Whenever I believe in a thought, I become a perfectionist. I make up an ideal of how the world is and/or should be, and experience stress when reality don’t match up to it.

In the release of these beliefs, another perfection is revealed. The first perfection is the conventional one, needing its opposite for its existence. It is the world divided into perfect and imperfect, good and bad. The second perfection is what is, revealed when beliefs in stories about it falls away.

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