Monday, December 6, 2010

on desire, panic

Thinking a lot about desire these days. Going through old poems and other writings, desire has been a theme I've touched on again and again. Not just carnal; lust, sexual, physical, but desire for emotional and, for lack of a better word, spiritual intimacy, connection. My work these days, and aspects of what has driven it, feel dried out. I read an old poem last week at Voz Alta with the line before she began drying up in protest against the end of desire,//before she knew the limits of luck. The poem wasn't a self-portrait or anything even close to one, it was an exercise that turned out a pretty good poem. But the line has been resonating in my head for a while now, did I fulfill my own prophecy? My former insouciance is gone. I don't know if I've outgrown that aspect of my life or if the last couple of years I've just stopped trying. Certainly heartbreak and disappointment figure heavily into how one reacts to external and intellectual stimuli. I tire so easily of people. I miss ideas.

Very little gets me excited these days. My life is fairly even keeled. I have little drama. I have companionship and close emotional ties but there are times, especially lately, when I can't sleep thinking that I'm wasting my life. My insomnia has been a beast the last couple of weeks. I fall asleep easily enough then the panic comes and I'm wide awake thinking of the places on this earth I haven't traveled to. I think of how much time I spend in the service of others without paying attention to my owns needs. I think of my body, aging each second. I think I've painted myself into a corner, a life free of threats and heartache but the other side of that bitter coin is a life free of passion and true joy. Then I remind myself I'm a writer, this may be common, sometimes panic is at the heart of creation.

I don't even have the desire to finish this blog entry.

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