Namaste ...

           I'm going to tell you some lies:

You have to be perfect,

all the time.

And if you're not really good at something, right away,

you clearly shouldn't do it; it's not meant for you – get outta the way.

If you think you could do it, but only with help,

forget it. You can't just ask someone for what you need.

No one really likes you, or wants good things for you.

You're not worth their time, because they're ahead and you're behind.

If someone likes you? They're either stupid or desperate.

So you can't trust anyone, no matter how smart or kind they seem.

And you definitely can't trust yourself, because you are

failing at being perfect – you are weighing down the team.

           And one last lie – 

        that none of the following is true:

                      That you were born whole, and you're learning how to use

                      the tool that is you—from your arms and eyes,

                      to your feelings and mind, to your

                      memories and dreams.

That how you hope to be liked—

           cared about and accepted,

           called in and connected,

           appreciated and respected—

is also everyone else's guiding light.

                      That people are invested in you thriving, if only because

                                 you're falling in the same holes they fell in once.

That the more people see you—

                                                   the real, half-lost half-found,

like-them life in your face—

      the more they will offer and ask

to share and to learn 

across that sensory space.

That the worse you are at something, the better you get

at understanding how it works—

           each slow step that you make,

      each detail you refine.

That—if you were born as perfect as your dreams—

You'd never try, 

never imagine, never grow,

never understand how to help another soul.

And you'd be the only, lonely one:

           bored and boring, 

      perfectly done,

           no skill to practice, 

      no challenging game

to play, 

      no fun laughing at yourself

           (or with anyone else 

   “I used to do it that way”) …

You'd just more and more

want to be imperfect,

as time went by.