I suspect that desire starts as a warmth in the hands. Or at least it does for me. Not that my hands themselves are warm, but a warm energy kind of passes over my palms. I feel it before I even realize what it is that I’m drawn to. I think that in this sense the word ‘impulse’ does a good job of defining itself (and I’m usually not so quick to acknowledge a word for sufficiently encompassing meaning). Impulse. ‘Im’ as it’s used here is a root for ‘from’ or ‘before’ and then coupled with ‘pulse’- a word emulating the heart pumping blood, giving life. Could this feeling be a desire from our inner pulse, the heart, a feeling maybe of life before logic? And even beyond its roots, the word itself takes on impulsive character- quickly moving from inside you through the back of your mouth a brief moment the lips close before it almost seems to spit itself out into the air.
We can’t quiet all noises, stars won’t hide their fires, and to a certain extent, I have to believe that if impulse stews beneath the surface it can start to burn us from the inside. But like most things, I can’t claim this to be a black and white issue. I’m not here to tell you that acting on every impulse won’t get you into trouble. I won’t say that throwing logic to the wind is always healthy, or this sort of thing will certainly better your life. Honestly, I don’t know much.
Rather, I’m here to take the space for a brief a love letter to my impulses, right or wrong. Because I love the tingly warm energy that blows over my palms. I love biting into a buttery soft chocolate cake, or dancing in the street, or the crash of an uncontrollable belly laugh. I love spending the money I was going to save on something I might never have seen again. I love the kisses and ‘I love you’s that could have waited for a more perfect moment (or maybe should have been avoided altogether). I remorsefully love the middle fingers and ‘what the hell’s that I probably would have fizzled with a deep breath or a good night’s sleep. I love the free falls, and a part of me even loves the crashes… god some of them are so stupid, but hey here we are.
Impulse doesn’t always steer me in the ‘right direction’. In fact, I would argue that it has royally fucked us all over at one point or another. So yeah it should probably be loved from a distance. But even so, this is me providing a space for that feeling. This is me sitting down for a coffee with my inner desire in hopes that if I treat it gently, with just enough love and empathy, it will grow to be kinder to me and the outcomes it dawns.