G Spot

The persistence of desire

By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

THREE friends give me daily doses of pain. The posts of Marcelo Estrada and William Peters, Sr. remind me that the world has been numbed by the deaths of children in Palestine. The poetry of Nizar Sartawi speaks of the annihilation of the human spirit, as it engages the harsh realities of hegemonic desires. Some are driven to act, but can hardly do anything that can effectively stop the atrocities, considering the resolve of powerful nations to sacrifice lives for economic and political gain.

I despair about how the world has evolved, but find that cruelty is inherent, repeating itself, not only among humans but also, in other manifestations of life. In my garden for example, the fruits, the leaves and the flowers are savagely assaulted by insects on a daily basis and the plants are in constant battle to prevail over this reality. Like humans, insects behave according to their nature, having both the capacity to create life, inflict pain and to cause death.

It takes so very little to see the microcosm of good and evil in everyday life. Inside each person is a constant tension of having to choose between what is most beneficial to his own existence and the larger good. But who determines the larger good? This choice weighs on the conscience of each individual based on the context of his own experience and appreciation.

I wonder about the motivation that makes humans choose to live, given the chaos and the incoherence that dominate our times. I wonder what makes the hibiscus push its mangled petals to reach full bloom, even when it is under threat of being consumed by thrips. I wonder if there is a way to satisfy the hunger of thrips without invading gardens. Truly, is there a way, or are these insects just behaving as they were created to behave, feed on others?

Persistence

you don’t remember

if you died

or living a dream

within the dream

of someone’s dream

you remember

you were a bud

of a rare hibiscus

sucked out of juice

and gnawed of petals

by thrips from Jerusalem

twisted, scarred and mangled

by wanton bites of desire

you wonder

which part of you remains

dreaming

for you try, despite the odds

to become a flower

and wilt

and die.

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