Hunger

We are creatures of cravings. I know this because I have wanted something so badly that I bent into a tragic story, crawling in my weakness, a dying plant searching for water — my existence in one heavily puntuated line.

Maybe the point of desire is mostly fruitless. It has no seeds and just wants to consume. What is a life of hunger if it never stops? Here I stand empty, chasing the sea with all its dreams, going back and forth, claiming waters that elude me.

On the surface, ambition feels right. You know, I want something, I stretch forth my hand and run after what my life could be or what my heart or flesh craves after. Then what? I don’t know yet because I am still chasing. But it is what it takes from me that I fear. What will I be after I am passed out from running all my life? It makes sense that christianity promises heaven. A place of rest that echoes our fear of emptiness after a lifetime of running.

Maybe hunger is God’s weapon of manipulation. You mostly don’t choose what you desire and the bible is full of promises on how we could get filled, but why create me empty in the first place. Well, maybe manipulation is not such a bad thing but hunger asks a critical question — why?

Hunger sends us back to Eden — the Moses account of creation. It sends us to question God and flirt with the forbidden fruit and consider what was in the first humans that made them crave. How could they disobey if they were not built that way?

I admit that hunger has propelled us to movement. The earth with its running waters has the cravings of humans all through out history to thank for the shape of the valleys and mountains. Yet the earth heads towards destruction. What has our hunger eternally resolved? I think the answer could be in death, where everything stops.