What is perfection? The ability to accept imperfection? The redemption of the absurd through conscious praise of what is valuable in each particle? I would like to discover the answer to this question, in addition to the question What is happiness? Commonly asked.  Mused over by many. Yet to spend my days in endless cerebral contemplation I do not wish. Diotima I admire but feel the need to manifest her in physical reality. Though thoughts be perhaps physical they may at times be cold company.  In the coming year, I will have all that is necessary for a good life: fresh food, an active life, family, friends, music, literature, changing company, changing seasons, the ocean! The question remains: Is being fully conscious of the quality of one’s life sufficient, or is there an illness in humans which yearns for omnipotence regardless of one’s enjoyment? I am shortly to embark upon an experiment of the soul, and I am terrified.

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