The Hunger

And there is no escaping it. And there is no liberation from it.

I was nervous about this and I saw it coming, this wicked pain from within my temple, and sure enough it has arrived, prophetic, or rather I have summoned it. Welcome, I say to my pain, though I am the one returning. I’m not used to depriving or ignoring my body… on purpose. I’m typically proud of giving myself whatever I want. I don’t regret my indulgences at all. In the mornings before class I used to get drunk on espresso martinis and jump at the chance to answer questions before I start to doze off. Now I’m different, I wake right before work, I don’t consume a thing until the sun sets. I’m fasting for Ramadan out of solidarity. And now, hungry, I can relish in this pain, this denial of myself, I have to admit; the deprivation is deepening me. I hadn’t realized how attached I am to sensation, sustenance.

To ignore what the body is asking for involves hearing its cries by necessity. And indeed I hear: Slow down. You’re working too hard. You drink too much. You work too much. You need more sleep. You are not satisfied. You need to be near the ocean. It’s difficult to make out often, there is always nuance to sift through in translating instinct to information, if I’m not paying enough attention everything sounds like: You’re dying.

It’s true.

Now, while I’m still alive, after the sun sets, I’m writing poems without thinking of the titles. I’m being open about what I want, who I want, how I feel. Some of the guilt is still there and I’m still fighting some of it away — I haven’t yet reached my final form. The world is resistant to the becoming of me. I was crying in the club over how my substantial labor never seems to amount to substantial wealth, how the life I’ve always envisioned seems ever out of reach, how frail flesh can be, how I’ve been saying “my time is coming still” for over 10 years now. A decade is both long and short. The time is ruthlessly indifferent, you gain attachment to places and then they disappear, you grow close to another and they move on, you fill yourself up and very soon you will be empty again.

For all of the day what I know is how tired my body is, which is teaching me how tired my soul is. I never think I’ll make it to sunset and then each successive day I learn that I can, and I do, always surprised that it never gets easier.

At the same time I am learning again and again that I have a body. And how powerful it is — for its ability to persist, to endure, to carry me where I need to be under the great golden heat lamp above, which may or may not be the open eye of God, who I am learning is who I really am. In the way that every flower and sapling and stalk and skyscraper are also the earth. The earth is more than them and is inextricable from them. I am them. And no one at all; I can change who I am and what I believe in at a whim, and I will always survive the revolution, meaning I too like God am deathless and unkillable. And I have the power of both creation (consume) and annihilation (abstinence).

We already are what we want to be, we always were who we will be.

The hungry do not have the luxury of leisure. They rise early and possessed for as long as their body has the chemical energy. And their minds are urgently focused. All that it returns to is desire, over and over. It growls and rumbles, eyelids lower, irises widen and take on the precision of a hunter, the sclera grow bloodshot. Speech slows, then goes away. Ceremony falls away. Only determination remains. A needing.

Hunger is a harsh tutor. We should be grateful for it. Mine has taught me there is trouble with being alive: for if hell is empty and heaven is already here then there’s nothing waiting on the other side of a life but the closing of the curtains, as in every day is all there is, and there’s no way of knowing how much runtime is left in the show. Every second counts. All the power in the world is already within us. There is a hunger inside which cannot be quenched, not for long, you can stuff yourself with life and still will feel the rumbling again before you know it. And there is no escaping it. And there is no liberation from it. You will always have the hunger. It’s terrifying to be told that you are free because then it means everything you’re going through is your fault, whether you are laughing or crying. And everyone has this choice, because everyone has this hunger. No it is not fair, life is not equitable, and yet.

And yet I want, I want, I want — to live. Break down every desire to its absolute root and that’s what you’ll find, shining like the pearl of your oyster: I want to live and I want to live well. Because I felt truly alive when she told me she loved me. When my friends smile and laugh at my birthday party. When a friend introduces me to someone and says I’m a phenomenal writer. When I lounge on the beach and cosplay leisure. And you too, with your dreams of wealth, world peace, romance, recognition. Every drink of water is a choice. Every morsel of food is a choice. Every day you open your eyes is a blessing and also a choice you make again and again, despite it all, the decision to return again and again — to life!

My hunger has taught me I believe in a God that does not think of good or bad, no right or wrong direction; there only is, come what may. I believe in a God but I don’t know their face or their name or their gender or if they have one or if the concept of gender applies to extra-dimensional entities or if there is one God with many faces or many gods with one face. Despite what the books say I don’t think there is anyone judging us but ourselves. Consciously or not. If intuition is a whisper then hunger is a spiritual scream. The faceless and voiceless spirit within is what leads us through life and decides what we go through, who is around us, what happens to us, what we do to ourselves. Perhaps a life of pure suffering is punishment for a soul that previously caused pure pain. Perhaps it is metaphysically cruel of me to think so. I’m hesitant about sharing this thought of mine which means it is authentic and true and so it is powerful for me to share it: here it is then: we were never innocent. Even Adam and Eve had hunger. And the universe was not created for a reason. Everything simply is, was, will be, has been. From the beginning what has moved us and will continue moving everything after us is only: immanescent inertia: la hambre de vida.

Dedicated to the countless Palestinian survivors and the beauty of their dedication to their faith.