Unfulfilled Desires Quotes

If I stayed here, something inside me would be lost forever—something I couldn't afford to lose. It was like a vague dream, a burning, unfulfilled desire. The kind of dream people have only when they're seventeen.

The power of unfulfilled desires is the root of all man's slavery

The sight of a child…will arouse certain longings in adult, civilized persons — longings which relate to the unfulfilled desires and needs of those parts of the personality which have been blotted out of the total picture in favor of the adapted persona.

I suffered no pain, my hunger had taken the edge off; instead I felt pleasantly empty, untouched by everything around me and happy to be unseen by all. I put my legs up on the bench and leaned back, the best way to feel the true well-being of seclusion. There wasn't a cloud in my mind, nor did I feel any discomfort, and I hadn't a single unfulfilled desire or craving as far as my thought could reach. I lay with open eyes in a state of utter absence from myself and felt deliciously out of it.

We all have different desires and needs, but if we don't discover what we want from ourselves and what we stand for, we will live passively and unfulfilled.

At the root of all misery is unfulfilled desire.

Love is desire sustained by unfulfilment.

The punishment of desire is the agony of unfulfillment

The power of unfulfilled desires is the root of all man’s slavery.

Always having what we want may not be the best good fortune Health seems sweetest after sickness, food in hunger, goodness in the wake of evil, and at the end of daylong labor sleep.

Then there came a faraway, booming voice like a low, clear bell. It came from the center of the bowl and down the great sides to the ground and then bounced toward her eagerly. 'You see I am fate,' it shouted, 'and stronger than your puny plans; and I am how-things-turn-out and I am different from your little dreams, and I am the flight of time and the end of beauty and unfulfilled desire; all the accidents and imperceptions and the little minutes that shape the crucial hours are mine. I am the exception that proves no rules, the limits of your control, the condiment in the dish of life.

One person simply can’t be all things to another person – sexually or otherwise—and unmet needs, unfulfilled desire, and unexplored possibilities are prices we pay to be in LTRs (long –term relationships). Monogamous, polyamorous, Femdom, or whatever: All couples people walk around feeling a little unfulfilled. (Single people, too). Because no one gets everything they want.

May there be no unfulfilled dreams like this may there be realities that satisfy me someday, may I meet you just like this.

As long as we have unsolved problems, unfulfilled desires, and a mustard seed of faith, we have all we need for a vibrant prayer life.

We all have different desires and needs, but if we don't discover what we want from ourselves and what we stand for, we will live passively and unfulfilled. Sooner or later, we are all asked to compromise ourselves and the things we care about. We define ourselves by our actions. With each decision, we tell ourselves and the world who we are. Think about what you want out of this life, and recognize that there are many kinds of success.

Not only did I rediscover every experience of my life, I had to live each unfulfilled desire as well—as though they’d been fulfilled. I saw that what transpires in the mind is just as real as any flesh and blood occurrence. What had only been imagination in life, now became tangible, each fantasy a full reality. I lived them all—while, at the same time, standing to the side, a witness to their, often, intimate squalor. A witness cursed with total objectivity.

Everything she heard, everything she saw seemed to be in disagreement with her own manner of understanding and feeling. To her, the sun did not appear red enough, the nights pale enough, the skies deep enough. Her fleeting conception of things and beings condemned her fatally to a perversion of her senses, to vagaries of the spirit and left her nothing but the torment of an unachieved longing, the torture of unfulfilled desires.

Hope and desire, All unfulfilled, Have more than rope And hangman killed.

Even a large majority of beautiful music, great literature, and wonderful work of arts depicts human suffering, injustice, fears, and unfulfilled desires.

Few things are as painful as the unfulfilled desire to be near to another you love.

It wasn’t what I’d characterize as a happy part of my life, living as I was, a balled-up mass of unfulfilled desires. I was much younger, much hungrier, much more alone. But I was myself, pared down to the essentials.

Anger is born of unfulfilled desire. It is born of unfulfilled expectation.

