Desire is the very essence of man.
The artwork was shown at the Tate Modern in London; the art is by Kathryn Maguire. It’s a mirror that lengthens the image (of the person) reflected in it; the words are laser cut into the mirror. The quote is from Spinoza.
Mark Doty says something similar in many of his poems. I think especially of one about sunflowers—even dying, their arched forms are true to their nature, their desire to be a burning rush forward into the world.
Perhaps this is what and who we are, first and last; desire. Not such a bad fate after all, say what?
How are you, at essence, Desire?