Bow to your awkwardness.
Smile at your clumsiness.
Befriend your
incompetence.
Laugh when you stumble and fall.
These are all precious
waves in the undefinable vastness of you.
Perfection is
unattainable in time, but found only in presence;
the presence of
imperfection makes you real, and relatable, and that’s perfect.
You’ll
be consistent when you’re dead.
Until then, celebrate your silly old
self, your marvellous inability to conform,
or to live up to any image
at all.
Don’t bore yourself into a spiritual coma.
Say the wrong
thing, just for once.
There is such freedom in allowing yourself to fuck
up,
to be kind to your mistakes, to kiss the ground as you rise again,
to adore the falling too.
Don’t let your spirituality numb your humanity, your humility,
and most importantly, your humour.
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