I release my parents from the feeling that they have already failed me. I release my children from the need to bring pride to me; that they may write their own ways according to their hearts, that whisper all the time in their ears. I release my partner from the obligation to complete myself. I do not lack anything, I learn with all beings all the time. I thank my grandparents and forefathers who have gathered so that I can breathe life today. I release them from past failures and unfulfilled desires, aware that they have done their best to resolve their situations within the consciousness they had at that moment. I honor you, I love you and I recognize you as innocent. I am transparent before your eyes, so they know that I do not hide or owe anything other than being true to myself and to my very existence, that walking with the wisdom of the heart, I am aware that I fulfill my life project, free from invisible and visible family loyalties that might disturb my Peace and Happiness, which are my only responsibilities. I renounce the role of savior, of being one who unites or fulfills the expectations of others. Learning through, and only through, love, I bless my essence, my way of expressing, even though somebody may not understand me. I understand myself, because I alone have lived and experienced my history; because I know myself, I know who I am, what I feel, what I do and why I do it. I respect and approve myself. I honor the Divinity in me and in you. We are free.

A house is never small or empty, when filled with love.

There wasn't a cloud in my mind, nor did I feel any discomfort, and I hadn't a single unfulfilled desire or craving as far as my thoughts could reach.

But it's precisely in this cold, loathsome half-despair, half-belief, in this deliberate burying of yourself underground for forty years out of sheer pain, in this assiduously constructed, and yet somewhat dubious hopelessness, in all this poision of unfulfilled desires turned inward, this fever of vacillations, of resolutions adopted for eternity, and of repentances a moment later that you find the very essence of that strange, sharp pleasure.

Buddha says: Look into the nature of desire. Watch the movement of desire; it is very subtle. And you will be able to see two things: one, that desire by its very nature is unfulfillable. And second, the moment you understand that desire is unfulfillable, desire disappears and you are left desireless. That is the state of peace, silence, tranquility. That is the state of fulfillment! People never come to fulfillment through desire; they come to fulfillment only by transcending desire.

The thing you let Die within when you are Alive, will be carried with your Soul after Death.

This city is laughing by drinking its own disillusionment with my anxieties, It’s burgeoning by toying with my unfulfilled desires, Is sleeping under the cover of the sweet dreams of my love narratives, Is waking up by carrying out demonstrations of my rebellions.

It is the very nature of desire that it remains unfulfilled. It will arise again and again, and the more you try to fulfill it, the more it will arise; you are simply feeding the desire when you think you are fulfilling it.

It is vital that we recognize and tend to our unmet needs, because if we don’t take the time to care for them we will constantly find ourselves headed down paths that lead us away from our goals rather than toward what we desire. When we don’t deal with the unfulfilled needs inside us, they continue to drive us to act impulsively, to forsake our long-term vision in favor of short-term gratification. Then our unfulfilled needs, not our vision, drive our behaviors.

I hadnt known until that night that at its worst lust could be something close to anguish.

You see, I am fate,” it shouted, “and stronger than your puny plans; and I am how-things-turn-out and I am different from your little dreams, and I am the flight of time and the end of beauty and unfulfilled desire; all the accidents and imperceptions and the little minutes that shape the crucial hours are mine. I am the exception that proves no rules, the limits of your control, the condiment in the dish of life.

Everything was all right. That which had been and that which was still to come. It was enough. If it were the end, it was all right so. He had loved somebody and lost her. He had hated another and killed him. Both had freed him. One had brought his feelings to life again; the other had eradicated his past. Nothing remained behind unfulfilled. No desire was left; no hatred, nor any lament. If this were a new beginning, then that was what it was. One would start without expectation, prepared for many things, with the simple strength of experience which had strengthened and not torn asunder. The ashes had been cleared away. Paralyzed places were alive again. Cynicism had turned into strength. It was all right.

Yes, a motorcycle. Perhaps the reader is disappointed at the lack of hovering taking place. There is a congenital defect in futurism that is conjoined with the human desire to levitate. Even after flight was possible, records indicate some missing zing, some zazz, some zip, some pep, some unfulfilled yearning in all people to live as they were but move without their feet touching the ground. Perhaps people looked upon the future as a technological shortcut to divinity.

I realized my grief was richer and more nuanced than what lay on the surface. This was about more than the burden of the apothecary. More than James' infidelity. Intermingled in the mess was another subtler secret that James and I had hid from each other for years. We were happy, yet unfulfilled. It was possible, I understood now, to be both at the same time. I was happy with the stability of working for my family yet unfulfilled by my job and burdened by the things I hadn't pursued. I was happy with our desire to someday have children yet unfulfilled by my achievements apart from family life. How had I only just learned that happiness and fulfillment were entirely distinct things?

She was referring to the Buddhist idea that, without desires, we cannot be disappointed and thus unhappy when those desires go unfulfilled. 

Once, long ago, I heard the mermaids singing, but I do not think they will sing to me now.

