Now’s The Time (#ShePersisted No. 64)

How many times have you heard yourself say, or someone else tell you, “It’s all in the timing and now is not the time.”

Or, “When it’s the right time, you’ll know.”

The question is, who determines the timing or whether it’s ‘the right time’ or not.

Fact is, if I want something to change and you don’t, you’ll find a way to tell me my timing is off. It’s a much easier let-down than, “No”.

Years ago, when I started an art studio in the homeless shelter where I worked, there was a man who every day sat in the large day area on the second floor of the shelter and painted.

As the only shelter open 24/7, it was a busy place. Full of people and noise, comings and goings that would sometimes erupt into loud arguments or angry slamming of fists against walls or people too.

The windows on the second floor were 20ft above the floor. They let in light but no view.

Everyday I would stop by the table where he sat and invite him to come up to the 6th floor studio space. It’s quieter there, I’d tell him. The view is fabulous (which it was. Floor to ceiling windows looking out over the river valley and the hillside beyond). And we’ve got coffee, I’d tell him and lots of space to spread out.

And everyday he would say, “Not today. It’s not time yet.”

One day, I asked him, “Have you picked a date yet?”

“A date for what?” he asked.

“To start coming to the studio,” I replied.

“Not yet,” he said.

“Then why not make today the day. Why not make time now?”

On that day he decided to do it.

He never looked back. And though he was still living in a homeless shelter, sleeping with 1,000 roommates every night, his creative expressions began to blossom and bloom and flourish. As did his sense of self, his pride, and his connections to others.

From selling his work in our various art shows, to painting, writing music and poetry and acting in plays and playing his music on stage as part of the various productions as a member of The Possibilities Project, he made time for creative expression. One year, he even went to New York to participate in an Off-Broadway production of Requiem for a Lost Girl that was germinated in that space by the amazing Onalea Gilbertson, His gifts are many. His contributions, significant. (He’s also the man who gave me the gift of music for two of my poems (The Gift).

I like to think it all began with making the decision to change where he sat.

As humans, we like to find reasons to resist change. We like status quo, even when it limits our freedom, our self-expression, our hearts.

Is there something in your life calling out to be changed, but you keep waiting for ‘the right time’ to make it happen?

Is there something you dream of creating that you are resisting expressing because you tell yourself the timing’s not quite right?

Decide now. Decide right where you’re sitting, right now… Now’s the time.

Now, take a step and then another. Make it happen.

____

None of us is forbidden to pursue our own good.

Meditations, Marcus Aurelius

____

Go Right. (a Quadrille)

“Creativity,” she said, “Is a muscle. Use it or lose it.”

At least, that’s what I remember the muse whispering in the sweet nectar of that space just before the dawn where I drift in blissful dreamland, just before Beaumont the Sheepadoodle comes and sticks his wet nose in my face.

It’s his signal. “I have to go. Out. Now.”

Of course, The ‘now’ when it’s -23C (-9F) with the windchill takes a few minutes to happen. By the time I’ve layered up, Beau is at the front door. If he could cross his legs I’m sure he would.

We went out. Walked the quiet, frozen streets for 15 minutes while he contemplated the perfect spot to do his business.

Beaumont is a master at picking his moments (and spots). If I’ve made him wait he’ll make me wait too.

But, back to the muse and her whisperings.

Since I can remember, I have loved writing prose and poetry. I’m not a rhymer. I just feel great joy experimenting with the words to create images and connections and ideas. I love playing in the flow.

On Monday, the inspiration to play came from a poetry prompt at dVerse.

Today’s challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a quadrille poem. If you’re new to dVerse or the quadrille, it’s simply a poem of 44 words (excluding the title.) You MUST use the word “way” in your poem.

I accepted the challenge and the words flowed.

The first line that came out of my pen was, “That’s no way to be a lady.”

I laughed and invited it to wait. “You’re much more of a #ShePersisted kind of prompt,” I told it and saved it in my #ShePersisted quotes file. I know it will be waiting for me to pick up the brush and start creating anew.

‘Cause that’s the thing about inspiration. It doesn’t have a best before date. It only asks that we take note and trust that when the time is right, it will be there inviting us to come alive in its vision unfolding.

