To be one’s authentic self, one first needs to appreciate the joyful consequence of simply being, shedding all important sounding concepts, represented in our language by words such as “meaning” and “purpose,” words that mislead the thinking mind’s egoic self, inflating the two labels beyond tangible reality to a deceptive vitality. There is no set route; everyone has a different path, their own discretely unique cross to bear.
Yet, still, the destination remains the same — death. The road taken to meet the end of this mortal existence matters not; it is the recognition of what “is” that imbues the soul with the joy of being. The absolute acceptance of what “is” brings peace and contentment, regardless of the consistency and character of any individual suffering.
A pond’s beauty lies in nature’s glorious brutality of authenticity. Is the pond any more magnificent, frozen, or flowing? Each physical state brings the candid charm of being, a trait beyond the measure of senses or ken, sanctioning a momentary parting of the veil, revealing an ephemeral you, gazing back, still in utter clarity, brightened by an unexpected expression of the soul.