A friend once told me that that those who choose a love that can never be fulfilled will be hounded by a rage that can never be extinguished.

With every desire I am born again, Every unfulfilled desire keeps me alive, For I am a man with many lives, I wonder which one is really mine…

If unfulfilled desire yearns for infinite heights, happy love likes to sink into bottomless depths.

Love (noun): a feeling of special affection for a particular member of the opposite sex that causes exhilaration and the desire to be alone with that person and share a sense of emotional intimacy, including, if possible, physical intimacy, so that one fluctuates between a state of despair when unfulfilled and, on rare occasions of fulfillment, one of delight.

Mallory realized this was how the woman was: she at once withheld and invited. The woman fulfilled so many of Mallory’s wants but left so many wants unfulfilled that the feeling of wanting in and of itself became desirable. There was an untouchable intensity, or an intense untouchability, to keeping a secret, to having a continuous crush, that Mallory wanted never to lose.

Parents plant their unfulfilled desires deep into the subconscious mind of their children. It happens in such a subtle and indirect way that children start identifying those desires as their own.

I want to make it perfectly clear that although I believe in the continuity of existence, I do not hold to the simplistic theory that upon death a vaporous ghost containing our soul floats out of our dead body and goes to some cosmic waiting room while a karmic committee tallies up our unfulfilled needs and desires and matches us up with two unsuspecting fools who deserve the hell that we will put them through as much as we deserve the hell they will put us through. I am very confident, however, in the cycles of nature, and I do not see any reason to believe that the same cyclic behavior we observe in the universe around us cannot apply to consciousness and the continuity of our existence. Perhaps, because of the fragile nature of time, we are living all our "incarnations" simultaneously.

I spiral back to me, sitting here, swimming, drowning, sick with longing. I have too much conscience injected in me to break customs without disasterous effects; I can only lean enviously against the boundary and hate, hate, hate the boys who can dispel sexual hunger freely, without misgiving, and be whole, while I drag out from date to date in soggy desire, always unfulfilled. The whole thing sickens me.

Whenever I heard that languid, beautiful melody, those days came back to me. It wasn’t what I’d characterize as a happy part of my life, living as I was, a balled-up mass of unfulfilled desires. I was much younger, much hungrier, much more alone. But I was myself, pared down to the essentials. I could feel each single note of music, each line I read, seep down deep inside me. My nerves were sharp as a blade, my eyes shining with a piercing light. And every time I heard that music, I recalled my eyes then, glaring back at me from a mirror.

They are all in the same category, both those who are afflicted with fickleness, boredom and a ceaseless change of purpose, and who always yearn for what they left behind, and those who just yawn from apathy. There are those too who toss around like insomniacs, and keep changing their position until they find rest through sheer weariness. They keep altering the condition of their lives, and eventually stick to that one in which they are trapped not by weariness with further change but by old age which is too sluggish for novelty. There are those too who suffer not from moral steadfastness but from inertia, and so lack the fickleness to live as they wish, and just live as they have begun. In fact there are innumerable characteristics of the malady, but one effect - dissatisfaction with oneself. This arises from mental instability and from fearful and unfulfilled desires, when men do not dare or do not achieve all they long for, and all they grasp at is hope: they are always unbalanced and fickle, an inevitable consequence of living in suspense. They struggle to gain their prayers by every path, and they teach and force themselves to do dishonourable and difficult things; and when their efforts are unrewarded the fruitless disgrace tortures them, and they regret not the wickedness but the frustration of their desires. Then they are gripped by repentance for their attempt and fear of trying again, and they are undermined by the restlessness of a mind that can discover no outlet, because they can neither control nor obey their desires, by the dithering of life that cannot see its way ahead, and by the lethargy of a soul stagnating amid its abandoned hopes.

One word, one gesture, and all that is pent up in you - festered resentments, gangrenous jealousies, superfluous desires - unfulfilled - all that will burst out of you in angry impotent tears - in embarrassed sobbing and blubbering to no one in particular. No arms will enfold you, no voice will say, 'There, There. Sleep and forget.' No, in your new and horrible independence you feel the dangerous premonitory ache, arising from little sleep and taut strung nerves, and a feeling that the cards have been stacked high against you this once, and that they are still being heaped up. An outlet you need, and they are sealed. You live night and day in the dark cramped prison you have made for yourself.

