Inventor, Writer, Human
Often — and unconsciously I think — art and beauty are somewhat confused.
I make art. My artwork is not True Beauty. It is just an expression of my creative impulse of the moment. Sometimes I find my work visually pleasing. Sometimes I do not, but I have fun creating it nonetheless.
Just sayin’ …
In this season of love and giving I thought it fruitful to remind my readers — and myself — of the essence of what this blog is about.
The nature of True Beauty (to make the distinction from the the sort sought at cosmetics counters), is its importance in our everyday lives. How to bring deep, true Beauty into our daily routines and recognize what True Beauty already exists in our life – this is at the heart of The Way of Beauty and its Practices.
The awareness, contemplation, cultivation and intention of True Beauty enhances and engenders harmony in all dimensions. To “as above, so below” I would add “as within, so without; as without, so within.” Think perceptions, attitudes, relationships here. And take a look around your house.
The new reports illustrate why the reclaiming of the actual nature and importance of True Beauty in our lives NOW is so important.
The perception and recognition of this kind of Beauty is available to virtually everyone. As Helen Keller famously noted,
“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched—they must be felt with the heart.”
And while I spend time looking at some definitions of “True” Beauty and what its parameters might be, it is vital to note that the variety of Beauty we concern ourselves with here — “deep” or “true” beauty — goes far beyond what only our senses may measure, what treasures money will buy; far beyond the appearance of things, notably the human face and form.
Noticing and embracing this “meta-beauty” in our lives is a step towards our own strengthening and, I propose, the healing of much of the existing cultural pathology that has arisen during the pa
st century — a century that has been the era of True Beauty’s demise.
The Way of Beauty aspires to transcend notions of standard “taste” as well as evaluations of what each of us finds beautiful, and rather, seeks to elevate, honor, call attention to the importance of that moment of
engagement – “Wow! That is so beautiful” — that we have all experienced. Whether the “that” in question is a particular sight, color, sound, touch, taste, fragrance, insight, understanding, experience or combination of some or all of the above…. it doesn’t much matter.
So try thinking with this notion of True Beauty during this holiday season. You might give serenity; receive laughter.
With love,
Lisa
Life cycles through different stages. In Feminine Wisdom we know about the main three that influence the developmental cycles of women: Virgin (or maiden), Mother (self-explanatory), and Crone — or as I like to think of the last — Wise Woman.
I am at the Wise Woman stage. I’ve noticed and experienced many sub-cycles within the larger ones. All of us have. But one sub-cycle that is rarely talked about is those cycles that a woman* with epilepsy can go through — or more accurately, the evolving nature of the disease and how it can impact us. It is not static. (*I’d include men, but I have no current details about their gender-specific experiences).
And I’m betting that I have not been alone in experiencing many of these cycles. I hope that any others with epilepsy who find my observations familiar or, conversely, disagree with some of my comments will respond with their own, and add their own experiences in the “Leave a Comment” section. For those readers without epilepsy, I hope this is educational — maybe even enlightening.
When I was a maiden I had absence seizures, diagnosed at age 4. Back then they were called “petite mal” seizures. The doctor let my parents know that when I reached puberty the epilepsy could either disappear or escalate. There was no way to know for sure. So we all had hope and besides being constantly nagged “did you take your pills!?” epilepsy didn’t have a huge impact on my childhood, at least from my perspective. This was the first cycle of my epilepsy experience. Really I was blessed, as I knew nothing of living without seizures.
My first grand mal (meaning a full- out convulsion) at age 12 took place rather dramatically in my 6th grade classroom. In an aura I suppose, I remember the boy I had a crush on laughing as I went down. It could have been the ruin of my budding social self. But I consciously chose to go back in the classroom a few days later with the attitude of holding the ridiculers in disdain — to consider those who would mock me as insensitive jerks. I went back with my head held high. It seemed to work; I wasn’t bullied or shunned. Because I went forward as if all was fine, so did my classmates. So began the second season of my evolving relationship with epilepsy.
