Love Never Grows Old

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For Valentine’s Day, my beloved and I went to a movie. My Sailor. My Love.

Set along the rugged shores of Ireland’s stunning coastline, it follows the tale of widower, Howard Grimes, falling in love with, Annie, the woman his daughter hires to keep house for him.

It begins with an apology and ends with acceptance. And through it all, love shimmers in the beauty of the scenery, the sparse dialogue, the interactions between the three main characters, Howard, his daughter Grace and Annie, as well as everyone in the theatre and online watching. We all felt Love’s presence.

No matter if the actors were embodying the confusion, hurt, anger, fear, sadness, loss of their character, Love was there.

At the end, when I was wrapping up the event (I was the host. I’m a board member of THIRD ACTion Film Fest and we put on monthly screenings of films that illuminate issues and stories of aging and one of us always hosts) I told the audience that one of the things that really rang true for me in the film was that, Love Never Grows Old. Not physically. Not spiritually. Not intangible or tangibly. Love Never Grows Old.

There is always space, and time, for Love to play a role, hopefully, a leading one, in our lives.

Whether we are feeling happy, elated, joyful, or confused, hurt, angry, scared, sad, or lonely, Love is always there. To know it, we only have to accept it is there and forgive ourselves and others for the things we’ve done that were unloving.

As the final credits rolled last night, the movie of my life that likes to play in my mind when my soul is stirred and my heart beats wild and fierce, rewound itself to a point in time where my mother, sisters, my daughters and I were at my brother and his wife’s memorial service.

As I told my daughters, who at the time had just slipped over the cusp of their single-digit years and were confused by some of the family drama that enshrouded the passing of their uncle and aunt, “When someone leaves this world there is only one thing they can leave behind. Love. It is what brings each of us into this world and what carries us over the threshold to whatever lies beyond this life.Love is eternal.”

My Sailor. My Love. reminded me to keep diving deep into LOVE. It never grows old. It is, from the beginning to the end of life, always present.

No matter our accumulation of money, possessions, degrees, homes, cars, accolades, no matter how high up the career ladder we climb, how many times we’ve fallen, felt broken, discouraged or lost, it is always Love, in its many wondrous facets and manifestations, that carries us through.

.Namaste

I want to grow old as if aging is as exciting at 70 as it was at five

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Some say age is irrelevant. Some say it’s everything. Some, that getting older is hard. Others, that it’s not for the weak of heart, spirit, or mind.

I say, age, and aging, are what we make of it.

We can’t not age. Our bodies change and grow older with every passing day. And while we can’t stop the aging process, we can cultivate a young-at-heart state of mind no matter our age. We can consciously choose to remain spirited, open-minded, and mindful of how we see ourselves at every age, because, no matter how old we get, we always have the power to choose to not make our age the measure of our journey, but rather make our journey the measure of how we live our age.

I want to be as excited and enthusiastic about getting older as my grandson approaching his fifth birthday, counting each sleep left before the ‘big day’. I want to treat every day as the best day to be alive because reaching five, or whatever age I achieve, is the best age to be in this moment, right now.

I want to fill each day with memories to cherish and possibilities to fulfill. To stuff all the things that make my heart dance into each moment, unfettered by worry and confusion about what it means to be turning 70, or 80 or any other age I claim as mine. I want to dance wild of heart, living every day as if the question, “How shall I best live this day” is the only question I need to live into, every day.

I don’t want to feel like I’m crawling towards some finish line looming ominously like a dark cloud hanging low upon a not-so-distant horizon. I want to invite Lady Death to be my welcome companion. To run with her through fields of wildflowers blowing in the wind, to stand in silent companionship under a warm spring sun and feel its warmth on our upturned faces as we soak in the glorious nature of this day. I want to know that Lady Death is not lurking in the shadows waiting for some, indecipherable to me, signal that says, “Time’s Up!” but is dancing with me in the rain, catching raindrops on our tongues and splashing barefoot in mud puddles, arms wide open as we spin and leap with abandon. I want her to be my best friend. The one who comes and sits with me when I am scared of what comes next, encouraging me to stand up and live unafraid of whatever does come next.

I want to live as if dying is not the end of living, just the end of life as I know it. That, in living this life the best I can, I can trust Lady Death to take care of whatever glorious mystery lies beyond it, in its own time that doesn’t matter to me.

I want to live wild, free, and magnificently alive right to my last breath no matter how my body carries me across death’s threshold. A threshold I am confident will arrive in its own sweet time, saving me from having to discover whether or not I had a ‘best before date’.

