Yes, it’s true.

You’re perfect the way you are.

So, so perfect.

You’re actually the universe playing you, in the universe, looking for the universe.

There’s really nothing to do!

It’s all exactly the way it’s supposed to be.

This moment couldn’t have been any different than it is.

Blah blah blah.

Boring.

Well, cool sometimes, or maybe often.

But not all the time.

And that means you can also feel angry and vengeful and twisted as fuck, and it will not take away any points from your spiritual certificate.

Maybe you want to push your fridge through the window, and crush the asshole neighbor.

Maybe you’d wish to do unspeakable things to defenseless little creatures.

Maybe you’d like nothing more than burn your sad ole collection of self-help books and DVDs (depending on how long you’ve been playing the game).

Cause here’s the thing:

Perfection is not ‘some sort of perfect perfection’.

It’s not the perfection with the golden lining and the eternal smile and the soft indigenous boots and the sage quietly burning in the background.

You can be totally fucking fed up with pretending to be spiritual.

Or holy.

Or divine.

Even while you still are.

Because the divine is ALWAYS divine, even if you feel horrible and ready to torch the world.

Sometimes you just want to scream because you’ve run out of mindfulness energy.

Sometimes you wanna punch the guru’s face, twenty times.

And no matter how hard you try to be a bad girl or a no-good boy, you’re still perfect.

Isn’t it fucking infuriating?

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(Photo by @contentpixie, for Unsplash)