If I tell you . . .
[ part 3 of 3 ]
To be able to recognize Desire, to name it, to affirm it. It’s taken me a good long while. In the nights when I was young, I saw desire as a sinful thing, shameful, something to be repressed, denied, ignored, despised. Prayed away.
Rather like how my parents reacted to my dad’s cancer in those early years after I came out. Neither my father nor my mother wanted to recognize the cancer, to admit its existence. It killed my dad nevertheless. Refusing to recognize something doesn’t make it go away.
Opening my eyes, seeing what’s there, identifying and naming it—“oh, here’s Desire, again…my wanting, my lusting after”—this doesn’t make it go away, either. Doesn’t grant me the object of my desire. Doesn’t grant me control or good sense or happiness ever after. But it does allow me to make conscious informed choices about how I respond or react to, live with, accommodate Desire.
Thus Desire becomes one pillar in my life, not the only one.
What message does Desire have for you today?
for action (or, if you’re Catholic, penance):
Write an imaginary tweet (keep it short; 140 characters) to Desire.
About the photo: image from Michael Taggert Photography, flickr.com; model: Jeremiah