Imperfection

When I tell someone who trusts me that they are whole and perfect, that there is nothing they could ever do that would change that, I am often met with tears of sorrow springing quickly from their eyes.  In that moment I can feel the softness of their being.  Their hands often move quickly to catch these tears that betray this softness inside and  soon the story of their sadness rises up to protect them.  The same is true for me when something or someone helps to remind me of my wholeness.  But sometimes we don't construct a story.  Sometimes we allow ourselves to rest in the sorrow and find trust for it.  What would have been a moment of release, like a release valve for the pressure created within the pipes of self definition, becomes an opening and everything we held on to dissolves into that soft place.

Here we discover that all imperfection is actually perfection.  That the only tests that we encounter in this life right now are born from the moment we leave the softness of our own being for the hardness of structure and the illusion of certainty.  It is from here where we are able to and will in many different ways, tell someone that they are perfect and whole and be a witness to their own trust.