There is no recipe for achieving perfection. There is no right way. There are no road signs, there are no rules. Perfection is the absolute which the soul reaches through achieving its own true self.
Perfection exists on two levels – Universal and Individual.
In the Universe, there are no imperfect things. Absolutely everything that ever existed, that exists and will exist is totally perfect just the way it is. Perfection is self-realization. The sparrow is a perfect sparrow, but it wouldn’t be a good tiger just like the tiger would fail at being a perfect stone.
On the universal level, every human is a perfect particle of the world, creating exactly what that world needs. Like the overman creates magnificence to reach himself, the weak man produces misery to allow the Universe to experience itself as perfectly miserable.
Perfection is not pedantically organized boredom. The mountain is not good at being mathematically correct pyramid but she is perfect at being a mountain. The river does not flow in a straight line but she is perfect at being a river. The cracked vase isn’t ideal for putting flowers in it, but it is perfect because of its decision to let a single celestial ray into its inside.
On the individual level, perfection is the greatest self-expression. Every snowflake is beautiful but only one will dare to find its death on the shoulder of courage. The blood of every man carries the life inside it, but only a few will let it run freely to celebrate that life. There are millions of sunrises, but only one will come with the desire for passed deserts and the scent of virtues.
The man becomes perfect when he becomes an overman. When he gets the ability to say I, realizing with full power the meaning of that word. Perfection is not the absence of flaws. The overman is not perfect in spite of his flaws but because of them. Perfection is not a sum of virtues. Take one beautiful, smart and successful person. Now throw him out. Give me ruin. Show me the one that climbs the highest peak to stare into the abyss of his soul. Give me might. Show me the volcano erupting at midnight in urge for the moon winds. Give me chaos. Show me the warrior of harmony that braids his destiny with shivering fingers. Give me a view worthy of my eyes. Show me The Overman.
Perfection is absolute. And like any other absolute, it can be explained with the greatest thought that ever existed – I am.