Quotes About Transcendence

La mañana entera, con su cuerpo incluso que la atraviesa desplazándose sobre las baldosas grises, y el yo impalpable y ubicuo que lleva adentro, desaparecen detrás de las imágenes que, ya casi definitivas, son, aunque vengan de la memoria, intemporales, y más indestructibles, podría decirse, que el aliento y la carne que las contienen.

Perhaps this momentary life of ours is only the light that divides our infinite origin from our infinite end.

mantra is something that helps you to transcend ordinary ways of thinking. These are meant to be your life-affirming companions throughout the day. You might say that each is a modern-day sutra.

If you are to write the truth, you must go beneath the surface into deeper, often darker waters where the light wavers and breathing is a matter of mindfulness.

We come from not being and march toward not being:nothing between two nothings, zero between two zeros,and since between two nothings nothing can be,let's drink to the splendor of not being our bodies.

Nothing is more indispensable to true religiosity than a mediator that links us with divinity.

God's inexplicable. God is beyond the everything. And yet we can't cease to blather about it.

Artists are, above all, men who want to become inhuman.

If God were small enough to be understood, He would not be big enough to be worshipped.

The business and method of mysticism is love.

Mysticism is the art of union with Reality.

To "purify" the senses is to release them, so far as human beings may, from the tyranny of egocentric judgments; to make of them the organs of direct perception. This means that we must crush our deep-seated passion for classification and correspondences; ignore the instinctive, selfish question, "What does it mean to me?" learn to dip ourselves in the universe at our gates, and know it, not from without by comprehension, but from within by self-mergence.

Mysticism is the art of union with Reality. The mystic is a person who has attained that union in greater or less degree; or who aims at and believes in such attainment.

Here we part from the "nature mystics," the mystic poets, and all who shared in and were contented with the illuminated vision of reality. Those who go on are the great and strong spirits, who do not seek to know, but are driven to be.

So long, therefore, as the object of the mystic's contemplation is amenable to thought, is something which he can "know," he may be quite sure that it is not the Absolute; but only a partial image or symbol of the Absolute. To find that final Reality, he must enter into the "cloud of unknowing"--must pass beyond the plane on which the intellect can work. "When I say darkness," says the same great mystic, "I mean thereby a lack of knowing. . . .

That dreadful consciousness of a narrow and limiting I-hood which dogs our search for freedom and full life, is done away. For a moment, at least, the independent spiritual life is achieved. The contemplative is merged in it "like a bird in the air, like a fish in the sea": loses to find and dies to live.

More and more, as we study and collate all the available evidence, this fact--this law--is borne in on us: that the general movement of human consciousness, when it obeys its innate tendency to transcendence, is always the same. There is only one road from Appearance to Reality. "Men pass on, but the States are permanent for ever.

I felt that I was leaving part of myself behind, and that wherever I went afterwards I should feel the lack of it, and search for it hopelessly, as ghosts are said to do, frequenting the spots where they buried material treasures without which they cannot pay their way to the nether world.

Francesca" You came in out of the night And there were flowers in your hands, Now you will come out of a confusion of people, Out of a turmoil of speech about you. I who have seen you amid the primal things Was angry when they spoke your name In ordinary places. I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind, And that the world should dry as a dead leaf, Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away, So that I might find you again, Alone.

You are not expected to. You are not capable of it. I am beyond your experience." Cuza

Tom Waits, Nighthawks On The Radio. E é sintomático que Waits cite o maldito Bukowski: sua voz poderosa se transforma ocasionalmente num grunhido disforme, as palavras são praticamente vomitadas num dialeto que, por incrível que pareça (ou não), acabam por transcender seu próprio significado. Poesia musical em estado bruto...

We must get beyond passions, like a great work of art. In such miraculous harmony. We should learn to love each other so much to live outside of time... detached.

Buscad el gran sol del centro hechos una piña zumbadora. El sol que se desliza por los bosques seguro de no encontrar una ninfa, el sol que destruye números y no ha cruzado nunca un sueño, el tatuado sol que baja por el río y muge seguido de caimanes.

y en el oscurísimo beso punzante debajo de las almohadas. Pero a viejo de las manos traslúcidas dirá: Amor, amor, amor, aclamado por millones de moribundos;