Because I know, deep within my body, that I don’t have a ‘best before date’. I only have dates with my best days ever, days, not to be used up, but used to the fullest of my ability, no matter my age.

I don’t want to be used up by life. I want to use up life bite by scrumptious bite, savouring every morsel of life as if it’s some delicious meal inviting me to consume it to the very last delectable drop.

I want to live this life as if it’s the only life I have to live because it truly is the best life I’ll ever have and celebrating my birth date with as much enthusiasm as my five-year-old grandson celebrates his, is the best way to say as I blow out all 70 of my candles (and however many more are yet to come), “Thank you for this amazing, magnificent, glorious life. It is the best gift I’ve ever received. And my wish is on this day and every day, I use it well every day of my life.“

Namaste

These are the faces of love

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Alive in Love
By Louise Gallagher

These are the faces of love
flowing
between hearts
beating
wild
the song that never ends
in the key of life
running full
with the joy
of being
alive
in this moment where
small hands
touch my tender heart
breaking
open.

These are the glorious moments
that fill my world
overflowing
with the exquisite nature
of one tiny raindrop
plump with an entire world
of beauty
reflected in its perfect
orb
suspended
in life’s 
unfathomable mysteries
holding me
tenderly
in this moment
where the only place to be
is alive in Love.

Love is Always With You

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6:30 am. I am sitting at Gate 54 waiting for my flight. Which doesn’t depart for two hours. And already, the airport is busy. The waiting area getting crowded.

The drive was fast. Security even faster. The line at Starbucks the only thing with a wait.

I sip my latte and watch and listen to the people all around. The wheels of someone’s rollie suitcase thrums as it rolls along the tile floor, its reveraberations rattling like a train chugging along the tracks. Its owner is walking quickly. I imagine his eyes focused on the Starbucks sign just ahead. In his intent to grab his first coffee of the day he is oblivious to his surroundings. Or perhaps, his flight is boarding and he is rushing to get to his gate.

He’s gone. Rolls out of my mind like a cloud passing-by on a sunshiney day.

Airports fascinate me. That opening sequence from Love Actually, of people joyfully, some tearfully, greeting one another at the International arrivals gate one of my favourite all-time scenes.

Smiles. Laughter. Tears. Music to stir the heart.

There is no music at the airport. No ambient tunes or annoying elevator music being piped in to fill the space, keep things calm. .

I haven’t noticed this before. Even though I pass through this terminal many times a year. I haven’t noticed that there is no music playing at the airport.

People are the music. The sounds of voices, suitcases rolling along the tile floor, voices in many languages chatting. A child laughing. Another crying. A man on his phone. Talking loud in a language I do not understand. I wonder if he thinks he is alone. Not at the airport but in his language here at a terminal filled with many voices, in many tongues, speaking languages from far and away. I wonder if speaking in his native tonue gives him a sense of security, of believing no one can understand so why bother to try to soften his voice? Or perhaps, he just always speaks in a loud voice and never worries about anyone else’s comfort?

I wonder how many hopes and dreams, disappointments and regrets those around me carry. I wonder if they are going to something with great anticipation, or dread. I wonder who will meet them at the end of their journey, and who will not. Will they come through the exit doors, search the crowd only to realize. ‘They’ did not come. What then? What happens next.

Lives interesecting, paths crossing, people travelling in different directions. Some towards. Some away from. Some, not sure where they’re going or what or who will greet them at the end of the line.

when I arrive in Vancouver, I shall wait for my suitcase, (hoping it turns up while keeping hold of the confidence it will), suitcase in hand, I’ll walk the length of the terminal, take the elevator to the third floor and board the Canada Line to downtown.

My daughter and grand-daughter will be waiting for me at the end of the line. We’ll greet each other with hugs and smiles. My heart will feel full and overflowing with joy and love and happiness and anticipation of the celebrations to come.

It is my grandsons 5th birthday.

I am so excited to spend it with him. Excited and grateful to have the gift of time to be part of his life, to watch him grow and mature as he steps into his future confident that the past, the present and the future is full of LOVE. That no matter what happens, no matter what wrong roads or right, no matter what tumbles he may take, what pitfalls he may navigate, he was, is and always will be part of this family circle that begins in endless, enduring exquisite LOVE.

I sit at Gate 54 waiting and know, no matter where I am, or where I go, LOVE is always with me.

Namaste

Dancing Wild at Heart

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Over at Gratitude Mojo today, doyen, Joyce Whycoff, shares a series of questions to promote introspection and writing.

Wow.

