It doesn’t speak and it isn’t schooled, like a small animal with wettened fur. It is the blind instinct for life unruled, visceral frankincense and animal myrrh. It is what babies bring to kings, an eyes-shut, ears-shut medicine of the heart that smells and touches endings and beginnings without the details of time’s experienced part-fit-into-part-fit-into-part. Like a paw, it is blunt; like a pet who knows you and nudges your knee with its snout—but more raw and blinder and younger and more divine, too, than the tamed wild—it’s the drive for what is real, deeper than the brain’s detail: the drive to feel.
Desire is not something that is learned or enforced upon a person. It springs automatically from inside of him, a craving that follows no rules and awakens inner sensations. It is an inner craving that longs to be satisfied through the senses. Desire does not express itself through voices nor is it being learned like a newly born innocent animal minding his own business.
It follows no rules. Its origin is from deep within; a pleasant sensation arising without command like a craving a king has for an heir to make him complete. It is waiting inside to be released; it is peculiar to you, at first it gently awakens your senses as a domestic pet would but the pet becomes a tamed wild animal waking wild heavenly sensations inside. Desire is an inner force that exists; overriding intellectual explanation or description. Desire longed to be satisfied not intellectually but through experience of the senses.
