Hunger

I am hungry, so I eat; and eat. But my hunger is insatiable. My body blurs and is destroyed.

Perhaps then I am thirsty. Let me drink, and be drunk. But it doesn’t fill me up. Still – it addles my brain.

I try smoking, pills and drugs. Just occasionally I forget that I’m hungry. Until I wake up again. To my fat body, dicky brain and addictive raging desires.

I’m hungry for body, not the soul or mind of other – just the physical form. Even distilled to a picture – pixels on a page. Now I fill with self loathing.

I’m hungrier than ever I was.

The thing is – nothing, none of it – even scratches the surface.

Occasionally, unexpectedly and when I’m not looking – I am plenished. At peace; and it’s always in relation. To nature, to you my friend and my fellow voyagers. I don’t know how to be ever full. What I do know is that I can meanwhile try to restore my body, my brain, my self loathing.

And we; shall we, can we; cease consuming quite so much and reach to each other. A British woman keeps her new clothes on average 5 weeks before throwing them out. Meanwhile the honey bee is on the verge of extinction.

(What has opened me to the devastation of my unfulfilled hunger is a little book about relation. It’s called “I and Thou” by Martin Buber.)

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