The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.
But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.
A woman, someone who thought that she knew me well, once told me, dismissively (with justification), that she didn't believe for one second that I thought that I was a bad person. It just shows you how wrong a woman can be, no matter how right she might be about so many other things--so many other important things.
I want what so many people want, what Huxley wanted: both God and sin, sin without guilt. I want the impossible. And I am consistently, irrationally, at odds with the world over the reality that, except in fleeting moments, I don't get what I want.
Does anyone who is truly alive want less? Perhaps. Perhaps, they'd assert that what they want is "more," much more than what I want. Perhaps they're right. I honestly don't know. All I know at this moment is what I feel, and, right now, what I feel is nostalgia for what never was.
Obviously, I am one lousy Catholic.