “C’mon. C’mon. It’s a beautiful day outside. Let’s get moving.”

Finally, after a short ten minutes of silent contemplation, I give into her exhortations and stand up again.

She is delighted. She also knows there’s a treat in my pocket and butts her head up against my thigh.

Okay. Okay, I laugh and give her a treat.

It is a beautiful day.

And then, as we walk eastward, back towards the main trail, my phone rings.

I promised my daughters long ago that I would always carry my phone on my solitary walks. Mostly I remember.

I promised myself long ago that if my phone rang while I was on my walk, I wouldn’t answer it. Mostly I remember.

Yesterday, I forgot. Well, not so much forgot as checked the caller ID and saw it was a girlfriend I’ve been wanting to talk to.

I answered.

We chatted and then she asked me where I was. When I told her, she exclaimed and said, “Didn’t you hear about the stabbing?”

“What stabbing?” I asked while my mind leaped into high gear. Another stabbing? Haven’t we had all the stabbings we can take?

“At Glenmore Park. Granted, on the south side, but you get out of the woods right now and back on the main trail. It’s not safe. They don’t know if it was a random stabbing or not.”

I thanked my friend for her words of caution and hung up.

Now, I have run and walked through the woods, along the escarpment, into all the nooks and crannies along the river in this park for years. Years.

I have never felt scared in my aloneness.

Suddenly, hearing my friend’s cautions, fear leaped in and said, “Ha! Here I am! Gotcha!”

The sunny blissfulness of my walk started to slip. I felt fear nipping away at my peace of mind.

No way.

I am not letting fear take over.

I breathed and reminded myself that nothing had really changed in the past few minutes other than a piece of information I didn’t know about before I started my walk. It was that piece of information that was playing tricks with my peace of mind, not the reality of my experience right now.

Ahhhh…. there’s that stinkin’ thinkin’ again.

Take an isolated incident. Move it onto centre stage, maybe even run it up a flagpole and dance around it in excited anticipation of the havoc it will wreak.

No way.

Fortunately, I couldn’t pick up my pace. Ellie’s lumbering body and arthritis won’t allow it.

We trundled along the path. I spied several patches of crocus pushing up through the ground. A flock of Canada Geese flew over head, their honks filling the air. A gopher raced across the trail in front of us. Ellie tugged on her leash as if to give chase. I settled her down and peace returned.

And when I got home, I checked my computer to see if my friend’s words were true.

Yes. There had been a stabbing the night before.

The police had one person in custody. They were not looking for any other suspects.

There were no random attackers running wild through the woods. No marauders lurking. It was just the critter trying to steal my peace of mind. I won’t let him.

No way.

And next time, I will follow my own rule. I will not answer my phone while on my walk. In fact, I’ll just turn it to silent and let peace of mind have its way with me!

I am taking my beloved to the hospital this morning to have a cancerous spot on his face removed.

They say it’s not life-threatening.

They say it’s  not of concern.

They didn’t ask me.

What my mind knows is not always what my thinking listens to, and given the dreams I had last night, I think my thinking may have been stinking up my mind.

I read somewhere that 15% of what we think is conscious. The rest is all subconscious.

No wonder my dreams were in high gear. They must have been fuelled by my subconscious fear and anxiety.

The only recourse is to get conscious of what I am thinking and put out the stinkin’ thinkin’ in the trash.

Scott Peck writes in, People of the Lie, about the importance of acknowledging the shadow. He equates it with taking out the garbage. You can’t just ignore it. It won’t go away by itself. If you don’t take it out, you are at risk of disease, unwanted pests and other calamities — all because you refused to acknowledge the garbage needed dealing with. 

The shadow’s like that. It often contains those aspects of ourselves we don’t want to look at, or love, or acknowledge we possess. When we avoid the shadow, or refuse to acknowledge its presence, we are at risk of the shadow taking over our lives.

Consciously, my mind hears what my beloved has told me about the doctor’s comments concerning the cancer on his face.

Subconsciously, my mind kicks up a fuss because it thinks it knows best.

How do I tell it that it doesn’t?

How do I reach my subconscious and quiet my fears that are based on nothing other than…. fear of the unknown?

Meditation helps. And so does staying conscious with my thinking. Staying clear of the shadows where fear lurks.

It isn’t always easy. The mind is a shadowy place. It likes to hold secrets, keep fears intact and doors shut.

My job is to not be confused by my mind’s desire to control me through fear based projections of the future. My job is to not negative fortune tell and to stay in the present where what is known is the best information I have to work with, and create with.

So… in 20 minutes I must take C.C. to the hospital for a procedure that will remove what doctors have told him is a non-life threatening spot of cancer.

I’m going with that.

I’m staying in the now.

And, in this place of being present, I’m taking my stinkin’ thinkin’ for a walk out to the black bin in the laneway behind the garage where it belongs.

Namaste.