I began again on divining the essence of the ‘way’ to write my Quadrille. This time, the words settled onto the page like honey melting in a mug of hot lemon tea. The perfect blend of sweet and sour. Smooth and syrupy.

Okay. So it wasn’t as fast as honey melting in hot tea. It took several hours to get the words to sing within the parameters of a Quadrille. Exactly 44 words (not including the title).

But that’s the thing about creativity. It isn’t a once in a lifetime occurrence. It’s an, ‘I’m always flowing in and all around you’ kind of medium. Like the tide. Always ebbing and flowing. Constantly in motion.

My job isn’t to watch the waves roll in. My job, my passion, my creative urge is to dive in and ride the arc, carving my words onto the page like a surfer catching the break, swooping and dipping as she rides the curl, body balanced within the crashing swell until there’s no wave left to ride and she paddles back out to catch the next one and the next.

Creativity is everywhere. Creativity has no beginning nor end. It just is. A force of nature. A fact of life.

Which is why, I didn’t stop with writing a Quadrille. I painted it too.

Ahh…. that muse. She takes such delight in play.

 Go Right
 ©2021 Louise Gallagher
    
 Thinking I’d find
 a shortcut to happiness,
 I blindly followed
 the road most travelled.
  
 The road
 veered left.
 My heart said, 
 go right.
  
 I followed my heart.
  
 There are no shortcuts
 to happiness.
  
 There is only the way
 of the heart 
 leading through Love. 

_________________

And P.Ss — the song that was singing in my head as I painted happened to be a song written in the 60s by Malvina Reynolds and made popular by the great Pete Seeger.

Perhaps it will inspire you too!

Standing Out – #ShePersisted No. 63

#ShePersisted #63 – They said, you need to be more like us to fit in. She said, why would I want to fit in when I stand out just the way I am?

It is one of life’s challenges. To be our authentic selves in a world that wants us to fit in.

Finding a balance between satisfying the inherent human need for belonging and our individual desire to be unique is not easy. It is, however, imperative. To not be authentic drains you of lifeforce. It puts a ‘cramp on your style’ and can leave you feeling dissatisfied, disappointed and disillusioned.

Years ago, when I became a stockbroker, (I know. Unbelievable right?) I thought I had to dress the part. Conservative blue suit. White blouse. You know. Transform myself into the image of what I thought a female broker should look like, á la Anne Hathaway’s character Andy in The Devil Wears Prada who dresses up fashionista style only to get all the attention she wanted while losing her self-respect.

Fortunately, I figured out tailored suits are not my style and left the sector. Ok. There was more to why I left the sector but I like the poetic imperative of that statement so I’m sticking with it!

Eventually, by the time I started working at an adult homeless shelter, I had become comfortable with being me. I dressed to suit me. Listened to my heart and not everyone else’s opinions. Except, at the shelter, I worried that ‘all of me’ might be hard on those I deemed to have nothing and thought I should ‘tone-down my sunshiney ways and dress-down to fit in’. (I know. Can you spell ‘condescending’?) I quickly realized that being true to myself was more honest and authentic than fitting into what I thought other’s needed me to be, especially when in a place as dark and heavy as a homeless shelter, light and sunshiney ways are vital! As are honesty and authenticity.

Yet still, that little voice in my head (you know, ‘the critter’) sometimes like to sneak in and whisper not-so-sweet-nothings about how I need to tone myself down, or not be so… me. Sometimes, I think the critter is only happy when I do my best to be invisible!

No. 63 of my #ShePersisted Series says, No Way. Uh uh. Not happening.

Because, seriously? Why contort and distort who you are to fit into some uncomfortable-to-you measurement of what works for others when you are born to stand out in whatever way works for you?

Love Pours In

Thoughts from my meditation on the question of Love — it is the theme this week of the year long Contemplative Listening and Writing course I began earlier this month.

Holding onto nothing, I become all that I am.

With every exhale, Love rushes into the spaces left behind where once I held onto everything.

Holding onto nothing, Love is all there is.

Holding onto nothing, Love pours in.

_______

Love Pours In

©2021  Louise Gallagher

I forget
where breath begins
and hold onto nothing
but my last breath
fearing there will never be
another to fill
the void.

Letting go
life rushes in and fills
the space
with nothing
more than
my last breath
moving into
the next.

