Life is all too perfect. We cannot reconcile with what is if we escape this. Look to the simple experience of walking down the street, the stores full of life, the faces of those passing by, the chatter of buildings, cars, and conversation. These have come into existence out of little will, the idle workings of the world have thus professed unto us reality as it is known. That which we have not willed or desired ultimately falls under this category of perfection, for as experiencers we are the ones who place value on it. Only in being experienced does the perfect fall infinitely far to a simple 'good or bad', a victim of a small judgement, an all too human misunderstanding as it were. For it is not in essence that the world is imperfect, hostile, valueless, or even great, but under judgement. Who are we then to judge this essence, why must we sit atop our throne, with our supposed infallible logic and rationality, and cast value upon the world as our subject. Must we not stand as subject to the world, must we not view our experience as that which is conditional? Trying in vain to distance ourselves from what is results in an abject denial of the truth in our experience.
Thus it stands, that all that is imperfect is our experience of that which is perfect. This is where I hear the pitiable cries of those forlorn souls who view themselves as supposed masters of the what is, who must now re-evaluate their standing. This is where we must look to that which is unfair. The unfair is that which we, with all our might cannot change. This is how we have come upon our original definition of perfection, that which is unwilled, and undesired, but exists nonetheless. This is found, as stated, in the world, but also in ourselves. We retain the perfect inside of us, to deny it is almost natural, and to accept it is a journey into the arbitrariness that plagues any secure justification of truth. So often we stand as this judge, denying our own will. A middle term that separates our true selves from the world. We become just that, a force that seeks only to mediate the world for our true self, to make it tolerable and understandable, a force that denies honesty for the sake of justification and security. This is no way to live, in complete denial of that which our souls cry out for, the denial of a perfect experience. What then is the perfection inside of us? It is will, it is desire. It is the true state of ourselves that we cannot defend rationally, cannot even conceive of rationally, yet can all too easily deny. We cannot stand ourselves to be so irrational in this manner, our will seems almost foreign, a force we must fight in order to survive among others, yet this denial is what stands in the way of us ever living as ourselves. How long must we stand outside our will, looking in at these supposed problems before we come to know them as that which cannot be solved? That which is necessary to us.
I think now of jealousy, the green eyed Shakespearean monster that torments relationships. Is it not human to despise this jealousy, to see it as a monster, as an inhuman force that stifles us. Yet, for how many millennia has this monster infected us, how many have tried in vain to tame it, and how many have ran away from it in order to preserve their own egotistical judgement of moral 'good'. Who are we to fight that which is fundamental to us, that which is unfair! These forces are not acting against us, they are our action, they are our will and our desire. Even jealousy is perfect, for it is our honest desire. How have we missed the true value of jealousy, and the other base desires we escape from. For these are what constitute the self. In stories we seem to find the 'imperfect' in characters fascinating, this very same green eyed monster is what makes Othello's story compelling. Should Iago have denied his jealousy in order to maintain peace? I answer simply, No. In giving weight and necessity to this desire, he has created a beautiful narrative, a compelling life, a life that belongs to him, that truly is him. Is that not what we must strive towards, is that not what it means to be ourself? Our true experience, our immutable, irrational desires, those that are all too perfect!