Authenticity

What does it mean to be authentic? Yes, I know the definition of the word, but how do we (or can we?) apply the idea to ourselves? I have given this a great deal of thought over the past several months in my search for the deeper meaning of my life. In synchronous fashion I have confronted the concept several times in conversations and books as recently as yesterday, and the truth of it intrigues me. Am I genuine? Is my truth flawless?

As my life unravels and my soul expands into the cosmos I feel the literal aspects of this question taking on greater meaning. Nowhere is this more prevalent than in relationships. How we allow our spirit, our identity, to mingle in the fabric of humanity is the essence of who we are to the world. I am many things… I am a soul, a man, a father, a son, a brother. I am a friend, a lover, a writer… I am Alfred. To grasp the certainty in all of these labels is a life long evolution influenced by the people around us. And what I’ve come to know is that I dislike it when these others take the liberty of making those definitions. But is this a flaw in my presentation of self? Is my portrayal of Alfred authentic?

I have been practicing meditation for over ten years. For the past three years I have taken on the traditions and methods of the Shambhala lineage of Buddhism. The ancient ways of ascending into the consciousness-of-now has broadened my understanding of the authentic me. Yet the reflection I sometimes see is jaded. It reminds me of a quote my daughter had hanging from her desk “We do not see things as they are; we see things as we are” ~Talmud.

What am I to these people around me, to you my soulful friends, indeed to myself? I recognize the mystical gift of a brilliant vibrating soul careening through existence. I want to leap in joy as many times as I crawl through despair. And I want to accomplish this with every measure of truthfulness I can conjure, yet in so many ways I fail. This is nowhere more prevalent than in my heart, in the vestige of love. In the Talmudic sentiment, how do I see love?

We recently celebrated the winter solstice, a time when we are the farthest from the light that sustains us. It is a cold and dark time for the earth and a perfect metaphor for the soul. My soul is barren and so cold; the very frozen ground that sustains it envelops it. Yet I know that the cycle has shifted, the Great Spirit is pulling the axis in ethereal increments back to fertile times. And for my part, I must delve deeply into the dark night of soul and search for the truths; those that are OF me and those that are of the world. I love the imagery of burrowing deep into the psyche, like a cave bear slowly lumbering into the darkness for respite. The tempest and howling winds of life outside slowly fade with each submerging step. Until, deep in the caverns, silence and all its solitudes seize the soul in a womb of truthful refuge.

Meditation is the same path into that cave of self. And for me it is a way of searching for my truths, my authenticity and myself. It is a holy and sacred communion with God. But my problem is in bringing all of that back into the world of reality that screams for identity. There is a human comfort in knowing who we are, and a tremendous satisfaction in knowing that we are innately good. That “good,” I believe is the God-spark or essence of the Great Creator and the culmination of our mortal and cosmic journey.

I want to be a reflection of that Spark of Truthfulness. I want to feel that my truth is apparent and real. And as I walk into the wintery night of soul I pray for the divine instinct to know I’m on the right course; and that all of what I do, say, and most importantly write is genuine.