IMPERFECTION. ©

I found myself thinking a lot about this after a chat with a friend a few days back, who like me, thinks that perfection and imperfection are two sides of one coin

 So many of us think that we have to be perfect. However for me it defeats the purpose of being just your self, where you can relax the way you want, kick your shoes back, listen to any music you want and basically be your own person. It would be good if we can tell ourselves that one of the goals in life is to not be perfect. Losing track of this aspiration gets us into a cauldron of disappointments, and we consider ourselves failures because, well just because we think we don’t measure up to our own set of rules. If life is about learning, experiencing, experimenting, then perhaps being imperfect is a prerequisite? If only we could let go of our intense quest for perfection, our life would be so much more interesting and perhaps we would aspire for imperfection instead. At least to a certain extent.

 This absolutely does not imply that we should not strive to do our best or try to scale great heights in the pursuit of knowledge.  It just means that there is no such thing as perfection, especially in life.  If there were, then all living things that are in ceaseless state of movement will stop. Take our own bodies, we are growing and shedding cells every second and every minute; the blood is constantly in motion in our veins. Life changes more all the time.  Perfection happens, but it does not last; because it is an impermanent state.  

 Trying to hold on to perfection or forcing it to happen will result in frustration and a futile attempt at happiness.

 Despite this we continue to be in pursuit of perfection. We have to check and see if anyone is judging us to see whether or not we are perfect. How many times have we thought of our childhood and thought, if only we could accomplish this act, then we will be perfect and earn the respect and love of our parents and friends. So it shows that perfectionism is a holdover from childhood---an ideal we inherited from a demanding parent. We as adults, do not need the adulations or the need of approval from our colleagues. We can let go. We can choose the Universe as a loving place where we are free to be imperfect. Once this realization sets in, we can take ourselves less seriously, which results in more fun and more friends. Imperfection is inherent to being human.  If only you can embrace imperfection, you will realize that you have embraced yourself.

Zakiah Sayeed 2001.

Sayeed and Shelley go to her mother’s home for Thanksgiving every year. At first I used to mind that a lot. But then I thought what the heck, I can have it here before they go and that’s what I have been doing for the last several years.

Last night everyone came over, and we had a lot of fun. The turkey was huge. It was honey cured and hickory smoked…. the only kind my family will eat. Dave my son in law did the honors with that and had the meat removed and sliced in a tray. I had all the trimmings, the mashed potatoes, cranberry relish, the dressing, you name it I had it, PLUS, Indian food. I thought the table looked good.

Tomorrow, Shelley and Sayeed will leave for the western Suburbs of Chicago and on Thursday, we will go to Saadi’s house and have our other thanksgiving brunch with them.

That new person is Meg, Noah’s girl friend.

Sorry about the unfocussed photo. I was not wearing my glasses! DUH!

There was so much food left over. Packed a lot of turkey for Saadi and Dave.

In other news, a few weeks back, a young lady had asked if I could donate a painting to the Big Brothers Big Sisters annual fund raiser. I told her to come and select one, and she took the Peony flower that I had painted. You all know how much a beginner I am with painting, and that flower was painted about three months ago, just when I had started painting.
Today I got a thank you note from the case manager of the event. This is what she said. “Thank you very much for your beautiful painting! Your contribution brought in $250, the most any painting went for, that night!” OMG! I was beyond excited. Felt SO SO SO good.

Okay, that’s all!

This is the peony I had given her. I had taken a [picture of it and saved it in among the pictures here.

I want to share a letter I received yesterday.

There was a package in front of the door of The Islamic Center here. It was a large Tupperware type of container filled with luscious brownies.  This was the letter I that was attached to that container.

" Dear Americans of The Islamic Center of Quincy"

Assalamalikum... (Peace to you)

With the results of the presidential election being what they are, I felt it was important to make a gesture of love towards  my fellow Americans. Especially towards my neighbors that the president elect has spoken hatefully about.

I am a white woman. I do not pretend to understand what you must be feeling. I have my own concerns, but my citizenship and livelihood have not been threatened. I am embarrassed for this country and ashamed of these results.

Above all, I wanted to let you and the Islamic community know that whatever comes, you have an ally in me and my husband. I believe in the freedom of religion,  of Life, of Liberty, and the Pursuit of happiness. I will fight for those rights for myself and for you, my fellow Americans. Call on me any time.

Peace be Upon You.

Signed Melanie A. and then she gave her email address.

Needless to say, I cried when I read this missive. I sent her an email and today , made copies of her letter and took them along with the tray of the brownies that she had made and let the members of the mosque informed of the empathy that this lady has shown. There is goodness among most of us. That's why I love this town so frikkin much!

This place so familiar
the banyan tree with its drooping branches~

I see a swing amid the cobwebs of my mind
and hear squeals of laughter and my voice,
‘make it go higher’!

This courtyard with slabs of grey stone
sheets broken with unruly grass along
their joints~~
my naked dancing feet convey words unspoken!

These men with their hungry eyes,
remind of a time when a little girl on the swing;
taken by force, her mouth covered--
away from her brother, cutting all ties!

Ugly men, chewing betel leaves,
gnarled hands and joints, smoking pipes,
my body keeping rhythm with ancient music
my eyes closed, my memories like movies
flashing in and out, crying for common identity.

And now I see a pair of old eyes--
behind old beaten blinds of a window, spread apart
with thin brown fingers: a fleeting wave of identity--
My breath in my chest, tight like a vise
lets out a sigh--------

Those old pair of eyes, they belong to my mother!!

ZSA © Oct. 2016.