I was lucky. I only had grand mal seizures infrequently, usually around my menses as I came, in time, to notice. The doctors back then were adamant that there was no correlation. (Now they know differently). As a young adult my seizure pattern became sort of reliable. I was able to manage my seizures enough to have a life. I went to college, got a job, was fired from that job because of an epilepsy-related issue (I didn’t drive), and married. I became self-employed.
But as my motherhood years rolled around and became fewer, I realized I was afraid to have a child. Being responsible for myself felt enough — to be responsible for an infant as well made me anxious. What would happen if I had a seizure while holding my baby? I decided that I’d have children if I met & married a supportive man who would be an active parent. I never did. I married twice, but both men were not interested in having children. During the better part of those years I was busy running a business and chose not to notice as my time for mothering rolled by. Besides, the business was my baby!
After selling that business I spent 9 years volunteering with an epilepsy advocacy organization. Learning a great deal there, I came to do a fair amount of epilepsy education. I traveled around the country and spoke about epilepsy issues and successful seizure management from a patient’s point of view. Often I spoke of the gender differences, having worked on that specific topic.
This last was an empowering cycle. Though I switched medications a few times, had some bad patches, etc., I had made that part of me — the person with epilepsy — public, found I had a role to play and could be helpful in and for that community. It was very fulfilling.
Here in the Wise Woman years I had assumed I’d be okay — less hormone interaction, on the anti-epileptic drug that gave the most control with the least annoying side effects (finally!). I’d envisioned being entrenched in a supportive community, with my second husband by my side. Not to be.
Frankly, now I am a bit frightened. My seizure type and pattern have changed. Or seemingly so. The supportive husband has fled. My siblings all live far away…and I don’t yet know how to manage this new set of circumstances.
And I must learn to in order to mai
ntain my independence and well-being.
Meanwhile, the docs are having difficulty finding appropriate meds. I was on one that I liked a great deal — no breakthrough seizures and few noticeable side effects. Or so I thought — seemed my dream medication caused some organ stress, and I had to get off it.
For those of you who know about epilepsy you know how difficult and risky switching your meds can be. I’ve come to know that I have to set aside a month of living my usual life to responsibly switch. It involves: the tapering off period while slowly adding in the new drug — the watching for serious or simply difficult side effects. The nausea, dizziness, cognitive fuzziness that can set in while my body readjusts. The seizures that can occur.
I dislike asking for help. Gawd forbid I should inconvenience anyone! (I’m trying to work on where that came from). Most people do not understand what is going on in a medication change, the level of risk and how vulnerable I feel. It’s my issue and problem after all. And the epilepsy cycle that is going on now has me quite up a creek. Who knew I would be at this point now? Not me.
And I wonder: is this the last cycle in my epilepsy evolution, or are more to come? I gotta stay tuned, don’t I?
Dang — no rest for the weary! 
I’ve never liked November. I don’t exactly know why, especially since there are so many celebrations in my family in November as well as, of course, Thanksgiving. And I’ve always enjoyed Thanksgiving, so why do I dread November?
Perhaps it is the dreary weather so often encountered in the Northeast, where I grew up and lived for so many years. Lack of sun, the gray and too-barren landscape, early snow storms conspire to undermine my personal practice of Beauty. I can find that Beauty in November’s landscape — but I have to work harder at it, and that bothers me.
It is easier here in the Southeast. The camellias are blooming red, pink and white in my yard. The Live Oaks wear their stoles of Spanish Moss which sways elegantly in the November breezes. There is plenty of sunlight. I need only to look out to encounter True Beauty in this place’s November.
My November discomfort may be related to the holidays — or what I call the holi-daze. Over the course of my life I have spent too many of them alone, and that has been difficult. When I recall all the past holidays that were filled with family and loved ones I too often compare and contrast with the “alone” holiday experiences.
But as I have written elsewhere, comparing and contrasting can be an unproductive trap. The action may eviscerate any truth of the Beauty at hand, here in the present.
