There’s something eerie about perfection.  When nothing is wrong, we worry, is this the calm before the storm?  Or is there something more subversive underneath, waiting to be dug up or reveal itself at the worst times.  A Rockwellian feast with the perfect family: father at the head, mother in apron, son, and daughter, all smiling from ear to ear seems so implausible that it must mean something other than what we are looking at.  Clearly they can’t all be happy.  Clearly not everything in their lives is right.  So it makes sense that these types of images only appear in illustrations, or if they are photographs they are well acted facades.  Perfection is creepy because it doesn’t exist, and therefore we cannot wrap our heads around it.

And movies with no conflict are boring.  We need drama, we need clashing, we need imperfection.  So it makes you wonder: if we are unable to cope with perfection, and we only find interest in imperfection and conflict: then what would heaven be like?  Can our spirits even handle such a thing?  Just because we can’t wrap our minds around such a thing doesn’t mean it can’t exist, but what if we’re not built for such a thing.  What if we all reach heaven, and find it boring?