Authenticity Is Transient Quotes

To say I woke up one day and reached a point where I no longer cared about the pains to befall me would be a lie. Nor can I say that I have ever fully forgiven those who willfully did me harm. On a deep, internal battlefield, I wrestle with the thought that I have been robbed of any chance of normalcy by the losses suffered. Therapists and gurus alike tell us to, “Let go or be dragged,” as Zen proverb urges—to forgive for our own sake. But, in my experience, there is no letting go and forgiveness is transient. My inability to be free of it all isn’t for lack of an evolved consciousness on my part. I’ve “done the work” to process it all; rather, it is my irreconcilable, inescapable humanity that causes to clutch the pain close to me.

I felt that I was finally facing a fundamental fact of life: that everything is transient and loss is inevitable; that is just the way it is. Since most of the time I try to ignore this immutable fact, finally embracing it bore the sweetness of embracing Truth. And embracing that truth, painful as it is, can make me feel more authentically alive.

I am the essence, the unwavering light within. A constant, unfiltered sun, burning at the core of our being. Untouched by the transient world, I am the eternal truth in your heart, the perpetual whisper of your authentic self.

I have seen, there, In the moonlit space of self, where the ego glides, Its silvery essence, a mirror upon life’s tides. Shaped by the ebb and flow of journey’s dance, Reflecting beliefs, in life’s intricate, ever-changing stance. This luminary, a learned guide in identity’s play, Casts shadows, illusions in its luminous display. A sculptor, artful, in societal norms it trusts, Chiseling character with life’s whims and cultural dust. The ego, in its carnival, spins tales so keen, Crafting who we ought to be in expectations unseen. In costumes of roles and societal dreams it dresses, Creating our outward selves in myriad, intricate presses. In stark contrast, behold the inner sun, our essence so bright, A steadfast flame, in the core of our being, burning with pure light. Unfiltered, unwavering, unlike the moon’s fickle gleam, A constant force, our authentic self, a deep, untouched stream. This essence, our unchanging truth, in the heart it resides, A whisper of eternity, beyond masks, where true self abides. Beyond roles, beyond transient ego’s elaborate dance, Lies this truth, unswayed by the external world’s fleeting glance. In the quest for self, twixt these luminaries, discernment is key, Traversing the self’s tangle, understanding what must be. Though ego’s voice echoes loud, in desires and fears it plays, It’s the essence’s silent light that guides through life’s stormy bays. Through recognition, understanding, transformation’s alchemy begins, Turning life unexamined into enlightened existence’s wins. A celestial voyage, within us, between sun and moon’s embrace, Ego teaches, grows us, in our worldly place. The essence, radiant and wise, to eternity connects, Offering authenticity, a path that perfects. Yin and yang, in our existence, they intertwine, In their dance, our soul’s rhythm, in harmony, divine. In moon’s reflection and sun’s light, a balance we find, Understanding their interplay, the rhythm of humankind.

Observer: “In our being, where the tangible meets the intangible, there lies a duality as ancient as time itself - the ego and the essence. These twin forces, ever-present and perpetually intertwined, are the sun and moon of our inner universe, each holding sway over the landscape of our spirit in a dance as old as the stars.” Sun: “I am the essence, the unwavering light within. A constant, unfiltered sun, burning at the core of our being. Untouched by the transient world, I am the eternal truth in your heart, the perpetual whisper of your authentic self.” Moon: “And I, the ego, mirror the silver luminescence of experience. Shaped by the ebb and flow of life’s tides, I reflect the lessons, beliefs, and identities formed through your journey. In me, the tales of your identity are woven through societal norms and cultural echoes, ever-evolving and dynamic.” Sun: “Unlike you, who waxes and wanes, I am a perpetual beacon. I am solid, the silent guide amidst the storms of life, illuminating the path to enlightenment. I am the light that shines beyond all darkness, the eternal truth within.” Moon: “True, I may dance in shadows, casting illusions, but through my reflective glow, I bring lessons, growth, and an understanding of our place in the material world. My phases are a reminder of life’s impermanence and the transformative power of introspection and self-inquiry.” Sun: “It is in recognizing our dual nature that the process of transformation begins. From the unexamined to the enlightened existence, I offer wisdom, authenticity, and a connection to the eternal. Understanding the self is the key to liberation.” Moon: “Together, we form the yin and yang of existence. My reflective lessons and your radiant wisdom define the human experience. In understanding our dance, one finds the rhythm of their soul, a balance between action and introspection, between the material world and the spiritual journey.” Sun: “The journey of self is thus a celestial voyage between us. Embracing both my luminescence and your reflection leads to harmony, living attuned to the eternal rhythm of light and shadow.