And here I am, looking at my dread, figuring it out, moving away from it and beyond — I hope! And remembering that I am so grateful to be living in this country, in these times, where we have so much freedom to be. To be.
So:
HAPPY DAY, HAPPY THANKSGIVING — GIVE THANKS!
The Ubiquitous Presence and (Yay!) Appreciation of True Beauty
I have stayed in the homes of people living in Russia, Sri Lanka, England, New Zealand, France, Italy, Turkey, and Peru. I have also traveled in Ecuador, Tahiti, China, Canada, Hong Kong, Thailand, Wales, Germany, Puerto Rico, various islands in the Caribbean, several amazing ancient sites in Mexico (as well as a couple of rather modern fun ones hecho en Mexico). And, of course, the United States. While what constitutes “common beauty” varies from place to place I have yet to encounter a people who weren’t in some essential way aware of and concerned with True Beauty.
Here is a simple for instance: flowers and gardens are to be found everywhere. I like them, so I look for them, and I haven’t been in a town anywhere that I haven’t seen pots planted with a flower on doorstoops, windowsills – even in the surreal cave homes of Turkey and slums in Puerto Rico. Flowerpots in windows might be serving more than one purpose (edible plants, herbs), but the satisfaction of the need for everyday natural, visual beauty is definitely a purpose, often a primary one.
There are some constants in Beauty that transcend every culture, that persevere through every version of 
man’s suppression of himself – culturally or personally — to his own inner resonance with true beauty: the light as it strikes the earth; a body of water, especially when sparkling; fresh vegetables on the table; a loved one’s laugh; bird song; and the comforting sense of “safe haven.”
Like laughter, or a smile, natural beauty is the recognized and universally experienced expression of True Beauty — happily familiar all over the globe.
Hozho of the Navajo:
A definitively beauty-centric culture is that of the Navajo, or the Diné (meaning “the people” as they refer to themselves). It is guided by a fundamental principle of “hozho,” which embodies a pervasive philosophy of integrated balance, order, harmony and well-being.
Difficult to fully translate into English, hozho is at the core of the Navajo essence. It is a sense of elemental rightness that is central to their way of living. Hozho is a multilayered concept; meaning a state of harmony and beauty, truth and balance. I believe that the state of being Hozho is to be at one with all in the universe.
Soni Pitts puts it well in her ezine:
“To be in hozho is to be at one with and a part of your environment and the world around you in such a way that the notes of your life complement and resonate with the symphony of life all around you. You neither pitch above nor below the thrumming chords of the Universe, but yet at the same time your melody stands on its own merits and is heard with utter clarity – pure in tone and pitch and strength, singular yet subsumed in the whole. (Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/3603)
Then, in his book, Six Names of Beauty, Crispin Sartwell names “hozho” the most comprehensive concept of Beauty:
“It [hozho] refers above all to the world when it is flourishing; it refers to the community, flourishing in the world; it refers to things we make, which flourish and play a role in the flourishing of other things; and it refers to ourselves, flourishing as makers, as people inhabiting a community that inhabits a world. It is a word for the oneness of all things when they are joined together in a wholesome state.”
OK, one more quote — as this is my most favorite…In this culture of hozho a person’s wealth was measured by what he or she created, specifically the number of songs created, according to one source. The arts, their practice and sharing are integral to every aspect of Navajo culture. So Sartwell goes on — and here is my favorite:
“…this integration of values and activities is simply an expression of the universal fact that human beings are connected to environments and to each other: it makes explicit an integrated system no one can evade. That is, hozho is a Navajo concept, but a cross-cultural truth…. Hozho has many things to teach, but it teaches first that beauty is one thing: everything.”
Now that is exactly so: True Beauty is “one thing: everything.” And with an ethos like that… sounds like a civilization I would be most happy to live in!
