Perfection is a state of completeness and flawlessness.
The oldest definition of “perfection”, fairly precise and distinguishing the shades of the concept, goes back to Aristotle. In Book Delta of the Metaphysics, he distinguishes three meanings of the term, or rather three shades of one meaning, but in any case three different concepts. That is perfect:
1. which is complete — which contains all the requisite parts;
2. which is so good that nothing of the kind could be better;
3. which has attained its purpose.
An interesting article to read, the Wikipedia page.
My own definition is this one: perfection is the ultimate best. Nothing can be better than perfection.
Can we, human beings, ever become perfect? Can we attain a state in which nothing can be improved, nothing can be made better. Can we attain this state of ultimate bliss? Nothing out there would make us feel any better. We will be complete. Without flaws. Perfect.
I’m not going to find an answer to this question in one evening.
But i did notice something these past days. I was thinking of myself as very happy, these last two years. As almost perfect, almost. I have achieved some things which i thought would be impossible. Like giving away my drawings. I have worked really hard. Found some new areas within myself. My singing. My video clips. Which i love.
But they are not perfect. Almost the opposite really. But i still love them.
Someone recently wrote to me that i had said some things which she didn’t like. First i didn’t accept that. I was doing so well. Even though my life is pretty much solitary, i felt wonderful. Happy. Joyous.
But over a day the thought crept into my mind that she might be right. I could explain it, tell her where the sayings came from. But in the end, she was right. Even though i felt a very strong feeling against what she had written me. A firm feeling of denial. “No, that is NOT true!” She was right.
I make mistakes. Errors. Sometimes my mind is so full of my own thoughts, someone else’s can not find any room to enter. I am not perfect. Not content. Not at peace with the world. Not at peace with all the people living on this planet.
It hurt me, what she wrote. Yesterday i almost felt normal walking the street. Ignoring the other people, simply finding my own pace and walking strait and ignoring everyone else.
Today was a bit better. A bit.
I know i am finally working on making things that interest me. I hope someday other people will be interested too. Soon. 🙂
That is enough for me. Perfection is not for me, not now.