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Perfection

March 25, 2021

36 of 40

Which – has the

wisest men

undone –

Doubt has

the

wisest

rejected by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson has meant so much to some that her effects have been scrounged through, analyzed and published. Sad, in that she hardly ever wanted anyone to see her successes, let alone her failures.

We are, here, in a place, on these screens, that is forever universal. Like the Bible there is a basis of absolute value in universality. But what of the personal?

Coachspeak sez “You are not judged by your successes, but by how you deal with your failures.” because it is true. But not here. On these screens the exact opposite is true. Failures are “Epic Fails” and successes are “Influencers”.

Perfection becomes the standard, because error is never missing.

Like the internet, Emily saved her failures. Why? We all care about them so much we bury them, until like the spring flowers, they pop up.

You cannot lose unless you try.

Despite a lifetime of failures, I wince at every one. Now. No matter when they were made. I even wince when I have done what I should have done and others hate it.

Perhaps parents are a part. Every pound my sister and I had that over what was “right” was noticed by our mother. Every “C” of my brother was an “F” to my father. Perfection was not possible for those noting imperfection in others. My father was an alcoholic, and my mother enabled that. No matter, children are branded by their early days.

If we are all imperfect then all the judgments of imperfection happen by the imperfect. What do judgements reveal beyond error? They reveal the already known: that we are fully flawed. And here, on these glowing screens more error is evident than ever before.

These particular things, here, on your screen, now, are done in the dark and silence on an exercise bike, every morning, every day in the 40 days before Holy Week. They are unedited, barely and ineffectually proofed, but ever ‘Spellchecked”.

And their imperfections are greatly noticed. Because I made them, but more because, like Emily’s scraps of paper, they are exposed.

As are we. Because to God we are never hidden. And we are loved. I will never understand that.

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