I almost felt my mind getting lost in the pure glee of skipping amidst the questions, flinging its metaphoric arms wide-open to the possibilities each question represents.

Some of the questions are posed by authors such as John O’Donoghue, Byron Katie, James Cleer, others by Joyce herself.

All of them spark the light of wonder and awe of our human condition.

My skipping mind wants to answer every question right now.

And then, I remember Rilke’s advice to ‘live the questions.’

So, to safeguard myself from diving headfirst into mayhem, I have decided to pose one question a day from Joyce’s list for me to explore – either here on my blog, or in my journal. To ‘live the question’ within by writing my heart out.

The question I’ve chosen today, which I will explore in my journal more completely, is from Gabrielle Roth. Her question immediately jumped out at me as I have held onto her book, “Dance of Ecstasy” for many, many years. Gabrielle Roth’s ‘5Rhythms‘ movement/meditation practice was part of my practice for many, many years. In the 90s I took a facilitators course and lead workshops, attended a weekly session with others and lost myself in ‘the dance of life’ finding me where ever I was on the floor, in the room, within and without. Occasionally, I still engage with it.

And that’s where my exploration of her question begins with the first sentence in her quote from Joyce’s list.

When did you stop dancing? When did you stop singing? When did you stop being enchanted by stories? When did you stop finding comfort in the sweet territory of silence?” — Gabrielle Roth

As I am off early tomorrow morning to spend blissful time with my daughter and her family (and a whole lot of dancing with my grandchildren!), I shall mostly be writing in my journal.

But, my intent is to live that question deeply. To explore what stands in front of me, and behind me, holding me back from dancing with the thrum of heart calling me to let go and just BE. Wild. Free. Untethered. Unfettered. WILD at HEART. ME.

I do hope you go explore Joyce’s question list. Perhaps I’ll see you on the page sharing your thoughts too! That would be so sublime.

Namaste

Creating Beauty: the gateway to possibility

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I love to cook and entertain. Fortunately, my beloved enjoys entertaining almost as much as I do and finds my desire to ‘create beauty’ umm… amusing/admirable/adorable… Yeah. That’s it.

Anyway, I do love to create a beautiful experience for everyone who comes to our home. To have the table look as good as I hope the food tastes.

This is why I spend a lot (read that – an inordinate amount) of time creating placecards for each guest and a unique look for the table-setting along with a menu that is inspiring and intriguing, as well as appetizing and fulfilling.

It pleases my creative heart and soothes my yearning to create beauty in the world.

I tell you this because I believe the world needs more beauty.

I believe that the only way to offset the ugly out there, is to create beauty, in here.

It doesn’t mean I’m ignoring the ugly in the world. It’s hard to ignore when newsfeeds are full of graphic accountings of humanity’s ability to destroy one another and the planet we depend upon for our very breath.

But there is little I can do about the bigger world beyond my own sphere of influence. And so, I do my best to ensure my sphere (some might call it a bubble) is as devoid of conflict, strife and hard edges as it can be.

That also doesn’t mean I cannot be prone to being edgie at times or behaving badly. It does mean that when I do miss a step or fall down in my behaviour, I do my best to get accountable and take responsibility for my missteps by cleaning up my act whenever I can.

And sometimes (read that most times) cleaning up my acting out requires I come back into integrity with my own self, inside me.

It means getting authentic inside so that who I am in the world is aligned with who I want to be in every aspect of my life.

When I used to coach at Choices, I remember every Sunday evening at the end of the five-day training, I’d think about how I am in ‘the room’ and ask myself, “Is how I am in the world outside this room aligned with how I am in this room?”

Often, I’d find gaps in my behaviour, in how I was presenting myself out there that were not aligned.

See, in a sacred space like the Choices room where hearts are broken open to the power of love and possibility (Discovery Seminars now that Choices no longer operates in Alberta) it is easy to be authentic. Not only is the room a safe space, it is a brave space – a space where no matter your human condition, you know without equivocation, you are loved, lovable, Love in action.

In the big world out there, it doesn’t always feel safe, and being brave can feel not only scary but dangerous.

How do you stand up to a bully when that bully has a gun?

How do you speak truth when truth-speaking could cost you your life or your family’s freedom?

And how do you create beauty when everything and everyone around you feels shrouded in the darkness of anger, fear and hopelessness?

I don’t have answers for the world ‘out there’. I do, however, now that what I create in here will ripple onward, out into the world in ways I can’t imagine.

And for that ripple to be filled with beauty, wonder and awe, I must release droplets of beauty, wonder and awe into the world around me with everything I do.