I do not know if the Diné acknowledge a specific consciousness state of Hozho, but when I was a small child, maybe four?, I had an intense experience of what I now imagine achieving such a state might feel like; it is a consciousness of being one with and of the universe. I was standing outside on a second-story balcony looking at tree leaves moving in the breeze. A blue jay was calling. A plane droned above. The morning sun was shining. All at once I felt no “I”. For clarity’s sake I will say: “I” was all and all was me. I was at one with th
e universe around me. The moment I became aware of this phenomenon it began to end.
And it occurred again, around the same age. This time I was standing outside on the ground and holding my father’s hand. We were in a field, perhaps a cemetary, or something that had scattered monuments. There were no other people around. Again it was sunny and the sky was very blue. On a distant pole a flag whipped in a strong breeze. It was quiet. I think another plane might have gone by overhead. The universe and “I” melded together.
These were two of the most powerful and influential life experiences I’ve had so far…
And truly, this concept of Hozho is the kernel of The Way of Beauty. It is the seed from the heritage plant for the new cultural paradigm I am touting, one that we must plant in the compost of our decaying culture in order to reap the sustainable true beauty of justice, harmony and balance of continual creation.
Joseph Campbell, a great voice for the mythic in humankind, reminds us repeatedly in his various lectures that our Judeo-Christian culture is one of the few that has separated itself so thoroughly from Nature, its beauty, and its wisdom. We would do well, as our culture moves forward, to take a page (or twenty) from the ancient Tea Masters of Japan and the Diné of North America.
Here is the ending portion of the Diné’s “Night Prayer”:
Happily may I walk.
Happily, with abundant dark clouds, may I walk.
Happily, with abundant showers, may I walk.
Happily, with abundant plants, may I walk.
Happily, on a trail of pollen, may I walk.
Happily may I walk.
Being as it used to be long ago, may I walk.
May it be beautiful before me.
May it be beautiful behind me.
May it be beautiful below me.
May it be beautiful above me.
May it be beautiful all around me.
In beauty it is finished.
Evolving out of the ancient Japanese Tea Ceremony traditions and still thriving in today’s world, Wabi-Sabi is a decidedly non-Western and non-Pop Culture method of perceiving beauty. Some, on “automatic pilot” might even perceive a “wabi sabi” object as ugly, or perhaps just ready to be thrown out, for Wabi-Sabi is the beauty to be found in those objects and things that are not perfect, but imperfect, and usually impermanent or even incomplete.
I hope it is clear by now that True Beauty is not a component or version of the shallow notion of beauty that is all-pervasive in Western culture today. “Destruction” is as vital to creation as “construction” and so is an integral part of True Beauty, its manifestation. Wabi Sabi is an expression of this.
The Japanese honor and codify this knowingness with their celebration of “Wabi-Sabi.” This centuries-old concept is an aesthetic of imperfection and austerity, an affirmation of melancholy. It is the beauty of peeling paint on an old board; it is the beauty of the withered, weathered and scarred. Further, it insinuates simplicity and quietude. This idea of Beauty also celebrates the changes that come with aging, and the cycles of change. The word “patina” is often found in descriptions and definitions of Wabi-Sabi. This validates and celebrates aging and entropy as an attractive and pleasing point in what The Way of Beauty identifies as “the Beauty Continuum.”
The origin of the term “wabi sabi” is embedded in ancient Japanese history. Originally these words had quite different meanings. Sabi may have originally inferred something like ‘desiccated’, or ‘withered.’ Wabi meant the misery of living alone in nature, far from society. Sometime around the 14th century, the meanings of both words began to evolve into a statement of agreeable aesthetic values, a term to describe the pleasing visuals and details to be found in common objects of everyday life, even as — especially as — the marks of their usage showed. The definition of Wabi-Sabi is blurry, still today. Plenty of writers and their pages dwell on its many fascinating nuances.
Think old fishing dory with its paint rubbed off, sitting on a misty shore. Or a tired tractor rusting in place in a fallow field. Moss growing on a rotten fence post…. It is an ephemeral and mystical kind of beauty.