In the ebb
of life’s
constant flow
holding on
fills the void
and I become
each breath
letting go.

And Love pours in.

I wrote this poem several years ago. I was reminded of it this morning when I started to share a painting I created on the weekend and realized, I needed to speak of Love.

I wanted to hold onto what I had intended. I had to let go.

And as it always does. That’s where love found me. That’s where love poured into the spaces created in letting go.

Where’s My Gift? An SWB Post

Sundays With Beaumont – Where’s My Gift?

Me: C’mon Beau. We’ve got to get up.

Beau: Why? I’m cosy.

Me: We’ve got Wilma’s birthday party to go to at the park.

Beau: Whaaatttt???? A party! Why didn’t you say so!

Me: I just did.

Beau: Haha. Yeah. I know. But why didn’t you say so early so I could have put on a tux and maybe brushed my hair.

Me: Oh don’t worry about that. I was thinking of putting on your coat.

Beau: The cow coat!!!!!!!

Me: Yeah. The cow coat.

Beau: Not happening.

Me: But it’s cold outside.

Beau: I repeat. Not happening.

…Does he or doesn’t he? Wear the coat? Come visit Beau on his blog today and find out! There’s birthday treats too!

Just CLICK HERE to read the rest! 🙂 he’ll be so happy to see you! With or without his cow coat.

The Gift

When the email arrived carrying a link to ‘The Gift’ I wasn’t really expecting it.

Sure, when Ian Hanchet (the gift giver) commented on my poem “If I Could...” he wrote, “I was inspired to immediately pick up my guitar and melody flowed from me. I recorded it on my phone, but I need to become more acquainted with the rhythms of your poem so that I may do each phrase justice. Too bad my life just got super busy. Maybe Next week I can return to this work of wonder.” When I read his words I thought, ‘how lovely’ and promptly wrote back to thank him and to let him know how excited I was he liked the poem that much.

And then, I let it go.

Yesterday, Ian emailed to say he’d finished the song and included the audio link.

I cried as I listened to it. Not just because Ian is a talented musician with the kind of voice that makes me feel like I am sipping an after-midnight scotch in a moody, crowded jazz bar somewhere along a dimly lit side-street in Soho only those who ‘know’ can get to after going down a flight of stairs leading to a deep red door that opens into the mystical world of late-night jazz, but also because in his gift I received something beautiful and precious — The gift of being seen.

I wrote back to Ian after listening to what he calls, ‘our song’ – which in and of itself feels like a rare gem to be treasured always – and told him how special his gift is.

Ian’s gift also carried me back in memory to another gift of a song I received years ago from my dear friend, artist, musician, writer Max C.

In 2014, when I changed the name of this blog to Dare Boldly, Max had read my declaration of identity and felt inspired to send me a piece of music he’d written to accompany it. He asked me to record my voice reading the declaration and then, he put it to his music.

Like Ian’s gift, Max made me feel ‘seen’.

I hadn’t forgotten about Max’s gift, though I hadn’t thought of it in a long while. What I had forgotten, however, was my declaration of identity – it’s the one I share at the top of this post.

Full circle.

That’s what Ian’s gift brings me. Full circle back to remembering – I am the song. My song.

What a powerful and liberating gift. To remember…

We are each ‘the song’ of our life.

We are each, The Song Maker. The Song Singer. The Song.

Let us always sing outloud. Let us each sing of truth, beauty, kindness, hospitality, generosity of spirit, Love.

Let us sing each other awake in a world we create together of beauty, awe and wonder.

Thank you Ian for your gift of many gifts.

I revel in gratitude.

___________

PS — along with being a musician, singer/song-writer, poet, Ian is an amazing writer, deep thinker, music historian and generous human being. You can find him on his blog, Vignettes and Bagatelles.

Click HERE to listen to ‘our song’ If I Could Give You My Heart.

What I Want.

What I Want.
 ©2021  Louise Gallagher
 
 I want to live in wonder
 to see the world 
 fresh
 as a new born 
 slippery wet and squirming
 from the birth canal
 falling 
 into arms of love
 holding me 
 safely
 wrapped in swaddling cloth
 sewn with velvety silken
 streams of laughter and joy
 flowing all around me.
 
