It’s imperfect, always
It never meets our expectations, our hopes, our dreams
It confounds us, confronts us, terrifies us
It gets under our skin
It renders us helpless and full of fear
We run from it
As far as possible
Another country, another life
We hide in our addictions
In our relationships
We try and bury our resistance
We deny it, denounce it
We try and rationalize it, negotiate with it
We even spiritualize it

And finally, with grace
After years of exhaustion

We accept it as it is
And it becomes perfect.