Author: Mary Elyn Bahlert

I am a spiritual seeker, a seeker who has "taken a drink from many cups." I love to accompany others on the deeper journey to witness to their True Self. Now a writer, photographer and poet, I have retired from full-time ministry as a pastor in downtown Oakland, CA.
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How Beautiful It All Is –

Mary Elyn Bahlert

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“…thinking how grateful I am for the moon’s
perfect beauty and also, oh! how rich
it is to love the world.”  – “The Sweetness of Dogs,” by Mary Oliver

I’ve been thinking of how beautiful this world is, this world I see from my front window, the world I see as I walk under the branches of slender trees on city streets, this world of flowers that blow in the gentle summer wind as I pass, and as I acknowledge them, note their presence in my world.

This is a beautiful world.  I note this fact with gratitude, joy and humility.  I did not create this place, yet here it is, right before my eyes, these eyes that have seen many things, including death, and now, this singular beauty.

In my religious training, I did not hear much about beauty.  Did I hear of beauty at all?  Did beauty enter into the meanings of things, the value of things, the value of life, of my life, of all lives?  I think not.  And yet as I recall the words of the people of all faiths, I know there have been some among us, some ordinary human beings – like me, like you – who have searched, always, for the answers to life, and who have also witnessed to the beauty of the world.

A woman I admire greatly and I were speaking one day.  I mentioned the beauty of things to her.  She stopped short, reprimanded me, in a way, reminding me of the awful things that are present in the world.  I agree.  I know the suffering of this world, have known some small measure of it myself, have seen it in the eyes of those I love who were meeting death.  I remember, often, the flow of refugees, people like me who have lost their homes to war that is not their own, people who set off into the night with a few belongings and those they love, to find a place where they will be welcomed.  My heart grieves for them, also.

And so I witness to beauty on their behalf, and in my witness is a longing, also, for their time to witness this beauty.

My friend’s short response is a response we all know, very well.  As soon as we grant ourselves the gift, the moment, the abundance to witness beauty, our mind clicks into gear:  “how can you take this time, when there is so much important work to be done?”  “Why notice beauty when others are suffering?”   “And what will you do to make this a world where there is justice, where there is enough, for all?”  My mind works that way.  I’ll bet yours does, too.  And so we set upon our important work, this work that will change the world.  And we fail to see beauty, that ever-present gift that we are given, now, in this moment.

As I write, a single bird calls, frantically, outside my window.  This, too, is beauty.  I am grateful for this song.   The voice of the bird brings me back, to this moment.

I am grateful for the poets, and for their trail of words that speak to beauty.  I am so grateful for their words.  Often in my life, their words have given me hope.  And now, in my own witness to beauty, there is this hope.

Sometimes I think about the years I have lost, those years when beauty surrounded me, and I was too busy, too tired, too involved in matters of importance, to see that beauty, that gift, that creation, this creation.  As for now, I have this beauty.  I am grateful.

 

 

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The Wisdom Years

Mary Elyn Bahlert

IMG_0786Safe harbor for nesting…

Surely not everyone who reaches an “older” age has been given wisdom. Is this not true?!

What is wisdom? noun =
the quality of having experience, knowledge, and good judgment; the quality of being wise.
• the soundness of an action or decision with regard to the application of experience, knowledge, and good judgment: some questioned the wisdom of building the dam so close to an active volcano.
• the body of knowledge and principles that develops within a specified society or period: the traditional farming wisdom of India.   (New Oxford English Dictionary)

Who do you turn to for wisdom?  As I get older, I have had to learn to ask others to help me discern when I am facing a choice or a decision in my life.  I ask for their wisdom, their presence, their experience.  I choose those others carefully.  I might ask one friend for their “wisdom” on a relationship question, and I might ask another person when I need guidance about purchasing an appliance, for example.

I turn for wisdom to those I can trust.  I am careful, and I know that I have people in my life who can be trusted.  What we speak to one another is a carefully guarded jewel.  When I speak about my life, I can expect my jewel to be guarded, carefully, by my friend.

And I turn within for wisdom.  How do I do this?

For me, the “secret” to life is letting go, surrender, or forgiveness.  In my mind, all of these are the same thing.  When I “let go” into what is, into that deeper part of myself, I “let go” of my preconceived notions, of my well regarded opinions, of my un-forgiven slights.  These are cherished by my smaller self, my ego, to be sure.  And my ego does not want to “let go” into the larger whole.  My ego is afraid of what it does not know.  Who would I be without my well-worn arguments against this person or that?  What will happen if I don’t get what I want?  How can I let go if it will appear that I am not willing to fight for what I want?  How can I let go of my need to be right?  How, indeed?

