Perfection

Perfection is the keyword. I dream about it every day.
A person so good and beautiful they often end up almost dying some tragic death, because they saved someone’s life or many lives.
Why is my subconscious so obsessed with this image?

I can easily find the answer in the papers.
I read about a man, who got up one morning, decided to vote for the sake of his country and got his nose and ears cut off instead or about a Saudi Prince that tortured and killed a poor farmer just because he could. They get away with it and the unfairness of these situations and countless others make me so angry.
What did this voting man get for his courage? Why wasn’t anyone there to protect him or the farmer? Why wasn’t I there to protect them?

I wish I could have been there, that I could fly faster than a speeding bullet, protect them and fly back to my family. Of course I would have to be invulnerable as well. You can’t protect others if you have to be protected yourself.
But I can’t fly and I am not invulnerable, the only way I could have been there to protect these men was to be part of an army and that is something I could never do.
Maybe this is the reason superheroes are so popular. They can correct every injustice in the world and they usually make the morally correct decisions.
They come close to perfection, but they aren’t real.

Must I conclude then that perfection isn’t real?

And of course it isn’t.
My take on perfection isn’t shared with the rest of the world, otherwise that man would have never lost his nose and ears. The men who mutilated him followed their own take on perfection. I would call it evil, but would they call themselves that? I think not.

I sigh and know my problem can’t be solved and that is where I start to dream again, about a world filled with my perfection.

Ariane