Her lack of confidence in life, in realization, in the fulfillment of her desires, in the outcome of a dream, in the possibility of reality corresponding to her fantasy, speeded her bicycle with the incredible speed of anxiety, a speed beyond the human body, beyond human endurance. She arrived before him. Her fear was justified! She could not measure what the anxiety had done to her speed, the acceleration which had broken the equality of rhythm. She arrived as she had feared, at a desolate spot on the road, and the boy had become this invisible image which taunts the dreamer, a mirage that could not be made real. It had become reality eluding the dreamer, the wish unfulfilled. The boy may have arrived later. He may have fallen asleep and not come at all. He may have had a tire puncture. Nothing mattered. Nothing could prevent her from feeling that she was not Juliet waiting on the balcony, but Romeo who had to leap across space to join her. She had leaped, she had acted Romeo, and when woman leaped she leaped into a void.

The reins of our life are in the hands of the future. Man always lives today in the hope of tomorrow. And likewise he will live tomorrow in the hope of the day after, because when tomorrow comes, it will come as today. So he never lives really, he goes on postponing living for the future. And he will never live as long as he lives on hope for the future. His whole life will pass away unlived and unfulfilled. At the time of his death he will say with great remorse, ”All my life I only desired to live, but I could not really live.” He had wasted all his todays in the hope of a tomorrow that never came. And on the last day of his life he faces a cul-de-sac beyond which there is no tomorrow, and no hope of any fruits of action. That is the despair of a future-oriented life.

Settling” is a coarse way of saying “adjusting my expectations,” and I think that gets a bad rap. Dude, I would rather settle than be “chronically unfulfilled due to my outsize desires.” I don’t mean that you should marry someone you hate just because they won’t go away, but I do think it’s worth examining what you actually want while being honest about what is important to you. Then it won’t feel like such a compromise, you know? On top of that, it’s totally unfair to make a flesh-and-bone person compete against an imaginary ideal that was imprinted on you when you were too young to understand what was happening. Shit, growing up I wanted to marry the Beast from Beauty and the Beast. A strong, virile creature who read tons of books and could fuck up a wolf ? Yes please! Sign me up! I could’ve lain awake every night waiting for Mufasa to save me from a wildebeest stampede in a gorge, but do I climb into bed next to a fucking lion? No, bitch, because I am realistic. Instead, I married this person who makes her own kombucha and charges her crystals under the new moon. Girl, adapt!

we may consider the sabbath as an alternative to the endless demands of economic reality, more specifically the demands of market ideology that depend, as Adam Smith had already seen, on the generation of needs and desires that will leave us endlessly “rest-less,” inadequate, unfulfilled, and in pursuit of that which may satiate desire.

The self we eventually weave is not just the sum total of what we have done, but also of a long series of absences: all that we’ve longed for but never got, the love that was not reciprocated, the unkept promises, the missed opportunities, the unfulfilled desires, all that we have only imagined or fantasized about, or have not even dared to dream.

The self we eventually weave is not just the sum total of what we have done, but also of a long series of absences: all that we’ve longed for but never got, the love that was not reciprocated, the unkept promises, the missed opportunities, the unfulfilled desires, all that we have only imagined or fantasized about, or have not even dared to dream.

A desired thing often comes with seeds of at least one desire.

The punishment of desire is the agony of unfulfillment.

A "real woman" is a graveyard of desires, of dreams unfulfilled, of delusions,' the Chimères collective wrote.

Unmet desires become drivers of behavior to satisfy unfulfilled needs, sometimes at significant cost to the individual.

Desire for power is a kind of greed indulged by the unfulfilled

..love is desire sustained by unfulfilment

If only there were not these vain ghostly hopes, these sudden inane shadows of possibilities, these unfulfilled conditionals of hopeless desire.

Our generation has lost the concept of finding joy in unfulfilled desire. We no longer know what it means to hope. We want what we want now… . Impatient Westerners prefer quick sanctification. Take your car into the shop and drive it again the next day. Bring your soul to a counselor or pastor and get fixed right away. But wisdom understands that souls are not broken machines that experts fix. Wisdom knows the deep workings of the hungry, hurting, sin-inclined soul and patiently follows as the Spirit moves quietly in those depths, gently nudging people toward God. There is no Concorde that flies us from immaturity to maturity in a few hours. There is only a narrow, bumpy road where a few people walk together as they journey to God.

She was unhappy, although unconvinced that her unhappiness wouldn’t be someone else’s happiness. She felt unfulfilled desire—profound amounts of it—but presumably so did every other married and unmarried person. She wanted more, but didn’t know if there was more to be found. Not knowing used to feel inspiring. It felt like faith. Now it felt agnostic. Like not knowing.

