Ruins of Perfection

I am built from the ruins of my life.

The ruins are not what is left of me 
after someone lobbed anger at me, 
or threw missiles of mocking words at me.

Neither are the ruins left behind 
after a surprise attack of gaslighting 
or the stripping of my self-worth. 

It is not even being left for dead, 
walled in by an icy fortress of frozen love.

The ruins of my life are glorious rem(a)inders of a history 
once lived in perfect moments in time. 

The ruins of my life are the result of me picking myself apart 
in a thousand million ways—
analyzing, doubting my actions, deconstructing events, 
judging, blaming, victimizing myself and others, and on and on.
Of digging and digging into myself to find answers;
to recapture a lost life once lived in the promise of eternal love. 

So I dug and dug into myself to find answers until one day 
there was ‘nothing’ left to be unearthed.

I picked myself apart until all flesh had been devoured 
and all marrow had been sucked dry, 
until I reached the blinding white shores of parched bones.

I sank my teeth into bone, and silence rose to meet me.

Here, I heard the eternal Truth proclaiming itself nakedly and silently.

Perfection! Perfection!

I am birthed into each moment in eternal light and love!
I am perfection in every moment. Moving perfection in every moment in time!
When I doubt this perfection, I am my own ruin.