SHOW POST
change to casual
Why I pursue perfection
though the task
of perfection isn't
something you search after
as much as it is something that pursues you.
It's the way a mind is shaped which is how I came to seek it. Not everyone is made for the task because they aren't made for the goal. Most people will marry, but not everyone. To assume everyone should is fatal to understanding what being human is as well as how things work in general because for every idea, or goal, or desire, or characteristic named there's another counter to it and not just counter as in bad but as in also good. Darkness isn't bad but another kind of good with its own uses. Cold isn't bad, think snow and winter sports.
To not pursue perfection
is also a good provided it's the shape of your mind.
It's not a destiny one way or the other any more than it's the destiny of a child to grow into adulthood so yes, of course, it's a destiny provided the child is nurtured, and provided we aren't sidetracked into goals less than destined. But every need has a potential accompanying want. Therefore it's needful to want to need to fulfill that bent which paradoxically is also a need. We need
to eat but we don't have to.
We need to mate and why would we fight it.
We need to sleep
but we can choose to go mad.
Before the possibility of perfection was discovered
or it discovered me, I wrote and drew from a young age.
Thinking to do either or both as a profession except profession is a low-hanging fruit. I grew out of professions and found a calling; we all have one I surmise, if most of us are stuck in careers.
It was always present coloring moods like so many unrecognized longings sit below the surface of consciousness waiting to emerge or possibly erupt. And though the pursuit of perfection is all-consuming now, I still pursue the arts because I'm also that, and they can amenably be repurposed for perfectional goals. After all, perfection should complete us, not rob us of anything we authentically are.
It's a lonely affair
to seek perfection no less than being a writer.
We might communicate with other writers, and associate with them but we write alone in the quiet of midnight, coffee cold in the cup we forgot to drink, unable to sleep because we need to write even if we very much want to. Which is the ideal combination.
There are many reasons to pursue perfection if the end goal is considered, offering many perks but that's not why perfection is desirable. If a writer's motivation to write is the pursuit of money, or worse, fame, they're no longer writers but simply people who write. A writer writes because they have to write. And if they're fortunate that someone later on might wish to purchase what they wrote all the better. But that's not why they write, or should. It's not uncommon however. "Commercial art" is oxymoronic if the purpose of that art is principally commerce. Art can only be for it's own sake, except this isn't an ideal world and commerce is fine when not the chief consideration.
But art in the marketplace will always be a kind of prostitution,
but lucky,
I'm not against prostitutes.
The pursuit engages a cornucopia of desires
some base some noble, but the pursuit of it was neither.
Neither base desire nor noble but out of necessity as a ball rolls down an incline. I don't credit myself any more than discredit myself except I learned to want what I needed and embrace it even if despising it while discovering perfection apparently isn't anything anyone else is much interested in judging from the reception such an announcement receives when it comes up in conversation. It's like
I just confessed I was wearing soiled underwear
and I enjoyed it.
So I made it a requirement that any friend would have to be amenable to my pursuit of the goal of perfection because how can they be a friend and not feel friendly toward the most important aspect of myself—what became the ground of my living and being. But then I learned people can love you even when they hate everything you stand for. Love is odd that way. There are people I love who hate most everything I write. I still love them.
Perfection is a harsh taskmaster
because the cruciform mandala is a harsh taskmaster.
It will kill us. It's designed to kill us—but that's for some other conversation.
SHOW POST
change to formal
Searching for perfection
and why pursue it
has a complex answer
complex on the surface
but at its center no more complicated
than understanding how things present themselves at times in our lives and what could be called coincidental but the universe is predicated on order, is full of rules and laws and our lives don't escape the orderliness and not just in the physical world. Simply put the pursuit of perfection found me but not because i wasn't looking for anything at all related because I don't think it works that way. True enough. my mind had the shape for such a goal if not fully formed.
But it's not for everyone no more than marriage is though some insist everyone should marry–it's even a duty–but there's someone who will insist about anything. I don't insist anyone follow perfection as a goal though I do wish more would. In a world of liberals I would wish for some conservatives and in a world of conservatives some liberal. Some may long for sunny days without end but snow and cold aren't bad, think winter sports and the wonder of a black crow on a blistering white landscape.