We live in times that feel unprecedentedly uncertain, at times confusing, at times nullifying and frightening.

I don’t know if what I feel today is worse than what my parents and their cohorts felt during WW2, or when I was a child and the Bay of Pigs was unfolding and we children were practicing hiding under our desks at school in case of an atom bomb going off. But, what I do know is, like my mother who wanted only to create beauty and peace in her world, I am doing my best to walk in her footsteps and do the same.

It is only the steps I am taking that can fill in the gaps between fear, hopelessness and possibility.

Sometimes, knowing I am imbuing each of my steps with beauty is all I need to bring myself back into integrity.

Namaste

PS. It was my youngest daughter’s 35th birthday yesterday. To celebrate her, we held a dinner on Sunday night for family and friends. These are some of the photos. (thank you @ChristieeJames for the photos!)

And PPS. I used to avoid making cakes. I’m learning to love it! She wanted a “sprinkle cake’ – read that – Confetti Cake. I loved how it turned out!

Feeling the Friday Frolics

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I begin, as I often do, without a clue as to what I am going to write. Trusting in the process, I let the words flow knowing, they will. They always do when I get out of my head and into my heart.

And my heart is saying, it’s Friday. Let’s enjoy a Friday Frolic,

And, because I met with my writing circle last night, I thought I’d share a poem I crafted. It’s one of those “I’m not sure where that came from but it’s fun!”

Which really does make for the best kind of writing experience. To just let go and let flow! Words. Images. Thoughts. Ideas.

The poem was inspired by a poem by Paige Lewis, I’m Not Faking My Astonishment, Honest, Every time we meet in the circle, our amazing guide, Ali Grimshaw, of the blog, Battery Flashlights, reads us a poem to trigger our creative responses.

Here’s what happened for me when I let “I’m Not Faking My Astonishment, Honest.” lead me into writing without knowing where my pen was going.

Thank you to my writing circle guides. You constantly inspire and excite me to keep on turning up, writing and exploring life through words and images..

I Don’t Know Where I’m Going
©2023 Louise Gallagher 

I took a trip
but didn’t know where I was going
and found myself lost 
planning
how to get somewhere
I didn’t know
because I didn’t know
I wanted to go there.

Confused, I phoned a friend
but they hadn’t planned on my calling
while I was on my trip to nowhere
and were not home
so didn’t answer
leaving me even more confused
about where I wanted to plan to go.

Lost in planning how to get somewhere
I didn’t know where I was going
I gave up on getting anywhere
and stayed where I was
until I could think of 
a better plan.

.

Life in the Key of Grace.

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According to Thomas Moore, whose soul-centered philosophy speaks deeply to me, some of the more turbulent life passages we’ve experienced need to be healed, or we stay stuck. In our ‘stuckedness’ (my made-up word, not his). Unhealed passages leave us acting out in immature, unconscious ways that limit the grace with which we pass through each day and ultimately, prevent us from knowing grace in aging.

“Passages are not always easy. You may decide it is too much for you and settle for being stuck in a comfortable phase.” — Thomas Moore, Ageless Soul

Moore suggests we look back on our lives and see various passages as linked by plateaus which represent the stages of our lives. Not necessarily the ‘aged’ stages, but rather, the significant events which make up our growing ‘up’. School. Marriage. Travel. Jobs. Adventures…

Sometimes, we don’t navigate the passages between plateaus well. Sometimes, in our inability to let go of one plateau to pass through to another, we refuse to say yes to possibility and hold onto, or stay stuck in, what was and can never be again.

There are many ways to heal those broken passages.

One way is to draw a timeline of your life. (For me, doing this exercise, I like to tape pieces of 8 x 11″ paper end to end horizontally. I begin at the beginning – birth, and include photos, pictures cut out of magazines, drawings, etc. as I move along my timeline. I take my time – this is my lifeline, my life journey, I want to savour each moment, whether I judge it good or bad – it is my life.)

From birth to today, mark the significant events and a word or three to describe what you did when that significant event appeared in your life.

Look for patterns, for spaces where your reason for ‘living in the NO’ or stepping back from possibility carried over into other areas of your life, even when you wanted to say Yes.

Now, hold those moments lovingly in your mind, and let compassion, love, acceptance pour over them. Let your heart open wide to the realization that in those instances you chose No, not because you couldn’t do it, but rather, because doing it was too risky, scary, fear-inducing, or you just felt more comfortable staying stuck.

Let the grace of self-forgiveness envelop you. Imagine grace is a serene river flowing through every fibre of your being.

And then, say, “I see you. I forgive you. I let go. I am peaceful with my decision today.”