I find it unique and refreshing that Wabi-Sabi embraces the man-made as easily as the natural world. This is an important aspect of this concept of Beauty. It blurs the distinction and/or evaluation regarding natural Beauty, man-made art vs. art of nature.
I think that if “rustic” and “elegant” were to marry, they would produce the beauty of Wabi-Sabi.
In my travels on the Way of True Beauty I have, of course, come across some wise and pithy statements about beauty, true eternal beauty. Here are some I’d like to share with you:
All contemporary crises can be reduced to a crisis about the nature of beauty.
~ John O’Donohue
…the perfection of Beauty is defined as being the perfection of Harmony…
~ Alfred North Whitehead
Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.
~John Muir
Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart
~ Kahlil Gibran
The individual human’s aesthetic response would alter the very course of history and the shape of things we live among. ~ James Hillman
We feel most alive in the presence of the Beautiful for it meets the needs of our soul…. we come to glimpse behind the shutter of appearances the sure form of things…. Beauty brings a sense of completion and sureness. Without any of the usual calculation, we can slip into the Beautiful with the same ease as we slip into the seamless embrace of water; something ancient within us already trusts that this embrace will hold us. ~ John O’Donohue
Luminous matter is the most rare stuff in our universe. At only 4{d26b639eb74f8edb8884074db06109d949b84d3d1d14796b516693be64172811} it is precious. It is what we and our world are made up of. Everything is sacred. Every thing. Every one. ~ Lisa Lindahl
And finally, another person that believes as I do, that True Beauty is the raison d’être of our Universe:
For the world is not painted or adorned, but is from the beginning beautiful; and God has not made some beautiful things, but Beauty is the creator of the universe.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
If you have started to integrate the Way of True Beauty into your life, you might take one or some of these — whichever resonates strongly with you — write them out in your own handwriting and pin them up where you will see them each day. As I am known to say, “can’t hurt, might help!”
Another essay from my archives, this was written in 1992… So precocious! I was only 3 years old then…
Vestigal Senses?
Kirlian photography has shown that we have electrical current running out the
tips of our fingers and toes. On the market now there are even little toys that can be made to make noise by placing your fingertips on tiny little terminals placed there for that purpose.
This got me to thinking. What if, once, we humans had far greater power and greater control over it? What if the mysteries of how the pyramids were built, or the Mayan and Incan temples were built could be explained by saying that man was simply capable of moving great objects by pointing his hand, directing his inner energies and moving the object?
We know that ancient civilizations had knowledge and wisdom that we, in our narrow-minded obstinant adherence to “scientific reasoning” cannot account for or give credence to. How did the Mayans and Incans have such a sophisticated understanding of astronomy? we ask in wonder. How did the ancient Egyptians know enough of engineering to build the pyramids?
What if, what if ancient mankind had a superior understanding and control of NATURAL energies? We, who are so dependent on the clumsy MECHANICAL way of doing things…what if flying through the air was not dependent upon a huge metal and fire machine, but instead on one’s inner, disciplined energies?
I think of the old tales of wizards and gods who could hurl a bolt of lighteneing from their hands, or see great distances, or know of impending events before they occured. And I wonder. I wonder if these were the last of humankind to lose their full powers. I wonder if we have evolved away and out of the knowledge of that power and are left only with its vestiges… a little trickle of electricity dribbling from our once-great and magical fingertips.
And then I get to thinking about the human brain. With all our science and reasoning it remains mysterious and unknown. The researchers tell us that we are only using about a tenth of our brains, as far as they can tell. And I think of all those neural pathways conducting electricity through our gray matter…and I wonder some more. Because I have epilepsy, I know–or have been told–that seizures are simply too much electricity coursing through the brain, making the current jump track out of the containing and directing pathway and short-circuiting the entire brain functions. Oh, really?
What if. What if people who experience convulsions are simply throw-backs to a time when we had more power, and the only deficiency of these modern day, unwitting wizards is that they have no idea how to channel that energy, use it, discipline it, direct it…and so it goes through a cycle of build-up/release, build-up/release, and so on.