 I want to live in the awe
 of life 
 unfolding
 right here, right now
 in this moment
 giving birth 
 to possibilities awakening
 within the unfathomable beauty
 of the world
 pounding through my veins
 pumping 
 my heart
 full 
 of the mystery of this morning
 reincarnating itself
 within the dark
 of night passing through
 star lit skies
 and moonbeams streaming
 into day
 bursting 
 at the seams
 of my anticipation 
 of the wonder
 of it all 
  
 when I open my eyes, wide
 and stretch my arms even wider
 to that place 
 where my heart
 breaks
 wide 
 open
 to catch falling
 stars
 rain drops
 and tears
 
 I want to scream
 above the howls
 of wolves on full moon nights
 and wind swept mountain tops
 don’t you dare 
 cry 
 for me Argentina
 
 there are
 no tears needed
 to wash away
 this wonder 
 of living
 beyond the limitations
 of my fear
 unravelling
 in the fullness
 of every courageous step
 I take 
 to drive me
 far from that place where I believe 
 fear
 will keep me safe
 from feeling 
 the slings and arrows of fate
 
 there is no arrow 
    that can pierce my heart
 when my heart is open
 
 there is no riptide 
    that can pull me under
 when my arms are open wide
 
 and there is no wind
 that can blow me over
 when I stand strong
 
 strong enough to hold on
 to only love 
 
 because I know
 there is nothing to fear
 but fear itself 
 
 and I am born to be
 wild
 wild 
 beautiful 
 free.
  
 I am born
 born to be free
 to cry and laugh and say
 I love you because
 I love you is my battle cry
 my morning song
 my heart's delight
 and nothing can stop me
 singing

 I am fearless 
 and fierce enough 
 to let life
 get the best
 of me
 because that 
 that is what I want
 to live 
 in the endless wonder
 of being me. 

Strong back. Soft front.

©2021 Louise Gallagher
Mixed media on canvas paper – 7 x 10″

The Sunday after the 2016 election my daughter, Alexis, and I attended Jazz Vespers at St. Andrews-Wesley United Church in Vancouver.

We needed to do something… hopeful.

The results of the US election had stunned us. Taken us by surprise and lead us down a dark alley towards a sea of confusion.

Jazz Vespers was the antidote to our despair.

I still remember the words of Rev. Gary Pattison who led the service. “Jesus Christ loves Donald Trump,” he said. “I’m glad he does because I’m not there. Yet.”

Four years later I wonder if Gary got there.

I didn’t.

I feel compassion for the child who never knew love. I pray for a miracle to heal the man. But love him?

I take a breath.

I do not write of politics. I do not write of religion or the economy or issues that consume weeks of headline news. I write of our human condition. Because, no matter the political, religious or economic times, it is we, the humans of this world, who create the climate for goodness, or darkness, to prevail.

Which is whyI am not writing about the man. I am writing of my response to how I felt yesterday as I sat and watched the inauguration of Joseph Biden as the 46th President of the United States of America. Our neighbours. Our closest ally. Our partners along the longest undefended border in the world.

I didn’t watch the inauguration on the same date in 2017.

I couldn’t.

I was far from Rev. Pattison’s kind of love and far from being able to do what a professor in a social justice course I took long ago said was necessary to change the world. “Until you love the Hitler in you,” he said, “you cannot love all humanity.”

I so want to be that person. The one who can love the human condition without falling into measuring someone’s worth as lacking because I am standing on my self-righteous pulpit judging their humanity and deeming it unworthy of redemption.

We are all worthy of redemption. And I wonder, is redemption the miracle that transforms blindness to sight, deafness to hearing and heartlessness to giving a damn?

And I hear the sinister whisper of my self-righteousness crawling across my skin. It is vile, that whisper. It would have me believe that it is The Man who makes the country. The Man who determines the heart of its people. The Man who is everything.

On that November day in 2016, when Rev. Pattison gave his homily at Jazz Vespers he stated, clearly and unequivocally, “We must stand with strong backs and soft fronts.”

For the past four years, I struggled to stand with a soft and open heart while keeping my back strong so that I could stand up for what was right and just without tearing down those who stood against me. Just as I struggled to believe there was hope in the darkness, a light at the end of the tunnel.