For me, it is wisdom, this letting go.  This is the real work of life.  I let go into some deeper wisdom, some place deeper than my buzzing mind, my forgotten but cherished memories, my long-held opinions.  I let go, and in letting go, I free-fall into a place of trust and wisdom.

I’m not in control in that place.  My freedom lies in my letting go, but I don’t want that freedom more than I want my safety net of assurance.  That’s what I want:  some assurance that I can get what I want, that what I think is right is right, that my cherished view of the world is the only right view of the world.  Then, a fight ensues; the fight is with me and my ego, holding on tight.  I project the fight “out there,” however.  I fight with my neighbor, with my sibling, with my friend.

In nature, one moment gives way freely into the next.  This moment has given way to the next, and the next, and the next.  There is only this present, this present moment.  I see the towhee build its nest, living in that deeper place, trusting, working, letting go.

At this point in my life, I long to be in the presence of those who have this larger view of life.  My hope is that these wise ones are changing the world by their presence.  I can see, from the vantage point of 6 decades, that all the fighting to be right among human beings has not changed things.  Our weapons are more powerful, more potent, more dangerous.  We continue to invest in the weapons of war and destruction.  We continue to point our finger at “other,” as if “they” are the problem.  We continue to imagine that the latest technology will make things better.   We want our weapons to save us, when the One who Saves is without weapons, breathing deeply within.

In the meantime, human beings fight over borders, as they have for eons.  In the meantime, our leaders are not those who are the bearers of wisdom.  In the meantime, people are hungry on this abundant planet.  In the meantime, some have so much and others have nothing.  In the meantime, people are leaving their homeland, the victims of leaders who will not let go.

And all I can do is to let go, to let go into that place of trust, a place I cannot control.

**  To schedule a session with Mary Elyn Bahlert, spiritual guide and coach, call:  510-778-7065.

 

 

 

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What do I want?

Mary Elyn Bahlert

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What do I want? Such a simple question. What is it I want?

I was sitting with a group of friends, and someone asked simply the question: “what do I want?” She reflected, then, on what she had “wanted” at times in her life. She mentioned her choices, choices that became clear in her wants.

I had feelings, then. I realized that what I had allowed myself to “want,” was a long way from what she had allowed herself to want, to desire, to consider as a choice in her life. I could not, given who I was, given where I had come from, given who my parents were, who I was, given the circumstances of my birth and even my ancestry. Who I am, as well as what I can want, had certain limitations.

We can see “want” reflected in the world around us. Some of us can “want” what others have. Some of us want what can never be ours. Sometimes, we cannot even want, at all. The places we come from, socially, politically, culturally, intellectually, allow us, or do not allow us to want.

Even to “want” is a luxury,  not given to all.  I felt that when my friend mentioned her choices, which had offered opportunities for want that I did not have, had never had.  Sometimes, even now, in my 60’s, I can begin to want for something I had not considered before.  Do I want to travel to India?  Do I want to learn to swim?  Do I want to know another language?

I think that as children, we can be given the gift to “want,” or the gift will not be given, at all.  Some children can never want.  There is no room in their home, in their lives, in their world, to want.  And that is true for the privileged as well as those who are not born into privilege.  Some children have all that they want fulfilled, the basket of their wants over-flowing, even before they know want.

Such a simple word.  So much meaning, so much depth, so much potential in that word:  want.

The ancient Hebrew word for want is:  chaser.  It’s meaning can be translated in these ways:  “to lack; by implication, to fail, lessen:  be abated, bereave, decrease, to cause to fail, lack, make lower.”  (blueletterbible.com/lexicon).

When we want, then, we lack.  We lack something we do not have.  We are without that which we do not have.  We are in a place of lessening, by our very want.  And we experience, we know this place of lessening, every day.  And we know this place of lessening, or we do not even allow – in ourselves or others – this wanting, this lessening.

What is it I want?  Sometimes, even now, I ask myself that.  What do I want, today?  Do I want this, for lunch, to wear, to see, to experience?  Am I allowed to want, to have this place of lessening awakened in me?  Perhaps I cannot allow this to be awakened, perhaps there is not room for my want.

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“My children want for what they cannot have.  I have only these hands among your roots and a few places of sunlight in the house.”  – Mary Elyn Bahlert, “Houseplants.”