Desire. As much as you and I have written poems, ponderings, and posts (think BackStreet Boys) about the D word and as much as you and I have wished for a different word to express this deep, soulful, exhilarated quaking other than the D word–it’s still the D word. Desire. He or she is an elusive, yet potent spirit–confusing as all get out (causing curse words to fall out) and sticks wrenches in my religion wheel. Stop it, but no, come closer. Ah, I’m nervous. Oh I’m disgusted, no, I lied I love it.
Dear Mary, Martha, and the other, how do we open ourselves to the D word? Sincerely, Scattered-child.
Well, a few years ago (approximately 3) I wrote an incomplete poem on desire and lo and behold, it too is confused, here it is:
This cold water refuses to sober,
They’ve lost their reigns,
And now I beg to know
What to do with what has laid so low,
And close to my hands
Desires weren’t made to be neglected,
Yet am I incubating the ones I have?
Incubating the D word sounds awful. Having the D word only at your hands feels dangerously ignorant and impulsive. Throwing cold water at the D word is cruel/abasing and distant from the pulse of life and the goodness of the D word. So, how do you and I embrace the earthy, lovely, spiritual attributes of desire without having to enact the previous (and common) reactions?
This too is dangerous, yet without demeaning our lives, bodies, and innerworkings etc, etc, but embracing the whole of you and I…
So hard to do, I tell you…I can at least fluidly rhyme the word (liar, fire, quire, mire, entire, shire, byre and it goes on)
So easy to do.
I rest on this (all of it) tonight. Goodnight D word.