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Almost done.

Whatever done means, right?

The notion of complete is a slippery something or other hiding within itself any number of variations that twist and turn upon each part until upside down is rightwise up and you’re chasing figments and smoke.

Complete with the task? We all know that one person’s complete is another person’s sloppy attempt is someone else’s unique expression of OCD.

Complete with the table? Sure, it’s nearly done being made, a few more coats to go, but that complete is nestled within the story of the life that this little table will have, spanning any number of months and years. Which complete holds more value?

Complete with the process? What process isn’t nestled within layered other processes that weave like a beautiful tapestry? Where is the isolated vacuum of life in which something lives and dies without ever touching or being touched by vast majorities of the rest of the universe?

We’ll call the table nearly complete in one sense,
And utterly at the beginning of itself in another.

And I think this is the way we should hold ourselves, as well.

Grand Becomings nestled within Being sitting pretty in the vast fields of the seemingly infinite Is-ness.

It’s less about picking the right direction,
Aiming for a complete that may never come,
And more about simply taking the next step,
Knowing that you are doing just fine.

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