I asked God for a sign.

It came to me in the form of a dream.

Astral Projection of me gazing through the sky.

The sun began piercing through the clouds to greet me.

I heard a voice.

What side of average am I?

A man is judged by the fruits of his labor.

Look at yourself, Hows your fruit?

Some good, Some bad.

More good than bad.

But how could I be perfect?

Is there such thing?

The Sharp Wind cuts through the silence

In that silence came a voice

A familiar Voice, The right voice.

No one can be perfect.

Even if they were perfect.

Art piece by (Josias Yisra’el)