Time to be Perfect

Plato was all wrong about perfection. There's no idea world with perfect models of everything.
I've touched perfection. Often it comes when you aren't trying to do anything of the sort, when you're just chilling and doing what comes naturally, when awareness merely means pushing your consciousness higher, higher, to the next level until it converges with the consciousness of another person.
One instance of perfection: I won't confine it or mis-define it by shoving it into the category of "music," because the sound we made wasn't what mattered (although it was pretty cool). Nate was on congas and bongos and i was on drumset. It wasn't quite like any messing around we'd done before, or any jamming i'd done before with other musicians, because this time rather than focusing on what we, as individuals, could "add" to what the other was doing, we were only aware of what happened as the intricacies of our rhythms floated through time and space and created something no person could create by herself, even with a 5-track recorder. We shifted through 4/4, 3/4, 7/8, 5/4, 2/2...together, polyrhythmically, and seemlessly. The time signatures had no beginning and no ending; as he laid, say, a 4/4 conga base pattern and I travelled listlessly in and out of 3/4 and 2/4, he would accent to offset my layers of time and add 5, or 7, to the dimension. The result--the sound that eventually reached our ears and minds--was original and organic and as we danced and made eye contact and laughed we both knew that in that moment, the other sibling would be meaningless without the perfect space between us. It wasn't about what we were creating or producing or performing. It was about how i'd been playing five more years than him and i valued his playing just as much as he valued mine. It was about how Kristina as an Individual and Nathan as an Individual didn't need to exist because it wasn't like we each had something "to offer," it was like as we became conscious that our rhythms were converging and being perfect we were of the same consciousness, in the same dimension of existence, in the same reality. In those moments our playing happened as if it was being done by the same person with eight limbs. In those moments what we created was a small, perfect part of who we were, as two people, as friends, as brother and sister.