There once was a girl who sought perfection. Despite the warnings of her village elders, she made the choice and decided to leave her small home in the mountains. She packed her one small bag and left, traveling far and wide with the hopes that one day she might find something she could call perfect.

It wasn’t long after she descended the mountains that she found a field full of thousands of beautiful red roses.

What is a rose, if not perfect? She thought to herself. I’ve always loved roses. And with so many here, all I have to do is find one that is perfect in every way. Then I’ll have found something truly perfect. So she set to exploring the field.

However she soon found that each one of them either had a broken petal, a slight differentiation in color, or something else that was just a little bit wrong. But she did not leave. All day she searched, but to no avail. That night she crawled up on the edge of the field under a tree beneath the stars and dreamt of the perfect rose. The next day she woke at dawn and continued. The pursuit was grueling at best, but finally, after days of searching, she came across the perfect rose. She stared in awe at its beauty.

I’ve found it! She exclaimed. It’s so perfect. A thought crept into the back of her mind. But how can I really know it’s perfect unless someone else thinks it’s perfect? I mean . . . I could be wrong after all.

After a while she decided that she must have another verify that it was perfect, so she plucked it, took her bag, and went on her way. After a half day of traveling she came across an elderly woman sitting beneath an apple tree.

Excuse me miss, said the girl. But I was wondering if you would take a moment of your time to look at this rose I’ve found. You see, I think this rose is perfect, but I won’t be able to truly believe it’s perfect unless you also agree with me. She held the rose out before the old woman.

The old woman looked at it carefully, then frowned and said, this rose has been plucked and is dying. Soon it will lose all its color and all its petals. No rose can be perfect when you have taken life from it. The girl sadly nodded her head, agreeing with the old woman’s words. She left the rose underneath the apple tree, whispering an apology to it.

Here, said the old woman. Take some apples. This is a magical tree and each apple that is plucked from its branches will fill your stomach for a week and replenish all your energy. They may help you in your journey. Good luck. The girl thanked the old woman and took several apples in her bag before she went.

As she walked she decided that this time instead of trying to find something that was perfect, she would make something that was perfect. That way its life could never be diminished. After arriving at the next town she traded two magical apples for a small place to stay and kept the others as food. She soon set to work on her craft. Day after day she slaved away; refining, studying, researching and building. The process was rinsed and repeated and after many months, she finally completed it. It was simple and perfect in her eyes, and for a moment she was happy. But she would not enjoy her accomplishment for long, it wasn’t over yet, of this she knew.

She had decided after the last time that to truly know it was perfect she would ask three different people. If three people told her it was perfect, it would prove it. The next morning she awoke with bright eyes and went from shop to shop showcasing her item. The first claimed it was a masterpiece unlike any he had ever seen, proclaiming its perfection and the legend that would follow. The second said that she had always dreamed of seeing true perfection in its tangible state but never thought she would live to see the day.

However, the third person spent much time looking over the item before finally saying, I cannot say this is perfect because in my eyes, it can only be perfect if I had made such a craft. The girl was speechless. Perfection had evaded her once again. She pleaded with the man to reconsider, but he would not. Before she left he told her something of interest. If you are truly seeking perfection, I have heard of a prince whom has met Perfection. Perhaps, if you ask him, he can aid you. Here, he motioned. This is a map of his country that I kept from my old travels. With this you may be able to find him. She left her item of craft with the man in thanks, and took her leave.

She spent many days and nights wondering in deep thought. Perhaps, she wondered, I can be perfect. She had always been beautiful and smart, with a keen sense of the world and a sparkle in her eyes. Yes, she decided. This is the only way. This is the best way. Soon after, she decided she would ask 1000 people and if 1000 people told her she was perfect, then it would have to be the truth. The prince would be the last person she asked, and since he had met Perfection, he would most certainly know.
Upon entering the next town, she sold the blueprint of her last craft for a fair penny. She bought an elegant red dress, a new pair of short leather boots, wore not a touch of makeup, and went on her way. From town to town, she charmed those whom she met, and not a single soul was not astonished by the girl. She won challenges of the mind, challenges of the heart, and astounded all with her beauty. All believed her to be perfect and wherever she went, eyes followed. Word of the girl spread and whispers that perfection had been born into the world came to be. She traveled nearly a year before she had met 999 people, all who had told her she embodied perfection. There was one last place to go.

