There is a small rock on my desk. My hand reaches for it many times throughout the day. Its silky smooth but with pock marks all through out it. Like some type of organism or creature took small bites out of it. Creating something less than perfect, but in the end it is perfect. I constantly hold and feel each bit of the stone letting the soft parts merge with the imperfections creating a sense of peace.

Like life this rock, which was gathered at a time of great joy, has faults. Many actually. Each one creating that sense of comfort. If something is too good we fear the outcome it will create knowing perfection does not exist. But if one looks closely perhaps the fault is creating what we need for perfection? Hence perhaps life is what we have created and continue to make from it? Perfection is all the ups and downs. Maybe we linguistically look for perfection but to that end point it already lies within reach?

Wonder why I can look at my rock and see that it is perfect, imperfections and all and yet I seek something more from my life?