Author: Mary Elyn Bahlert

As I’ve grown older, and as I am more in touch what is within me, rather than what is outside of me, my idea of “what beauty is” has changed.

Let me try to explain. I was surprised several years ago when I took an online “values inventory.”  I wanted to answer the questions as honestly as I could, as close to what I really think are my values, not the values I think I “should” have.  When I tallied up the results of the values survey, “beauty” was number 1 for me.

As a child, I used to love to make some beauty in my room.  I’d carefully rearrange the small bottles of cologne I had somehow found – maybe old bottles of my mother’s from her mirrored vanity – onto a mirrored, gilt-edged vanity tray I must have gotten as a gift, along with a few other pretty, small items, on the tall, mahogany-colored veneer dresser that was mine.  First I’d dust the dresser, then I’d cover it with the cotton doily with a ruffle that was mine, and with an eye to beauty, I’d move my treasures around.

I remember as a teenager having the house to myself one day.  For some reason, my mother was gone.  I spent the afternoon cleaning the living room, dusting the furniture, rearranging a few things, straightening up messy places.  Then I took a trip to the covered farmer’s market on the corner of 28th and Center, where I found a lovely bouquet of peonies, which I arranged to grace the top of the television set.  Finally, I sat down to enjoy my work.  I was surprised – maybe even disappointed – when my mother came home later, obviously noticed what I’d done, and didn’t say a word.

I still love to arrange small spaces in a way that appeals to my own sense of beauty.  A friend once commented that I would make a great window-dresser in a department store.  For awhile, I fantasized about a life I would never have, an artist’s life in New York City, making up the windows of some huge department store.

When I was in Paris and in Florence, I noticed the windows of small shops and boutiques.  Sometimes I stopped at a window to simply enjoy the elegant beauty arranged by some careful European.

Beauty is a high value of mine, but that doesn’t mean I don’t long for justice, that I don’t pray for food and shelter for all people, or that I don’t mourn losses with friends and even foes.  All of those things are true for me, as well.  Maybe having “beauty” as a value is a way toward economic justice, a path toward equality, a marker on the way to reconciliation and peace.

At the very least, I do think beauty in its myriad, abundant forms is an element of justice and truth and equality – and hope.

What Beauty Is, is changing for me, and that’s the purpose of this writing.  Beauty is a walk.  Beauty is my husband’s eyes, the shape of his face.  Beauty is the sound of early Sunday morning, while the city wakes up, slowly.  Beauty is the sound of a train moving quickly to its destination in the distance, the sound having arrived because of a certain wind.  Beauty is the trees across from my window, dancing in the wind.  Beauty is a wind-less day, complete stillness.  Beauty is reading a poem that takes my breath away.  Beauty is an afternoon with humidity in the air in the Bay Area, which drifts me back to my younger years on the nostalgia it brings.  Beauty is the city streets, anytime.  Beauty is the variety of people I pass on a walk around Oakland, each one of them beautiful, too.  Beauty is children’s eyelashes.  Beauty is a deeply wrinkled dark face.  Beauty is the little dog from my neighborhood, running to greet me.  Beauty is breath, and sight, and hearing.  Beauty is listening to a Gospel song, and dancing to it.  Beauty is laughing, gales and gales of laughter.  Beauty is sadness and happiness and goodness and mercy, all rolled into one.  Beauty is the tall apartment buildings rimming Lake Merritt.  Beauty is the skyline of the City from the top of the Oakland hills.  Beauty is the sound of rain after too many seasons of drought.

Most of all, I’m grateful to Beauty for having made Her place in my life a matter of importance to me.  I am grateful to Beauty for teaching me that She comes in many, many, many ways, and that the world would be a better place if we looked into the world, looking for Beauty.

May your day be a day filled, abundantly, richly, justly with Beauty.  And – what is Beauty to you?

Meet LiLi!

Let me introduce you to my beautiful feline friend, LiLi.  LiLi has lived with me – with us! – for over 4 years now.  She came to us at 6 weeks old, the runt of the litter.  LiLi is my third cat; she follows in the paw-steps of Schatzi and Beauty, the little black and white cat who never came out from hiding.

I learned to love cats after I married Jeff.  I guess I married Schatzi, too.  I used to say that Schatzi was ridiculous, which she was, but she was also a beautiful Maine Coon cat, small for her breed, and she was the best at napping, her back against my chest.  Schatzi was almost 20 years old the week she sat by the heat register, unable to move.  That was the week my mother was diagnosed with inoperable cancer, and I swear Schatzi lived for another 10 months to be with me during that time of death and grief.

Cats are not only beautiful, wondrous creatures; cats are smart, too.  LiLi, whose picture graces this post, is really smart.  She talks!  When she comes in from outside (this is a cat who would never agree to being cooped up inside all day!), she will stand a few feet from me and talk.  Sometimes I talk in her language, and sometimes I speak English.  Either way, we are both engaged, even if her food dish is full at the time.