From college to those bleak textbook-company years, come evening I’d listen to the Such Sweet Thunder album, the “Star-Crossed Lovers” track over and over. Johnny Hodges had this sensitive and elegant solo on it. Whenever I heard that languid, beautiful melody, those days came back to me. It wasn’t what I’d characterize as a happy part of my life, living as I was, a balled-up mass of unfulfilled desires. I was much younger, much hungrier, much more alone. But I was myself, pared down to the essentials. I could feel each single note of music, each line I read, seep down deep inside me. My nerves were sharp as a blade, my eyes shining with a piercing light. And every time I heard that music, I recalled my eyes then, glaring back at me from a mirror.

Violante promptly stood up and almost staggered into her bedroom in order to write Honoré, asking him to come and see her. Picking up her pen, she had a hitherto unknown feeling of happiness, of power: the feeling that she was arranging her life a bit according to her own whim and pleasure; the feeling that she could nudge along their two destinies, spur the intricate machinery that imprisoned them far apart; the feeling that he would appear at night, on the terrace, rather than in the cruel ecstasy of her unfulfilled desire; the feeling that, between her unheard expressions of tenderness (her perpetual inner romance) and real things, there were truly avenues of communication, along which she would hurry toward the impossible, making it viable by creating it.

Want to know who I am? Your responses indicate that you have a normal desire to share yourself with others. However, this need is not being adequately fulfilled at present. As a result, you unconsciously attempt to treat this emptiness with momentary interests and temporary passions. If left unaddressed, this imbalance leads to impulsive behavior and unnecessary risks. Past betrayals have left you generally suspicious of others’ behavior, particularly regarding romantic relationships. You fear you may be exploited if you open yourself too fully. Consequently, you often seek some proof of a new friend’s or lover’s sincerity before you decide to trust them. Further complicating your relationships is the anxiety you have about your unfulfilled personal and professional goals. You fear that you’ve made decisions that weren’t in your own best interest, or failed to take advantage of opportunities when they presented themselves. The desire to overcome these challenges sometimes lead you to seem pushy or even arrogant. Because this competitive urge is not always apparent to others, they are often surprised by it. However, the passion that underlies your desire for success is unique. This makes you unlike others. You cannot simply accept what life has to offer; you aspire for more. Between each inhale and exhale we die and are reborn.

…we were happy, yet unfulfilled. It was possible, I understood now, to be both at the same time. I was happy with the stability of working for my family, yet unfulfilled by my job and burdened by the things I hadn’t pursued. I was happy with our desire to someday have children, yet unfulfilled by my achievements apart from family life. How had I only just learned that happiness and fulfillment were entirely distinct things?

My whole life I’d lived off the one wretched ambition that still possessed me: to be more than I was; to reject and despise everything that was in my reach and to set goals I was incapable of reaching; to chase after emotions I was incapable of feeling; to seek out adventures I couldn’t live up to; to have a friendship that was no friendship, a love that was no love; ambitions yoked to a weak will, a will stuck in the mire of unfulfilled desire.

PERFECT VIRTUE PRODUCES NOTHING, because it needs nothing. Production comes out of desire, production comes because you are imperfect. You create something as a substitute because you feel unfulfilled. When you are absolutely fulfilled, why should you create, how can you create? Then you yourself have become the glory of creation, then the inner being itself is so perfect, nothing is needed. PERFECT VIRTUE PRODUCES NOTHING. If the world is virtuous, all utilitarian goals will be lost. If the world is really virtuous there will be play and no production. Then the whole thing will just become a game. You enjoy it, but you don’t need it. A perfect sage is absolutely useless.

I realized my grief was richer and more nuanced than what lay on the surface. This was about more than the burden of the apothecary. More than James' infidelity. Intermingled in the mess was another subtler secret that James and I had hid from each other for years. We were happy, yet unfulfilled. It was possible, I understood now, to be both at the same time. I was happy with the stability of working for my family yet unfulfilled by my job and burdened by the things I hadn't pursued. I was happy with our desire to someday have children yet unfulfilled by my achievements apart from family life. How had I only just learned that happiness and fulfillment were entirely distinct things?

