Imperfection is the only thing that is certain. Everything from the overwhelmingly large to the inconceivably small can be certain of one rule – every rule is made to be broken.
An incense stick burns. A line of smoke ascends from the black tip straight up, perfectly aimed and calculated. 90 °. This is the work of millions of particles. The minuteness of it all so overwhelmingly large when you see the single atoms that create this grey stream. It continues up straight as a ruler. But like everything – there is an imperfection. There is one atom out of place. One microscopic indecency. One atom out of the billions. Then the perfection topples and falls over itself. In turmoil as it meshes and distorts, its smoke reaching out and winding itself together again like a helter skelter ; desperately trying to rewind it self together as it spreads infinitely apart. But it can’t regain perfection. It is now plummeting upward in a beautiful imperfection.The line was made to topple. The wool was made to unravel.The empire made to fall. All because of something as minute as a single atom amongst billions. But something small is always the catalyst for something great. Aeons ago their was an imperfection – an infinitely small dense point suddenly just went bang, and created the shrapnel we now call home.
Yes, the only thing one can expect is imperfection. That is my state of mind for everything. Nothing ever goes to plan – but that is not a bad thing. Imperfection is the great sadness and gift of life. It is never going to change; we all just got to embrace it.