Already perfection
There's no such thing, as a real person
There's no such thing, as an individual life
There's no such thing, as control
There's no such thing, as responsibility
There's no such thing, as consequences
And there's no such thing, as awakening
The illusory character can wait for years, even decades, for something
To change or to be improved
But what the illusory character doesn't know is
It's not even possible for something to change or to be improved
whatever is apparently changing or improving is completely
Self improvised, self created, self decorated, it is entirely self inflicted
Whatever may change or improve or even arise as affliction
Is all just a part as the theme for that character's play
But the play....... Never really happened
The design and urge for change, for improvement, is another wheel
To keep the imaginary character going, keep turning
To keep the ghost, lost in the fog
But If you search and try to find this illusory self, you're more likey to
Discover, realize, the apparent character, is untraceable
It can't be found
It doesn't even exist
Life never see's your story
So nothing needs to change or improve
Because this is, already perfection