...and said to Djuna: "I am tired". And laid a despondent, a heavy head on her breast, his heavy body on her body, and all his unfulfilled desires, his aborted moments, lay down with his like stones in his pocket, weighing him down, so that the bed creaked with the inertia of his words: "I wanted to do this, I wanted to do that, I want to change the world, I want to go and fight..." But it is night already, the day has fallen apart, disintegrated in his hands.

The central desire of her life had been escape from Jewishness, and this desire proved unfulfillable because of the anti-Semitism of her milieu, because of the ban, imposed from outside, against a Jew’s becoming a normal human being.

I thought I’d at least healed something during rehab and my year of sex addiction therapy, but clearly all I did was identify my issues and then go consciously live an unconscious life. It takes more than advice, books, meetings, therapy, and rehab to change. It takes more than even a powerful, unwavering, full-bodied desire to do so. It takes humility. And there is nothing more humbling than the past year, and the realization that I’ve made a mess of everything and may never experience true happiness, love, and family if I keep trying to do things my way. The underlying cause of most unfulfilled lives is that we are simply too close to ourselves to see clearly enough to get out of our own way.

When men do not know their assignment on earth they kill themselves psychologically and emotionally, wallowing in different careers and meddling in dreams of others. They become restless and engage in unhealthy competition - living unfulfilled lives

We spend most of our lives with unfulfilled desires, and the occasional satisfactions that are all most of us can achieve are insufficient to outweigh these prolonged negative states. If we think that this is a tolerable state of affairs it is because we are, in Benatar’s view, victims of the illusion of pollyannaism. This illusion may have evolved because it helped our ancestors survive, but it is an illusion nonetheless. If we could see our lives objectively, we would see that they are not something we should inflict on anyone.

I'm not one of those people who think life is beautiful. I imagine it could be, if you had loads of money and a clear conscience. Experience tells me that's rare. Life is a coincidental journey from womb to tomb, riddled with meaningless work and unfulfilled desire, ending in death. There have been times when I've lapsed into a less jaundiced frame of mind, but something always happens to restore my faith in man's inhumanity to man. Greed, stupidity, ignorance and lust rule the planet while mankind dreams of heaven, its mind in the gutter, its eyes on the stars.

Sight hateful, sight tormenting! thus these two, Imparadised in one another's arms, The happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill Of bliss on bliss; while I to Hell am thrust, Where neither joy nor love, but fierce desire, Among our other torments not the least, Still unfulfilled with pain of longing pines.

How often, ah, how often, between the desire of the heart and its fulfilment, lies only the briefest space of time and distance, and yet the desire remains forever unfulfilled! It is so near that we can touch it with the hand, and yet so far away that the eye cannot perceive it. What Mr. Churchill most desired was before him. The Romance he was longing to find and record had really occurred in his neighborhood, among his own friends. It had been set like a picture into the frame-work of his life, enclosed within his own experience. But he could not see it is as an object apart from himself; and as he was gazing at what was remote and strange and indistinct, the nearer incidents of aspiration, love, and death, escaped him. They were too near to be clothed by the imagination with the golden vapors of romance; for the familiar seems trivial, and only the distant and unknown completely fill and satisfy the mind.

Adam Smith had already seen, on the generation of needs and desires that will leave us endlessly “rest-less,” inadequate, unfulfilled, and in pursuit of that which may satiate desire. Those requirements concern endless predation so that we are a society of 24/7 multitasking in order to achieve, accomplish, perform, and possess.

All cravings are the mind seeking salvation or fulfillment in external things and in the future as a substitute for the joy of Being. As long as I am my mind, I am those cravings, those needs, wants, attachments, and aversions, and apart from them there is no “I” except as a mere possibility, an unfulfilled potential, a seed that has not yet sprouted. In that state, even my desire to become free or enlightened is just another craving for fulfillment or completion in the future. So don’t seek to become free of desire or “achieve” enlightenment. Become present. Be there as the observer of the mind. Instead of quoting the Buddha, be the Buddha, be “the awakened one,” which is what the word buddha means.

our paint-by-numbers, Kinkade Christianity. Instead of escape or pretense, Jesus calls us to be alive and thirsty, allowing disappointment to drive us back to Him. He bids us to keep on asking, seeking, and knocking, all the while feeling the grief and sorrow of human life acutely. To sell Jesus on the basis of meeting felt needs is fine so long as we define how exactly He “meets” those needs. If meeting those needs means the removal of the sin, sorrow, and disappointment of human life, then we’ll be perpetually disappointed. If meeting those needs means that Jesus uses our unfulfilled desires to keep us dependent and reliant upon Him, then we’re getting close to the secret of the full life that Christ offers.