At long last, she arrived at the once distant kingdom of the Prince who had met Perfection. By this time the girl was known across the lands and was welcomed by the king when she arrived. It wasn’t long before the girl came before the Prince. He sat quietly as the girl told him her story. From the rose all the way to entry into his kingdom he merely sat and nodded his head every so often. At the end of her story the girl sat still in the silence while the Prince studied her. She was truly the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

I’m sorry, the Prince finally said, but you are not perfect.

She was devastated. After all her struggles, after the long, hard year, she had failed. Again. Tears filled her eyes.

Why? She asked. Am I not the most beautiful girl you have ever seen? I have traveled the world, accomplished rigorous trials and 999 people have said I am perfect? Why do you not think so? Where in myself do your eyes glimpse imperfection?

The prince looked her in the eyes. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, and without a doubt the most adventurous. And seemingly the smartest, though I have not seen the entirety of the world so I cannot say for sure.

Then why do you not think I’m perfect? Because there may be someone more perfect than me?

No, my dear. The reasoning is thus. In my eyes, perfection is a reflection of the soul, and your soul is not content with yourself. Why ask a thousand people if they think you are perfect? Is your opinion of no importance? How can I think you are perfect if you yourself do not believe so?

The girl looked up but could not speak. She knew deep down that she was not perfect, because if she was he would have told her. He had met Perfection after all.

But I heard you met Perfection, and that only you can truly say what is perfect and what isn’t.

Look at me young lady, said the Prince, standing. Perfection is a goddess whose playground rests in the minds of all. She rests in the eye of the beholder. What is meaningless to one is another’s glory. What some see as splashes of ink are to others magnificent works of art. Look only to a mirror and if what you see within is perfect to you, then that is what truly matters. Only there can you find her.

The girl spoke softly, but I have looked and have not found her. Are you speaking of yourself? Is that the Perfection you met?

No my dear, he answered. The perfection of us humans is that we are imperfect, a conundrum that cannot be solved, only accepted.

I don’t understand. What then have you seen, if not Perfection herself?

I have seen the Sun, whom gives us light and warmth every day, helping all life to grow. I have seen the lady Moon, who changes as we do. Sometimes she is whole and sometimes she is not, but she is always there. I have seen the stars, and although I cannot always see them, I know that I will once again. Sometimes they give me hope, and sometimes they make my dreams come true. However, there are those who would deny these perfections, and thus they are not perfect, because for something to be truly perfect, all those who see it must recognize it as perfect. Yet, they are still perfect to me, and thus I have met Perfection.

I don’t understand, said the girl.

Perfection is chained to perception, and because perception is endless, its chains are endless. It can never be free of judgment as long as it can be seen. And because it can be seen, it can never be perfect, because true perfection is free of judgment. It is only recognized and understood by the one who is doing the recognizing and understanding.

You speak in riddles, my Prince.

Only Perfection can look herself in the mirror and call herself Perfection. Her curse is that once another looks upon her, she is no longer perfect, for she has no power over their judgment. Perfection is a small wooden boat, fragile and open-hearted, and judgment is the storm which sinks her. Without the storm she will always float. Is her curse the reason for her perfection? Who is to say other than Perfection herself? We are all just judging her in the end. A thousand different ways. Ten thousand different ways. The paradox is unending. Those who seek the judged perfection of others are imperfect in mind, and thus imperfect. Those who seek perfection from within, are the only ones free to gaze upon her.

So you have gazed upon Perfection?

Yes, my dear. Though I fear my words mislead you.

Where can I find her?

It is an arduous trial, meeting Perfection.

I want to meet her.

So be it. She lives at the bottom of a mountain’s peak, within the outside of a cave, and only shows herself under the light of a moonless night. There you will find her.

That’s impossible, said the girl. How can one travel within the outside of a cave? How can one go to the bottom of a mountain’s peak? And how can I see the light of a moonless night? There is no way I can find her.

Ah, but there is one way.

How? Asked the girl. The only place I can find her is in my . . . self.