On Desire…
It whispers to the heart, our relentless drum, calling us to move, to grow, to extend beyond the horizon of ourselves.
Preface: I wrote this three years ago. Before em dashes and series phrases made genius writing tools malignant. Such a shame. The conscious construction of scrupulous form to tell a story with its highest authenticity is priceless. But as many humans do, they spoil the nutritious options of language for the sake of junk-food judgment. Sigh.
Today, I was delighted to stumble upon it once more. I have so much writing like this. I love the thoughtful essay form and probably have several books worth already crafted, should I ever have the time to rediscover them all. One-off treasures, forgotten and dissolved, at least, until they’re tripped over like this. Welcome to one of my invisible-ink essays.
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100% original text. Generated video.
I had a thought the other day about desire. I've been stewing on it since, so I decided that to understand it, I'd write it down.
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Desire stirs in the core of every being, a silent nudging that refuses to rest. It whispers to the heart, our relentless drum, calling us to move, to grow, to extend beyond the horizon of ourselves. Why do we ache for more, even when we have enough? Is it shameful, this persistent wanting, or is it the nature of something divine?
Perhaps desire is the universe's way of pushing us. Like gas fueling an engine, it propels us forward, ensuring we don't sit idle. For what is life if not a journey of creation — a symphony of learning, failing, and trying again? The stars, it seems, do not rest in their orbits, nor do rivers cease their flow. In this, we are no different, but it's desire that moves us.
But the duality of desire shouldn't be ignored. It lifts some to breathtaking heights and binds others to unquenchable thirsts. The elite, dripping with wealth, often succumb to its darker side, their cravings insatiable despite having more than enough. Is their hunger born of emptiness — a crater where purpose might have lived?
There is beauty, though, in the seeking. I imagine a universe as a vast and growing library, each life a chapter, each choice a sentence. The cause and effect of poverty, privilege, love, loss, neglect, support, and so on — all recorded as a testament to existence itself. Perhaps every yearning, every act of reaching, enriches this cosmic collection, feeding not just ourselves but the fabric of all that is.
Still, the weight of desire can feel unbearable. Its whispers become shouts; its pull, a web. And yet, in moments of stillness, there is clarity: desire is not our enemy. It is the hand that draws us forward, asking only that we balance our striving with reflection, our ambition with gratitude.
Beyond this earth, I can see something more. Beings who may have once walked with bones now fly in realms unbound by gravity and tell stories that echo eternity. Could this formula of wanting be the spark that lights the path, not just here but beyond? Every ache, every longing, is a gift — a chance to learn, to create, to leave a mark forever.
And so, we live, driven by this paradoxical force. We desire — not because we are flawed, but because we are alive. Our pages, once empty, fill up with tales: nightmarish tales, poetic stories, and lessons learned. Perhaps, in the end, that is enough.
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