Quotes About Transcendence

We are beyond life and death, beyond space and beyond time. We are the gods, and they are us.

Energía... todo es energía. Se malgasta tanta... Las montañas... Dentro de la montaña hay quietud; el centro es sereno. Pero es afuera donde está el problema. Los humanos sólo pueden ver el exterior, pero se puede ir

After reliving a death in an ancient lifetime, Catherine floated above her body and was drawn to the familiar spiritual light she always encountered in the in-between-lifetimes state. "They tell me there are many gods, for God is in each of us

we are all truly loved in ways that we cannot imagine on this physical plane.

We are not just our bodies or our brains, but expansive spiritual beings.

Music is God's voice.

A]nd the unveiled figure Of the self stepping unclothed, sweetly stripped Of its leaf, into starlight, and the shadow of night, The cold water warm around the narrow ankles, The body at its most weightless, a thing so durable It will–like the carved stone figures holding up The temple roof–stand and remember its gods Long after those gods have been forsaken. —Brigit Pegeen Kelly, from "Plants Fed On by Fawns," The Orchard (BOA Editions, Ltd., 2004)

I could easily blast so much keef night and day I become a bouhali; a real-gone crazy, a holy untouchable madman unto whom everything is permitted, nothing is true.

He lifts his eyes to Jade Dragon Peak and, suddenly, in his silver greatcoat, becomes the living image of my favourite upland traveller, the poet Li Po: You ask me why I live in the grey hills. I smile but do not answer, for my thoughts are elsewhere. Like peach petals carried by the stream, they have gone

Life is better lived than conceptualized. — This writing can be made less demanding should I allow myself to indulge in the usual manipulating game of role creation. Fortunately for me, my self-knowledge has transcended that and I've come to understand that life is best to be lived — not to be conceptualized. If you have to think, you still do not understand.

Children bring with them grace, patience, transcendence, second chances, rebirth and a reawakening of the love that's in your heart and present in your home. They are God giving you another shot. My

Children bring with them grace, patience, transcendence, second chances, rebirth and a reawakening of the love that's in your heart and present in your home. They are God giving you another shot.

Do you remember, Abelard.… Once I told you that ecstasy was better than being God." "I remember." "I was wrong, darling. Being God is better.

Posthumanism offers fluidity and freedom, and a metaphysic daring enough to think a whole world into life.

Do you remember, Abelard... Once I told you that ecstasy was better than being God." "I remember." "I was wrong, darling. Being God is better.

Everything is changeable, everything appears and disappears there is no blissful peace until one passes beyond the agony of life and death.

Do thou, too, live in this world without being of it.

Then there you lie like the one warm spark in the heart of an arctic crystal.

But gulp down your tears and hie aloft to the royal-mast with your hearts; for your friends who have gone before are clearing out the seven-storied heavens, and making refugees of long-pampered Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael, against your coming. Here ye strike but splintered hearts together—there, ye shall strike unsplinterable glasses!

Oh, grassy glades! oh ever vernal endless landscapes in the soul; in ye,—though long parched by the dead drought of the earthly life,— in ye, men yet may roll, like young horses in new morning clover; and for some few fleeting moments, feel the cool dew of the life immortal on them. Would to God these blessed calms would last. But the mingled, mingling threads of life are woven by warp and woof: calms crossed by storms, a storm for every calm.

Even death may prove unreal at last and stoics be astounded into heaven. Then keep thy heart, though yet but ill-resigned, Clarel, thy heart, the issues there but mind. That like the crocus budding through the snow, that like a swimmer rising from the deep, that like a burning secret which doth go. Even from the bosom that would hoard and keep, emerge thou mayst from the last whelming sea and prove that death but routs life into victory.

B]ut it is only what happens, when they die, to all mortals. The sinews no longer hold the flesh and the bones together, and once the spirit has let the white bones, all the rest of the body is made subject to the fire's strong fury, but the soul flitters out like a dream and flies away.

Death can find nothing to expose in him that is not beautiful.

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