My theory is that LiLi is touchy about where she is touched because she was the runt of the litter, and maybe she didn’t learn enough from her mama before she was taken away.

Intuitively I know that LiLi is smarter than I can imagine, although she doesn’t make a big deal of it.  She’s just naturally intelligent, that goes without saying, it goes with the package, the package of being LiLi, cat.

I’ve learned a lot from my cats through the years.  I’ve learned that it’s fun to play, tirelessly, even when panting hard.  I’ve learned that if you wait long enough, someone will fill the dish with food.  I’ve learned that there is always something interesting to see – to growl at – right outside the window.  I’ve learned that being patient is simply a matter of being still.  I’ve learned that it’s all right to spend the whole day sleeping.  I’ve learned that it’s good to keep quiet about the fact that you are smarter than anyone else in the room.  I’ve learned that sometimes it’s necessary to put out your claws, to show that you are the boss in this situation.  I’ve learned that cuddling right up to someone’s heart is one of the best things in the world.

Having a cat has brought a whole world of mystery and beauty and dignity into my life, the life of this city-girl.

Thank you, cats of the world!

I love bubble bath!  Recently, my favorite brand – my favorite for many years! – has disappeared from store shelves, and I’m testing new brands to discover bubbles I like as much.  Sigh… another loss, another change…!

Remember blowing bubbles?  What child doesn’t love to blow bubbles?  What cat or dog doesn’t like to chase bubbles?  What adult doesn’t somehow become a child again when given the opportunity to blow bubbles?  Several years ago, I officiated at an outdoor wedding, and when the ceremony was over and guests sat to eat the wedding meal, we discovered at each plate a small plastic bottle of soap – the new marriage celebrated by hundreds of bubbles, exploding into the air!

Why “life as bubbles?”

Each moment, each precious moment of life is a bubble, if you will.  Each moment explodes into the next, each day passes quickly, and each month and year are so quickly checked off the calendar.

“Soon I will be done with the troubles of the world, the troubles of the world, the troubles of the world,” the slaves in fields in America sang, to remind themselves that this life, this hard and brutal life they were given, would soon enough be over.  To them, these words inspired hope, hope in the hot sun, hope in the blistering heat, hope in the pain.

Soon, the bubbles will burst, soon enough.

***

I lived most of my life exploding bubbles.  How did I do that?  I lived in this moment by thinking and worrying about the next.  I turned over and over in my mind the coming day, the interview next week, the friends I didn’t have, the dream that would not be met.  Or I turned over and over in my mind that last conversation – what I could have said – that last decision that could go wrong, the mistakes, real or imagined, I had made.  Some of this worry was unconscious, to be sure, and sometimes these same unconscious worries come to visit again, even now.

I exploded the bubbles of this moment by living into the future or by living in the past.  That’s a drama-filled life, to be sure, because the mind writes dramas with every stroke of thought.  It does!

How could I have missed all of this?  How could I have missed all the beauty that surrounds me?  How could I have missed the crescent moon, shining in the black sky?  How did I miss the light shining through autumn leaves?  How did I miss the sweet, sweet city smell of morning?  How did I miss the sound of the wind, floating to me?  How did I miss the bubbles, floating into the air, all the colors of the rainbow reflected in their iridescence?

Now, I am grateful as often as I can be, for this shining moment.  I am grateful for this one bubble floating over my head.  I am grateful for the one smile, the simple laugh, the little bit of light that says day is coming soon.

How did I get here?  I will say this:  letting go of the drama, letting go of the wild voices of reason, letting go of the violence of the mind is not an easy job.  It’s a life’s work, and it doesn’t end.  This letting go is the hardest work, and many do not do the work.

I say to others often:  “letting go is the secret to life.”  Then, quickly, I add:  “and how do we let go????”

For a moment today, stop bursting bubbles.  Instead, take a breath.  Sense the bottoms of your feet.  See what is right in front of you.  If you feel sad, feel sad.  If you are happy, be happy.  If you are in grief, cry.

Look at the precious bubbles, these moments, floating in front of your child-like eyes!

Light over Denali, The Great One, October, 2014

Online “Abbey of the Arts,” Guest Monk in the World Submission, October 26, 2014

‘As if the sorrows of this world could overwhelm me

now that I realize what we are.

I wish everyone could realize this.

But there is no way of telling people

they are all actually walking around shining

like the brightest sun.’

Thomas Merton

The world was always there for me – gurgling with joy, shining like the brightest sun, fragrant-full, slippery and hard-edged, colorful beyond belief – and there I was, walking around with my head in the clouds, my eyes toward the ground.

I have a good mind, but living from that linear place didn’t work for me forever, thank God. My best thinking brought me straight into a long and deep depression almost 20 years ago. Life has not been the same, since. Today, I am grateful to be alive, and every day offers new delicacies for my delight. The gift of being a Monk in the World is that I get to enjoy what has been there all along, and I get to enjoy it as if it is new, as if it has never been witnessed before.