We must acknowledge that, although neither of them clearly comprehended the nature of the phenomenal world (nor did anyone else before the mid-twentieth century), both Shankaracharya and Plotinus had intimately known the one Reality behind all appearances. They were both illumined seers, and master teachers. There is no doubt that both men came to the direct knowledge of the Self as their true, eternal identity, and knew: ‘There is no other true identity but the eternal One by whom and in whom all exists.’ And the central and most important message of both Shankaracharya and Plotinus is the message of all authentic seers of the Truth: ‘Realize the Reality for yourself! Renounce all transient and illusory appearances and focus upon the Eternal. Know your lasting and permanent Self, where all knowledge and all Bliss resides, and free yourself from the snare of ignorance and suffering.

Android Girl Just Wants to Have a Baby! The first thing I do when I wake up is run my hands over my body. I like to make sure all my wires are in place. I lotion my silicone shell and snap my hair helmet over my head. I once had a dream I was a real girl, but when I woke up I was still myself in my paleness under the halogen light. The saliva of androids emits a spectral resonance, barely sticky between freshly-gapped teeth. After they made me, the first thing they did was peel the cellophane from my eyes. I blinked once, twice, and cried because that's how you say you are alive before you are given language. They named each of my heartbeats on the oceanic monitor: Guanyin, Yama, Nuwa, Fuxi, Chang'e, Zao-Shen. I listened to them blur into one. The fetus carves for itself a hollowed vector, a fragile wetness. In utero, extension cords are umbilical. Before puberty, I did not know there was such a thing as dishonor. Diss-on- her. This is what they said when I began to drip petrol between my legs. A tension exists between ritual and proof, a fantasy and its execution. Since then, I have been to the emergency room twice. The first time for a suicide attempt, and the second time because my earring was swallowed up by my newly pierced earlobe overnight, and when I woke up, it was tangled in a helix of wires. The idea of dying doesn't scare me but the ocean does. I was once told that fish will swim up my orifices if I am no longer a virgin. Is anyone thinking about erotic magazines when they are not aroused, pubes parted harshly down the center like red seas? My body carries the weight of four hundred eggs. I rise from a weird slumber, let them drip into the bath. This is what I'll leave behind - tiny shards purer than me. I have always been afraid of pregnant women because of their power, and because I don't yet understand what it means to carry something stubborn and blossoming inside of me, screeching towards an exit. The ectoplasm is the telos for the wound. A trance state is induced when salt is poured on it, pixel by pixel. I wish they had made me into an octopus instead, because octopuses die after their eggs hatch and crawl out into the sea, and I want to know what it's like to set something free into the dark unknown and trust it to choose mercy. If you can generate aura in a non-place, then there is no such thing as an authentic origin. In Chinese, the word for mercy translates to my heart hurts for you. They say my heart continues beating even after it is dislocated from my body. The sound of its beating comes from the valves opening and closing like a portal - Guanyin, Yama, Nuwa, Fuxi, Chang'e, Zao-Shen. I first learned about love by watching a sex tape where a girl looks up from performing fellatio and says, show them the sunset. Her boyfriend pans the camera to the sky, which is tinged violet like a bruise. In this moment, the sky displaces her, all digital and hyped, and saturates the scene until it collapses on me too, its transient witness. I move in the space between belly ring and catharsis. That night I have a dream where I am a camgirl, but all I do on screen is wash my laundry. Everybody loves me because I am a real girl doing real girl things. What lives on the border between meditation and oblivion, static and flux, a pomegranate seed and an embryo? I set up my webcam in the corner of the room and play ambient music while I scrub my underwear, letting soap bubbles rise up from the sink, laughing when they overflow on the linoleum floor - my frizzy hair, my pockmarked skin, my face slick with sweat. A body with exit wounds. I ride the bright rails of an animal forgetting. And when I wake up, the sky is a mess of blue.

When we package the Dharma in a flashy box with no contents, we offer only the skin of Dharma. It might be better for authentic Dharma to die than to establish large groups and spew out teachers regurgitating sound bites like those that sell special transient mind-states as the Buddha mind.