Repeat often.

The stories we let go of.

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When I worked in an adult homeless shelter I heard many people’s stories. It was almost a ritual for staff. Whenever someone was talking about ‘their story’ of how they ended up at the shelter, the staff member would bring the client to my office door and ask, “Do you have a few minutes to listen to this woman/man’s story?”

I always had time for their stories.

They were, in many cases, all they had left of their past. All they carried with them. All they had to hold onto to remind them of who they were before…

…Before their husband took off leaving them with 3 small children, no money, no job, no prospects. For a while, they managed to keep it together. Eventually, the burden, the constant struggle to make a few dollars stretch to cover all the days of the month would take their toll. One drink became another and another until, the children were taken away and they were left, alone. Broken. Searching for release from the pain and turmoil that had become their life.

…Before the car accident that stole their wife and child leaving them unable to comprehend the sheer horror of what happened.

…Before the divorce. The fall from a roof. The fight. The breakdown. The big mistake…

People arrived at the shelter with their stories tightly gripped in memory banks and hands. Stories of how… life used to be.

…We were happy. I loved her. I always wanted to go to college. I had a career. I only wanted to be a good dad. I built things. I was well-respected. I made people laugh. I liked to sing. I painted. I wrote. I took care of people…

They would share their stories and I would listen deeply.

To the pain. The sadness. Sorrow. Regret. Confusion. Disbelief. Anger…

They would share their stories and I would hear the yearning for ‘the way things used to be’.

And when they were done, I’d tell them how sorry I was for what happened. How they must feel lost and alone. So sad.

Yet, no matter how they felt, one fact remained the same. None of us are powerful enough to change the past.

We can only look to today to find the path to tomorrow.

Sometimes I’d ask, “Are you able to let go?”

And they would inevitably reply. ‘Of course,’

Don’t we all believe that? Don’t we all believe we can change, leave the one we love who’s hurting us. give up smoking. find a job. go back to school. get sober. lose weight. change directions.

If only it were so easy.

We all have stories we tell on ourselves.

And when those stories are the only thing we have to hold onto, letting them go can feel like we are losing ourselves. It can feel so scary and overwhelmingly huge we hold onto them as if our lives depend upon their presence to keep us grounded on this earth.

We all have stories we tell on ourselves that hold us down.

Stories that begin with, I can’t. I don’t know how. I’ve never. It’s too late…

Are you willing to let go?

The questions we ask ourselves.

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Monday morning. An uncharted day.

My afternoon was to have been busy – but I made a mistake in dates and now, it’s wide open.

How will I fill it? Or is it, spend it? Or use it up? How shall I pass the time?

Perhaps rather than any of the above, I need to see my time as a time to live wild and free. Bold and fierce.

Maybe, rather than asking myself, ‘How shall I pass the time?’, I invite myself into the day with the question, “How shall I live these hours fully-heartedly in love with my life today?”

And then, as Rilke invites, ‘to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.‘ so that I can ‘live the questions now.’

Ah… to live the questions as if they are a book written in a very foreign language.

Memory stirs. Athens. My then-husband driving. I am navigating. I know where we want to get to but am totally lost. My map is in English. The roadsigns in Cyrillic. Which I can’t read.

I try to decipher them. Quickly. I am losing ground as he tries desperately to stay with the traffic which is a cacophony of blaring horns and angry voices of drivers, pedestrians, cyclists, and donkey cart drivers all vying for the same piece of road.

My driver is frustrated. Getting angrier by the minute.

I try to decipher the signs faster and faster as the temperature goes up in the car with the ferocity of a Chinook wind blowing in off the Rockies.

I am not succeeding.

Suddenly, I fold up the map and declare, “Let’s get lost.”

He laughs (sort of). “We are lost!”

Right. We are.

Then… let’s stay lost. Rather than seeking the pre-determined destination, let’s see where the road leads us. Let’s be open to the adventure!

I’d like to say that’s what we did but, if memory serves me well, we chose the safer route. (My idea of adventure and his were not the same.) We found a tourist office and acquired concise directions to take us to the inn we had booked for our week in Athens.

But what if… what if we’d stayed on the lost path? What if we’d chosen to keep travelling into the unknown.

Today, it isn’t the what if’s about the past that makes the difference. It’s the lessons learned, the growth experienced, the memories made of the journies taken.

I have never forgotten that drive through Athens. It was the genesis of my journey into letting go of my need to know every step of the journey before it began and my desire to stay rigidly attached to the outcome. It was the beginning of learning to trust in the process rather than the plan.pic