The oracles of Delphi in ancient Greece were considered holy, wise and able to communicate with the gods because they had convulsions. It was in the 
convulsive state that they were supposedly communicating with the gods. Later, in medeval times convulsing people were thought to be possessed by the devil. Either way, the taint of the supernatural and/or paranormal was on the individual who experienced the altered state of consciousness that we call a “seizure disorder.” And today, modern man’s response to this is to apply drugs to suppress the experience. It is what I call the “if you can’t understand or use it, make it go away. Suppress it with drugs” method of coping. How much ancient knowledge or ability has been lost in this way?
Intuition, ESP, psychokinesis, prophecy, astral projection…the list is very long of things our modern science cannot explain and so belittles.
What if we were once a race of wizards, left now with only the faint dregs of our original powers and knowing? We now have only our vestigial senses…
So here I have been outlining how to engage in the Practice of True Beauty. And why. But have you ever wondered what the differences are between a “practice” and a “habit”?
A habit is a routine. While it may have begun with intention, it no longer needs thought behind it — it is part of one’s Automatic Pilot dashboard. It achieves some task: teeth get brushed.
A practice is just that – practice. It implies “rehearsal” for something more real?, permanent?, or better done that will occur at another time/place/space. A practice also implies it has been taken on with an intention attached to it. Part of that intention is to improve over time. I don’t think of my habits as necessarily having an element of improving.
A Caution about Practices
However, engaging in a practice may sometimes get in one’s way. In his book The Exquisite Risk, Daring to Live an Authentic Life, poet and philosopher Mark Nepo puts it well:
All the practice in the world can’t instigate enlightenment or revelation. It can only make us ready vessels for when these moments occur. … practice implies practice for something, usually a readying of the self…for the unexpected moment of life…
“vessels for…the unexpected moment of life…” Why do we practice meditation? Why do we introduce the practice of going to the gym each day? We must not forget the purpose behind the practice.
“Like Uncle Sam!” Lou says. “Remember all those times we had to eat cold Thanksgiving dinner because of waiting for him? He was always having to get his run in after he meditated for an hour, and meanwhile the whole family had to wait for him before sitting down — and Aunt Grace seemed always to time the turkey to be ready just as he went out the door, remember? When I was little it confused me like mad! When I got older I was really annoyed. Hungry! I mean really — one day outta the year you can’t change your schedule dude?”
I commiserated with Lou, having privately thought the same thing, and wondering why his sweet wife hadn’t thought to time her meal differently — or let us go ahead without him. Sam’s rigid meditation-cum-run devotion had not seemed to deepen his well of compassion or cooperation. Ah, well. Things change. We’ve moved away and now have our own hot Thanksgiving dinner, sans Sam and Grace. Still, I miss them, actually.
Lou is still thinking out loud about habits and practices…
“But habits — hey, we have to do something when we close down the screen, right? Before your Big Mr. Universe comes knocking at our door, beckoning us out into the cosmos! I can just see Mr. Universe! Big Hairy – oh, oh! Okay, MS. Universe. Hairy Ms. Uni — Oh! Oh! OKAY. The Universe has no gender? What?”
By this time I am hitting Lou over the head with a pillow from my chair. He squeals and runs out laughing and yelling something about pacificism and beauty and practicing what I preach.
But Lou, as usual, has a point. With the TV, computer, phone off and our automatic pilot off — that Captain of Habitual Activity — we might as well choose to intentionally practice something. So let’s practice True Beauty. It really does include a great deal of variety: Being funny, being quiet, walking or swimming or some such, any kind of art or production, looking at everything, hanging out with friends, giving and getting some loving – not too difficult, eminently satisfactory.
For once, Lou might agree with me.
Meanwhile though, make sure that in the name of your “practice”, you are not avoiding life. Life, with all its glory, it’s messiness, and oh yes — it’s unexpected sprouts and spouts.
