I hope I’ll be forgiven for this recent spate of thinking aloud.... I do mean well.... But this morning I have to wonder if the assumption that we are imperfect is simply a well-established rut in our thinking, which in turn serves as an excuse for not accepting ourselves as we are and our world as it is, and as we have made it, and go on making it. We accept nature in all its perfection and wonder, and yet the general view is that we are somehow apart from nature, a special case, as it were, a race of beings who must strive for perfection, which is perhaps impossible to achieve, all to be either rewarded at a later date, in another life, or to arrive at an enlightened state. Or something else, or something in between. But what happens if we see ourselves as part of nature, and, as part of nature, as perfect as all else — as perfect as the birds and mists and waterfalls, the deserts and oceans, the sun and moon and stars? It seems to me that this division is something we have created, and which our religions, doctrines, and systems preserve, even as their outward forms gradually change to accommodate new information and knowledge of the very nature we exhibit and are a part of. Or if we are a special case, maybe we are not necessarily special for the reasons we like to think we are. Maybe we are special in that we insist on complicating what is simple, and what is easily accepted by our natural counterparts, and even by ourselves as children. Now, I confess that I am writing this in a bit of physical pain this morning, the details of which are unimportant. But even if it is my pain that is speaking, to me it is perfect pain, and I accept it just as it is. There is no right or wrong time to hurt. No good or bad pain. I will simply sit in an awkward position until it passes, that’s all, or until it does not pass, either way delighted and grateful to be here.