You walk towards the horizon on a hot summer day. The sight of the river brings hope to your heart and vigour to your stride. Scrambling across the arid landscape, kicking up dust and slipping on rocks, you want to stop. But the horizon beckons with dreams of satiated desires. When you reach the river, you’re ready to stop now, rested and awash with accomplishment. But the horizon still beckons. And so I walk on. In the darkness of the night, the infinite horizon disappears only to reappear as a guiding star in the sky. Nudging me ever so gently, lovingly towards my future, one step at a time. And when the future is here, I’ll look towards her again. Towards a better me. Towards perfection. Here I go again.
When the future was bleak. It wasn’t hope that saved me. It was her, the horizon. Always beckoning, beguiling even. She instilled in me a certainty that the future was always better as long as I walked towards it. I have struggled to believe that I was good. I have boasted that nobody was as good as me. But it was she, who reminded me that I was still not quite there. The horizon to me is perfection. A destination to walk towards, and still never reach. What would this journey be, if I didn’t have a vision to walk towards. Is she a mirage? Have I been wandering aimlessly? Shimmering seductively on the horizon. Right there, almost in my grasp but just beyond my reach. A reason to live. A dream to die for. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you; Perfection. This writing resulted from a creative jugalbandhi with Michael Dean. We jammed and bounced ideas, words and insights off of each other, to create what you read above.