WillSpirit!

Every once in a while I hate blogging. Why? Because it fails to satisfy my desires. (So yes, I’m still on the topic that’s consumed the past several posts.)

Usually my disillusionment with blogs happens when the work seems to go nowhere. If there are neither comments nor emails, or if the visitation drops, it can feel like I’m writing into a void. The project fails to satisfy my yearning for service, connection, and (let’s face it) recognition.

On the other hand, when the site garners responses, and especially if readers seem appreciative, blogging strikes me as a rewarding endeavor. Satisfaction elevates my mood; my self-esteem rises.

Wherein lies the problem. My mental state varies according to factors I can’t control. The best way to attract comments is to provoke controversy, but this tactic is hard for me because I generally like to write in a way that doesn’t offend. And even when I try to evoke some disagreement, my efforts often fall flat. Sometimes blogging meets my expectations and sometimes not, and nothing I do can guarantee success. It’s easy to believe I’d be better off not wanting anything in return for writing.

So it seems to me that not desiring is the safest path, but of course things aren’t so simple.

I didn’t expect desire to a controversial topic, since my treatment of it was not different from what I hear regularly at Buddhist and Hindu meditation events. But this is a case where what sounds perfectly reasonable in some contexts can sound perplexing in others. Without the common agreement that one finds in a group of people attending a spiritual gathering, the idea that desire is bad sounds troubling.

And I see why. Yearning seems to underlie much of what’s good in life, from chocolate to social progress. Thinking back to my early days in Buddhist centers, I remember the philosophy first struck me as dry and life-denying. (And keep in mind I still don’t consider myself Buddhist, though I’m quite accustomed to the language by now.) After all, I’m a biologist at heart, and I admire the teeming, expansive, hungry, fertile, and beautiful qualities of life. The idea of remaining detached from the panoply of organic urges and turmoil struck me as escapist, if not Puritanical.

Obviously, I see Eastern “non-attachment” in a more nuanced light these days. But that has taken time and practice. It has required me to recognize how many of my hungers do, in fact, ultimately lead to frustration. Even so, I remain captivated by life as it is lived across the biosphere, not just by the human slice of it. For most biological forms, urges ensure survival.

However we, as intelligent apes enjoying abundance (obviously, a large portion of humanity is not so fortunate, and lives near starvation–but I doubt many suffering such privation are reading my blog), need to ask ourselves if perhaps our desires are propelling us so far beyond mere survival that our existence is now threatened by the very yearnings that once assured it. Are we not sublimating the hungers that once kept us alive into impulses less useful and more destructive? Aren’t animal forces that were once essential now inviting catastrophe? This would seem a strong argument for reigning in desire.

But then there is the question of higher motives. A number of commentators point out that there can be spiritually inspired desires, and I don’t disagree. Who could deny that there can be yearnings that aren’t base? But even (or especially) such higher causes can get frustrated, and for that reason may lead to suffering. As I’ve tried to make clear, the objection to desire isn’t a value judgment, it’s a viewpoint that derives from observation of effects. To desire often means to feel disappointed.

Does that mean that all desire should be avoided? No, I don’t want to insist on that. Going further, is it necessary for all suffering to be avoided? I would say not. Suffering can be beneficial. Look how often it leads to growth. As is always the case, the situation is complicated.

So here’s another reason for discomfort with blogging. This time not because it feels pointless, but because it seems incapable of capturing deep truth. In a short blog post, or even a series of posts, important points inevitably get left out or glossed over. An entire book (or dissertation) could be written about subjects I try to cover in brief essays. The desire to do a topic justice was one of the reasons I recently considered writing a book. A blog is not sufficient to the task.

I like hearing from my readers, so the fact my treatment of complex subjects is inadequate turns out to be positive. My failure prompts others to correct my understanding, which helps me sculpt my views to be more comprehensive and less dogmatic. But I still feel like the blog is failing to convey the deep peace that comes from efforts to reject desire, and to completely accept life despite its chaotic failure to satisfy yearnings. It’s frustrating to write about something that feels true and helpful, only to realize that my words are inadequate.

In addition to blogging failing to garner the attention I crave, and failing to convey the truths I hold dear, there is yet another reason it frustrates me sometimes.

For all my recent talk about the value of rejecting desire, today I’m feeling a lot of it: I wish for more happiness and less dreariness. This time of year is hard on me as we in the Northern Hemisphere enter the short, cold days of winter. I yearn to feel better, to smile more easily, to walk outside and feel the sultry passion of summer.

So despite my elevated take on desire, right now I feel trapped by it. And once again blogging feels wrong. On this website I often write about how much life has taught me, and how clarity has graced me, but I still end up in occasional funks. When that happens I wonder if all this writing is not mere fraud. Yes, at times the world feels glorious even in the midst of heartache and loneliness, which is when I feel most moved to post essays. Other times, the glory seems unreachable, and I am left with the ordinary blues. More often that not, during those times I remain silent.

So even with a project as mundane as penning an obscure blog, desire causes problems. Desire for connection. Desire to feel helpful. Desire to be acknowledged. Desire to be understood. Desire to be authentic. All these yearnings, all these openings to disappointment and, yes, suffering.

But like I said above, suffering is not always a bad thing. And so perhaps, neither is desire. The secret may lie in observing the process of both yearning and frustration, and identifying with that part of the Self that stands outside and smiles at the amusing uproar of it all.