Finding Authenticity in Becoming

Most of us have a shared taste for authenticity, for freedom of expression and for finding new ways to allow our inner self and emotions to come through. 

Belonging to our sense of taste and values is the passionate interest for authenticity as it is perceived in settings of our own fanciful imaginings. The power of emotions and passions felt in such privileged locations illustrate this taste and preference. 

In authentic happenings, life triumphs over repose: the world is awake in its pantheistic view of itself. 

Whether one has a preference for the quiet moment of a morning spent in the presence of self or for a moment shared with others, each and every moment in which we find ourselves is our authentic self in that given moment. The homage we pay to past moments or importance we place on future moments are all held in A moment. This moment is different from this moment and yet they are all moments. As with being, I am me here, and there, and everywhere I go, even though I am a different version of me here, there, and everywhere I go.

Authentically being is as redundant as saying I exist in existence. Authenticity is a matter pertaining to judgment and values. If I like truly enjoy or connect to this moment, I am being my authentic self. If I do not enjoy this moment and wish to connect to a different moment, I am also being my authentic self in my preference and taste for specific moments of being (authentic or otherwise nonexisting).

Perhaps it is not a matter of authenticity for We are what we are (cue Popeye) in every given moment, thus the need for authenticity is as redundant as we are that which we are (as well as that which we seek, though admittedly this is a matter of debate).

I am as authentically me as you are authentically you. I am "me" and you are "you" and perhaps like the fleeting but highly complex trajectories taken by snowflakes on their maiden journey into ever-becoming, we are but the stuff snowflakes (and dreams) are made *of.

Giorgio de Chirico

"The dream is a little hidden door in the innermost and most secret recesses of the soul, opening into that cosmic night which was psyche long before there was any ego-consciousness, and which will remain psyche no matter how far our ego-consciousness may extend. For all ego-consciousness is isolated: it separates and discriminates, knows only particulars, and sees only what can be related to the ego. Its essence is limitation, though it reach to the farthest nebulae among the stars. All consciousness separates; but in dreams we put on the likeness of that more universal, truer, more eternal man dwelling in the darkness of primordial night. There he is still the whole, and the whole is in him, indistinguishable from nature and bare of all egohood ... It is from these all-uniting depths that the dream arises, be it ever so childish, grotesque, and immoral. So flowerlike is it in its candor and veracity that it makes us blush for the deceitfulness of our lives." (C.G. Jung, "The Meaning of Psychology for Modern Man" in CW X, par. 304-5)

A dream:

"I'm standing outside on a grassy, gently sloping field. In front of me, slightly higher to the right, a round silver ring hangs in the sky. Floating outward from the ring are 4 pieces of blue, faded slik. I can still see some faded Chinese-looking lettering on it. This is a THESIS. I know with certainty that whatever question it is asked, it will always reply with the only one possible true answer." 

lol

 *until we are something else, somewhere or somewhen else.