To not move toward perfection
therefore is also a good.
Not simply to pursue something else but to actively not pursue perfection because it wouldn't be good for you so you keep from such activities that attract such a way of life. It's not destiny but yes, it's like a child destined to mature into an adult given a healthy environment and no fatal accidents. And to want perfection is one thing but to need it another. I can't say whether destiny causes want or need or something less tangible, something primal in our mindset and feelings before it ever becomes either. But even needs can be stifled.
We don't have to eat at least not for a while.
We don't have to mate but the urge can be overwhelming.
We need to sleep or we can keep all the lights on and the music turned up and go mad with wakefulness.
Before the possibility was stumbled upon
I had troubles at a young age
an introvert, and left-handed, and I stuttered, and was overly self-conscious. Perfection must be everything I wasn't. Not so. Nothing about any of that perfection can't use and make good and beautiful. Even the stuttering. I've heard some endearing stuttering I wished the person would never overcome. No matter how beautiful a lily it's unwelcome in a clam chowder. One size can never fit all and no perfection so fine it won't fit somewhere like a square peg in a round hole, and there's no imperfection that can't be refashioned into perfect it just needs tweaking.
I wrote and drew early in life and thought one or the other as a profession but professions are low-hanging fruit compared to a calling. We should all have one, perhaps we do but I have no inside information if that's the case but by a calling I mean what we need to do and can't not do, and not talking about a career which is nothing more than making a living. A calling isn't making a living, it's life lived through us.
A lonely situation
and lonelier lifestyle to search for perfection
Or be a writer. A writer can associate with other writers but they write alone in the dark of night, cold coffee mocha in the cup, eyelids begging to close but we need to write and want to write and are glad to want to need to write as well as need to want to write which is the ideal mix.
And a mix of base and noble like marriage.
Marriage is about love.
It's also about lust.
And no one very often will marry for passionless love though they might for passioned lust. Not that marriages in earlier times were primarily about love, they were for the necessity of family and social order and such. Then the husband had a lover on the side because love and lust are essentials for human nature to thrive and if we don't get it one way Nature will demand of us another.
That's apart from morality one might argue that case and win it but Nature isn't about morality. A tornado will destroy trees as well as children. Don't ask for it to do otherwise.
But base or noble some goals are entertained by the masses while others by solitary outsiders and apparently such is the way of perfection. I swore to myself I wouldn't have friends who weren't interested in my quest as it transformed into the core of my being and living but I learned that even friends who look askance at such an idea could still love me. Love is odd in that way. And people I love dearly may routinely hate everything I write, but I still love them.
Any goal is a mix of yearnings
Perfection is a complete ensemble
and easy to become distracted for secondary effects of a perfected state are many but now if a writer's goal was principally to make money or be famous then they aren't writers but simply people who write and maybe write well but no matter. A writer needs more than a writer's skill, they need a writer's soul. A writer writes because they need to. If someone should want to purchase what's been written all the better but that can never be why they write. Delicious food is fine but it's not the reason to eat a meal, nor is the dessert the reason for the meal but the topping. Money paid for a book is a topper never the meal. I write, I'm fed but a dessert made of a decent income would be sweet.
And so commercial art isn't art, it may be artistic but it can't become art just for having artistry. Art must be for its own sake. And perfection must be for its own sake is the point being made. It's the form itself of what perfection entails that's alluring and is the bait. Not the perks that a perfective state might offer. You need to be shaped that way is why you'd go for it.
Marketplace art is the prostitution of Beauty.
All beauty must be for its own sake.
But lucky I'm not against prostitutes.
The way of perfection is neither
cruel nor kind if a harsh taskmaster.
Because a path of perfection isn't designed for anyone to ever achieve that goal. It will kill us. It's designed to kill us—but that needs other paradoxical considerations to make sense of it because it makes sense in accord with its own special logic and not ours.