Hungry”, she said, “That’s what it’s like. Inside of me, always. This ... hunger that nothing is able to assuage. It’s horrible. It’s why I always feel ... well, empty. I know I can’t keep living this way, but I don’t know how to make the hunger stop.” “Perhaps you’re not meant to”, he said, “Perhaps you’re meant to cope with it. Either that or to come to realize that the hunger and the appeasement are two entirely different things. They’re unrelated. One will never quell the other.” She thought about this. She considered how much of herself – and the way she’d lived so long – had been tied up with a single unfulfilled desire. She finally said, “This is not who I want to be.” “Then be someone else.” Deborah/Lynley

Pretty quickly, I stopped seeing the company as an engine of community. Instead, I saw it as a mythmaker offering only an illusion of belonging and meeting its customers' desire for connections in form, maybe, but surely not in substance. Once I came to this conclusion, I started to dig deeper into the company's other promises--great working conditions, musical discovery, fair treatment of farmer, and concern for the environment. Every time I went excavating, the stories turned out to be more complex, more heavily edited, and more ambiguous than I had first thought. Each time, it became clear that Starbucks fulfilled its many promises only in the thinnest, most transitory of ways and that people's desires went largely unfulfilled.

when I feel an incredible desire for where I want my life to go, I know that if I were to pursue it aggressively, this would only cause me to fight against universal energy. The more effort I have to put into trying to attain it, the more I know that I am doing something wrong. Allowing, on the other hand, doesn’t require effort. It feels more like a release, because it means realizing that since everything is One, that which I intend to get is already mine. The process of allowing happens by first trusting, and then by always being true to who I am. In this way, I will only attract that which is truly mine, and it all happens at the rate I’m comfortable with. I can keep focusing on what worries me or what I think I need or find lacking, and my life won’t move toward what I’d like to experience. It will just stay the way it is now, because I’m paying attention to my fears and what upsets me or leaves me feeling unfulfilled, instead of expanding my awareness by trusting and allowing new experiences. So I can let the picture materialize slower or faster, depending on how quickly I want to let go of my worries and relax into the process.

we were happy, yet unfulfilled. It was possible, I understood now, to be both at the same time. I was happy with the stability of working for my family, yet unfulfilled by my job and burdened by the things I hadn’t pursued. I was happy with our desire to someday have children, yet unfulfilled by my achievements apart from family life. How had I only just learned that happiness and fulfillment were entirely distinct things?

SATANIC SEX Satanism does advocate sexual freedom, but on the the true sense of the word. Free love, in the Satanic concept, means exactly that - freedom to either be faithful to one person or to indulge your sexual desires with as many others as you feel is necessary to satisfy your particular needs. Satanism does not encourage orgiastic activity or extramarital affairs for those whom they do not come naturally. For many, it would be very unnatural and detrimental to be unfaithful to their chosen mates. To others, it would be frustrating to be bound sexually to just one person. Each person must decide for himself what form of sexual activity best suits his individual needs. Self-deceitfully forcing yourself to be adulterous or to have sex partners when not married just for the sake of proving to others (or worse yet, to yourself) that you are emancipated from sexual guilt is just as wrong, by Satanic standard, as leaving any sexual need unfulfilled because of ingrained feelings of guilt. Many of those who are constantly preoccupied with demonstrating their emancipations from sexual guilt are, in reality, held in even greater sexual bondage than those who simply accept sexual activity as a natural part of life and don't make a big to-do over their sexual freedom.

I remember Liz, her face white, delicate as an ash on the wind; her red lips staining the cigarette; her full breasts under the taut black jersey. She said to me, "But think how happy you can make a man someday." Yes, I'm thinking, and so far it's all right. But then I do a flipover and reach out in my mind to E., seeing a baseball game, maybe, perhaps watching television, or roaring with careless laughter at some dirty joke with the boys, beer cans lying about green and shiny gold, and ash trays. I spiral back to me, sitting here, swimming, drowning, sick with longing. I have too much conscience injected in me to break customs without disasterous effects; I can only lean enviously against the boundary and hate, hate, hate the boys who can dispel sexual hunger freely, without misgiving, and be whole, while I drag out from date to date in soggy desire, always unfulfilled. The whole thing sickens me.