Many years ago, I learned to pray after reading The Christian’s Secret to a Happy Life, by Hannah Whitall Smith (of the American Holiness Movement). That was the beginning of a long, rich, and growing walk as a Monk in the World. I studied theology and became a preacher, a way to offer to others the gift of knowing we are not separate, we are not alone. I found strength and power and growing self acceptance through prayer. After all this time, I still believe we can change the world by praying, by praying for ourselves, which grows us in Love.

I’m as inter-faith as I am Christian, knowing that the Light, the Universe, the Christ, the Mother, the Holy One, El, is in us all. Or maybe we are swimming in this Holy One. I struggle to find words for this life, this living.

I learned to meditate over 4 years ago, and this practice has deepened me. My greatest joy in meditation is that I find myself more present in the moment, moment by moment, day by day. I see things I did not see before. I delight in the branches of the birch tree outside my city window; I watch the seasons and winds bring change to that tree. I say: “I love that tree, and that tree loves me.” It’s true.

When I meditate, I find the boundaries between myself and the world dissolving. I feel the sound of a neighbor’s voice, the boom of a truck on the street, the harsh call of a jay, the wind in the eucalyptus trees, as much as I hear them. I suppose this is being one with all of creation. For me, it is not as clear as that, but I am beginning to understand, to know.

As a preacher, I also served a community of faith. My work as a Monk in the world was very extraverted for this introvert! I had the privilege of being called to be with others in their times of deepest need – learning a diagnosis that would take a beloved woman’s life, baptizing an infant who would not go home from the hospital, as she lay in the arms of her teenage mother, rushing into a hospital emergency room only minutes before the death of a vibrant woman in her 50’s, as her partner lay sobbing on top of her; I’ve sat in silence and watched the minutes tick away, waiting for surgery to end, with a frightened wife. I’ve answered the door to find a man who has not slept in days, smelling of the street, who tells me his long and convoluted story, only to ask me for a few dollars for food. I’ve heard many of those stories, and even though I do not understand, I have prayed with each one, knowing I have not have ever known that particular desperation. I’ve witnessed the suffering of the mentally ill who come to Church, hoping for something; I am blessed by my own illness to be able to see the suffering person, trapped by their mind, underneath what we call “stigma.”

After 30 years of serving as “Pastor,” I am only grateful. For whatever service I have been able to give, I am grateful. The gift has been mine, truly, truly.

All of this is to say that I am still looking to see the light Thomas Merton, one of my spiritual mentors, must surely have seen. The light is so ordinary, I’m sure. I know with a keen knowing that we are all light, that we are swimming in this light. I’ve felt it for a moment when I meditate, I’ve seen it shimmer – just a glimpse! – in the green, heart-shaped leaves of my beloved birch tree.

I am a mendicant now, begging for alms. I am a mendicant, raising my eyes to look into the eyes of whoever crosses my path. I am a mendicant, wanting to trust each day’s needs and gifts to the Holy One. I am a mendicant, looking for Light.

I’d like to make a case for wisdom.

When I was young, leaders of culture, leaders of institutions, thought leaders were all “older folks” – to me! That’s who we looked to for answers, for experience, and for guidance.

I grew up in the 50’s and 60’s in the Midwest – Milwaukee, Wisconsin – a member of the first generation after WWll, a generation whose first President was General Eisenhower, a generation that mostly had stay-at-home moms and fathers who could support the family with a decent job.
Later, my generation would receive the name: Baby Boomers. We were a generation that was expected to listen to adults, even strangers, to respect teachers, to sit in rows of wooden seats in classrooms with tall windows inside brick buildings that had been built before the Depression, taking in the learning of the educators, not speaking unless called upon. When we passed a police officer, we said, “hello, Officer,” with respect.

Was it the 60’s? What changed all of that?

While I remember those times, and I sometimes go back for visits in memory, I am not writing to say those times were better. I am a Boomer, entering The Wisdom Years, but I am not “old fashioned.” I know that something is lost and something is gained with the passage of time. Sometimes, I long to be young, to be starting out in the world, to be able to wear the latest styles without being stared at, to have a whole life ahead of me. But then, I think, would I really want to go through all of what life is, again???!

The point I do want to make, however, is that something is lost when the wisdom of the elders is not in the mix. Yes, computers, the Internet, and quickly changing technology does give us all something new, every day. Yes, startups make millionaires in just a few months. Yes, personal invitations are received via email and text now. Yes, it seems inevitable that expecting moms register their babies to receive the latest things babies need. Yes, it seems inevitable that we need new laws to make sure we don’t “text and drive.”

I could go on, but you can make your own list!

When I was young, I thought I knew everything! Who didn’t, who doesn’t?!
Now that so much of living has passed, I have at least a shred of humility, enough to say, I don’t know everything. It takes a lot for the Ego to even think that!

I guess, “something’s lost and something’s gained, in living every day…”

What is the Wisdom we have that’s worth sharing?