How ill am I? To what degree am I sick? How deluded am I? To what degree am I lost? How do I measure my illness? The measure of my illness is the difference between two states: the state of peace I yearn for and the state of suffering in which I am trapped. The principal difference between the two is desire, for desire is the currency of my present condition. Why?
Desire is the only constant in my awakening. It ignites the moment I awaken and extinguishes the moment I asleepen. This period of desire — which I call my awakening — is the painful experience of constant aspiration; of always wanting something. At this moment I simply want to finish writing this piece, but other desires will emerge, and eventually, I will pursue them. I will seek nourishment with food and water, and relief in urination and defecation. I will appease my dog with exercise and food, and then I will seek distraction in work and entertainment. If I ignore any of these desires I will suffer. Irritation, anxiety, concern, hunger, thirst, guilt, and even physical pain.
My desire requires continuous attention. It promises relief if I dutifully serve it; relief from the pain and exhaustion I constantly feel. I want to believe that I will be rewarded with relief when I satisfy it. But any relief I receive is short-lived, and soon to be replaced by many more. My desire is a fire that never ends. Desire is insatiable. I can choose to ignore my desire, but then I suffer even more.
From waking to sleeping, my desire is my master and I am his slave. I suffer in serving him, but I suffer more in ignoring him. I can either constantly work to extinguish the fire but fail, or neglect it and burn. I realize the hopelessness of the former but fear the intensity of the latter. My condition is one of being consumed by this fire of desire.
Do I want to see the power of my master? I close my eyes until I find my peace. That moment when my entire being finds the peace it years for. Yes, this is where I want to be. I have everything I want right now. This is where I want to be. This is everything I yearn for, and I do not need to work for it. It is already mine.
But soon I begin to fidget and shift to comfort my restless body. Thoughts emerge at the periphery of my peace, demanding to be let inside. I repel them at first, but soon I have to engage and fight them off. I lose my peace as they grow louder and are joined by a growling stomach, parched throat, and rebelling body. They break through and terrorize me with responsibilities, obligations, anxieties, and fears. It is a full-scale war for my attention; the one thing the master cannot let me have for then he would lose me.
The master is clever, and he saves his most powerful tool for the end. Hope. He whispers in my ear that all my suffering will go away if I only serve him. Just come back and feed the desire again. I decide to believe him one more time, I open my eyes, and I get up to feed him.
The measure of my illness is the measure of my servitude to desire, my master. As long as I want what he offers, or fear his fury if unappeased, I will remain his slave, bound to the hell of awakening. Desire is the devil, and the world I awaken into is his hellish playground. I can see his power over me by closing my eyes and finding the peace I search for; he will beat me until I open my eyes again and serve him.
Desire is my master, and I am his slave.
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