Draped like some pasha across the chaise longue of advancing age, hookah of memory within easy reach, I puff and recall ...
How many perfections have I sought? I don't suppose there were more or fewer than any other (wo)man. From bank robber to holy hermit, the claws of longing are probably not all that different. Velvet-sheathed or screaming-sharp -- not that different.
Love, success, peace, wealth, enlightenment, strength, originality, applause ... the place of perfection, a place beyond the shadows of uncertainty or sadness, a place where regret can find no home, a place where heart and mind rest as easily as a pasha on a chaise longue.
All the honest perfections I have encountered -- the ones I am willing to dub and knight -- seem to have arisen by accident or out of thin air or magically as if with no reference to any seeking soul. Poof! -- they arose as if belonging to someone else. Poof! they arose and, Poof! they disappeared ... with the whimsey and delight of a teasing child.
Puff, puff, puff ... such an energetic search, so soulful, so full of import in their time an place...seeking, seeking, seeking.
I have underestimated the perfection of failure. It's common enough, I imagine, but still, it was a gross miscalculation. A longing for perfection is bound to meet with failure ... relax, it's as common as boogers in the nose... where else would boogers live?
Practice makes perfect, so practice and pretty soon practice will make practice.
Well, laughter is a good start. Who was ever perfect at laughing ... or failed either?
Pick the boogers all you like ... but laugh a bit. Heaven and hell are minor matters. Laughter lasts forever.