Unconditional Lust

Sometimes I wait a little too long to eat- maybe I’m too busy to remember, or perhaps I secretly relish the hunger. Stirring my unsweetened bowl of steaming oatmeal, walnut, blueberry-cinnamon breakfast mush, I wait. I nibble on a couple of bitter grapes while it cools, to whet my appetite. Or maybe it’s to arouse my taste buds.

An enlightened strategy for eating tells us that we should eat to live, not live to eat. This is a philosophy which I have employed then laid off in many cycles, throughout my life. Consider the food- what will it do for you? Will it nurture and fortify you or will it thrill your taste buds and become something that you’ll later regret and have to exorcise away, as with any uninvited demon?

I once read that the Dalai Lama said that we can live without religion or meditation, but we cannot live without human affection. The dolly Laura thinks that living without meditation might leave me with a bland and withered existence, but otherwise, I’m buying his thought. But what affection is the kind that would bring lasting satisfaction, health, joy… peace? Quite recently I had the good fortune of loving a man who was beautiful, kind, thoughtful, patient, and whose touch brought me ecstasy. He told me that I was so beautiful, that I made him feel things he’d never felt before, and that he couldn’t imagine ever not having me in his life. These are words that everyone wants to hear and believe. They’re the icing on the cake, the turkey’s gravy or the bonus piece of bubble gum.

We loved each other intensely as day after day brought us deeper yearning, affection and appreciation. He had told me that his best trait was his loyalty- this was what I had been waiting for- someone with the depth and strength to go the distance. I’d gone from bitter grapes to intoxicating wine. I did everything that I could to be with him and dreamt of being with him forever. I did whatever he asked me to- it was all so delicious. I would have driven anywhere, slept on anything, or given everything to be with HIM. He was not the perfect man, as I am not the perfect woman, but this bliss was MINE.

Mine alone.

He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t getting everything that he needed. I guess our witty correspondence, mutual love for beauty, respect for compassion and kindness, all topped with emotionally physical ecstasy was not enough. Did he ever know how much I loved him? Would it have mattered? I tried to make whatever adjustments I could, to give him what he wanted- even being willing to forego my bread to live in his well. But he said that happiness with me just wasn’t meant to be. He needed more- not more of me.

Diving into a bucket of ice cream when you’re sad is that clichéd remedy that we all sympathize with whenever it behooves us to pity ourselves. I guess a man might be more inclined to wash down his pain with some beers or too many shots of tequila. A woman whom I admire intensely told me that the way to get over one guy is to get under another one. All of these are just not me. My love has a history of change- it’s burned eternally, been beaten into an unrecognizable ball of hatred, morphed into misery and most recently- been my strength. In spite of difficult situations, betrayal, confusion and hurt, I still love. I love the man who has quickly forgotten me. I love the memories that brought me so much joy. And I love the compassion which I have for him and more so, for me.

My lumpy oatmeal is getting cold but as I taste each spoon I relish the zesty cinnamon, the boisterous blueberries and the knowledge that this is so very good for me.

It’s good to be hungry.