Monday, September 16, 2002
I often wonder whether or not the biggest obstacle to my own writing is desire.
Does desire hold me back from writing; get in the way; or distract me? Or does it urge me on; increase some quality in myself to make me aware; harm me to help me?
Often in my personal musings my mind wanders to the concept of becoming desireless. In my personal day-to-day life I always seem to be fighting the desire and want (and the ache that comes with these things not being appeased) of something that doesn’t appear to be out-of-reach but, nonetheless, is within my own sphere. Or so it seems. (I hesitate to continue using variations of the word “seem,” but I hesitate more to present these sentences as pure fact.)
And why fight these desires? Why combat these gales of emotion and ambition? For the mere reason that I think if I overcome desire (or, at least, convince and reconcile myself that those things I desire are not meant for me here and now but, certainly, sometime in the future) I might then turn my mind to matters of more grave and immediate importance. Then could I concentrate on writing and reading and learning? I don’t know.
I’m almost tempted to quote Rilke again here. I won’t.