Wholly Holy

I struggle with needing things to be perfect.

I am in the process of learning that perfect cannot be obtained, because perfect doesn’t exist. It can’t. Perfect is subjective, and humans are always growing. So, even if something feels perfect, it won’t always feel that way. And whose definition of perfect does it feel? Which version of the self is it perfect for?

I wrote this in my journal two days ago. And when I opened the journal, my very first thought was, “Shit! I already fucked up my practice…” because I didn’t journal the three days prior. Fortunately, I am growing. A younger version of myself would have quit on this quest because I already ruined it. Sometimes I can be incredibly hard on myself.

But sometimes I extend the love and grace I give to others to these holy bones. Sometimes I listen to the lover that beats inside my chest. Sometimes I am reminded that perfection can be this: being present in where I am, how I am, or who I am, and doing what this version of myself can in this space.

Sometimes I am reminded that life is full of moments and opportunities to sink into being… perfect being. The moment to simply exist… wholly holy.