Perfection

PERFECTION

by Killian McDonnell, O.S.B. from Swift Lord, You Are Not (St. John's University Press)                   

I have had it with perfection.
I have packed my bags,
I am out of here.
Gone.

As certain as rain
will make you wet,
perfection will do you
in.

It droppeth not as dew
upon the summer grass
to give liberty and green
joy.

Perfection straineth out
the quality of mercy,
withers rapture at its
birth.

Before the battle is half begun,
cold probity thinks
it can't be won, concedes the
war.

I've handed in my notice,
give back my keys,
signed my severance check, I
quit.

Hints I could have taken:
Even the perfect chiseled form of
Michelangelo's radiant David
squints,

the Venus de Milo
has no arms,
the Liberty Bell is
cracked.

"Practice makes perfect" is perhaps the most detrimental aphorism in the English language.  No matter how hard we practice at something . . . our chosen professions, hobbies, or even spiritual "practices," we're never going to be perfect.  But perfection doesn't equate to goodness or beauty or worth, as Merriam Webster's tells us and today's poem illustrates. 

Singer-songwriter-poet Leonard Cohen puts it this way in his song, Anthem:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
Our cracks let the light in, but they also let it out . . .


What are the cracks that let the light shine in and through you?