For the past four years, I have lost heart.

Yesterday, I was reminded that the sun is not gone because clouds cover the sky nor does my heart stop beating while I’m sleeping nor when I’m afraid.

Yesterday, I felt the delicate embers of hope begin to burn in my heart again. The embers that had begun to glow when Mr. Biden was declared President Elect last November.

Yesterday, I felt myself exhale and breathe in deeply.

Neither Trump nor Biden are my President.

But as a citizen of this world, as a neighbour to America, I look at what is called the self-evident truths of their declaration of independence as a beacon of hope in a sometimes dark and messy world. And while their path to equality and freedom has been fraught with missteps and peril, the intent to get there, the commitment to do the hard things was always part of what I believed was possible. Because, I believed America would do the right thing, even when it was hard.

For the past four years I have doubted. I have faltered.

I have hope again.

Yesterday, I watched the inauguration of Joseph Biden as the 46th President of the United States of America and Kamala Harris as Vice-President.

I cried. I smiled. I cheered. I bowed my head and prayed.

Today, I stand strong of back, soft of front. Today, I believe all things are possible.

As to loving Donald Trump. I leave that up to God.

January Flowers

Here on the prairies at the eastern foot of the Canadian Rockies, January days are full of harsh winter light in a cloudless blue sky.

The land is grey on black on white. Leafless trees stand stark. Barren gardens lie silently waiting for spring beneath a blanket of snow. Prairie grasses rustle dry and brittle in the crisp winter air.

It is there, amidst the frozen landscape lying dormant beneath a January sun, I paint, my palette loaded with all the colours of the rainbow.

Playing with colour distracts my mind from world events and disheartening news of death counts and violence, changes in governments and travel restrictions and weather-forecasters’ foreboding messages of a Polar Vortex about to descend.

It is there, on the palette, I am reminded that my power lies not in my ability to change the whole world but to create beauty in my own. In that act of creation, I set in motion a ripple of beauty flowing within me and out into the world all around me.

It is there I remember that the power of art to awaken nascent possibilities for humanity to find peace, love, joy, together, is not transitory. It is always present.

To awaken it, to be present within and to it, I must keep my attention on the things I want to grow stronger in my life.

Let my attention be on creating joy, love, harmony.

Let my attention be on sharing peace and love with all the world around me.

Namaste

___________________________

I have been feeling unsettled. Discordant notes of anxiety burble up into my consciousness, creating ripples of unease within my peace of mind.

Much of my unease is initiated because I keep returning to newsfeeds that do little to create confidence in humankind’s ability to create better. I tell myself I must stop only to catch myself awhile later falling down the rabbit hole of yet another story about some political, environmental, economic or pandemic related story dragging me into the darkness.

I turn away, come back to the palette and begin again.

Practice they say makes perfect.

I am feeling very practiced at dragging myself out of the darkness, though I am getting tired of the dance!

Yesterday, I desperately needed the distraction of working on small things to help bring myself back into the present moment unfolding right in front of me.

I am grateful for my art practice. Grateful for my beautiful studio where I can find my balance again amidst the noise of the world around me.

How do you find your balance? What do you do to distract yourself from the world ‘out there’ so that you can find peace, harmony and joy within?

Two Haiku

Written sitting at my desk this morning as I watched the sky shift from dark to light.
Mixed media on canvas paper. 7 x 10″

I enjoy putting words to my paintings. Yesterday, when I had finished this one, my beloved asked me, “What kind of berries are those?”

Red, I replied.

And thus…. a haiku was born.

This morning, as I sat at my desk and watched the night sky fade into reds and rose and blue, I snapped the first photo.

And another haiku was born.

_____________

I am fascinated by the haiku form — both by its endurance through so many centuries and its compactness inviting the author/reader to say something about nature and life in so few words — the form is precise – three lines with a syllable count of 5 / 7 / 5 to equal 17 syllables in total.

From the website, Poets.org“the philosophy of haiku has been preserved: the focus on a brief moment in time; a use of provocative, colorful images; an ability to be read in one breath; and a sense of sudden enlightenment.”

It’s a great form to test and stretch your creative muscles.

____________

The painting of the berries was an experiment with watercolours, acrylic ink, spray ink and Inktense watercolour pencils.