The Portland school board's policy equated integration and racial assimilation. This policy, Rist explains, is a "means of socializing nonwhite students to act, speak, and believe very much like white students." It leaves dominant group values intact, does no damage to notions of white superiority, and helps to gain the support of those whites who view it as a means of helping "nonwhite peoples to become fully human by instilling in them `white' ways of thinking and feeling." In keeping with the assimilationist tone of the program, the principal assigned one or two black children to each classroom, and scheduled only a few special teacher-training sessions, which were poorly handled. The principal's desire was to treat the black students just like the whites. This approach was undermined by his failure to recognize and address fears and misconceptions of teachers about the black children's academic ability and behavior problems, the adequacy of their home backgrounds, and their moral turpitude.

people. Thus there are no “solutions” in the tragic vision, but only trade-offs that still leave many desires unfulfilled and much unhappiness in the world. What is needed in this vision is a prudent sense of how to make the best trade-offs from the limited options available, and a realization that “unmet needs” will necessarily remain—that attempting to fully meet these needs seriatim only deprives other people of other things, so that a society pursuing such a policy is like a dog chasing its tail.

I made a great effort with all these study projects, but I continued to have emotional needs that were unfulfilled. The energy and time that went into my faith is actually rather amazing in retrospect. It is sad now to look back and understand the tension between my normal teenage need to belong in a peer group and my desire for spiritual acceptability. My faith taught me to glorify the idea of being different, which psychologically fostered a feeling of alienation that I tried to justify in my writing.

I have one last question,” I said while entering the monastery as evening vespers were about to begin. “Can we say that the heart is what is commonly understood as the subconscious where people store their unfulfilled desires? Is the heart the depository where what Freud called ’repression’ takes place?” Father Maximos shrugged. “The holy elders were not using such terms. So I cannot really say much about it. But as I understand it, the subconscious is a storage space into which human beings pile up, so to speak, those memories and experiences they don’t want to be aware of. You may call it whatever name you wish, but one thing is clear to me. From the point of view of the true spiritual life we must eradicate the subconscious.” “Eradicate the subconscious?” I exclaimed as a group of curious monks surrounded us, listening with great interest to our exchange. “What you called ’repression’ is totally unacceptable in real spiritual medicine,” Father Maximos replied. “In the spiritual arena of the logismoi, we aim at the transmutation or metamorphosis of our passions, not the actual storing of them into the so-called subconscious.

Dear solitude, how I missed you in the times I was so attached to the illusion of loneliness, how I secretly longed for you in times of distraction with music and addiction, how I desired to dive into the creativity of your silent whispers.. oh solitude, I remember you there when I wrote my first book, I recall your inspiring voice when that pen hit the paper.. When I was no longer by your side, oh solitude, how you silently tried to draw me back to you, by showing me the continuous struggle to feel full among unfulfilling relationships or restless nights of loneliness.. Oh solitude, if it wasn't for you, where would I find all that you could provide, only you..

It is difficult to be a saint, because even a patient and long-suffering nature will not readily endure such a high degree of differentiation and defends itself in its own way. The constant companion of sanctity is temptation, without which no true saint can live. We know that these temptations can pass off unconsciously, so that only their equivalents reach consciousness in the form of symptoms. We know, too, that Herz traditionally rhymes with Schmerz.38 It is a well-known fact that hysterics substitute a physical pain for a psychic pain which is not felt because repressed. Catherina Emmerich’s biographer has understood this more or less correctly, but her own interpretation of the pain is based, as usual, on a projection: it is always the others who secretly say all sorts of wicked things about her, and this is the cause of her pains. The facts of the matter are rather different: the renunciation of all life’s joys, this fading before the flower, is always painful, and especially painful are the unfulfilled desires and the attempts of nature to break through the barrier of repression, without which no such differentiation would be possible. The gossip and sarcastic gibes of the sisters very naturally pick on these painful things, so that it must seem to the saint as if her difficulties came from there. She could hardly know that gossip is very apt to take over the role of the unconscious, and, like a skilled adversary, always aims at the chinks in our armour of which we know nothing.

Then there is the butterfly-or is it a moth? Humbert's inability to differentiate between the two,his indifference, implies a moral carelessness. This blind indifference echoes his callous attitude towards Lolita's nightly sobs. Those who tell us Lolita is a little vixen who deserved what she got should remember her nightly sobs in the arms of her rapist and jailer, because you see, as Humbert reminds us with a mixture of relish and pathos, "she had absolutely nowhere else to go." This came to mind when we were discussing in our class Humbert's confiscation of Lolita's life. The first thing that struck us in reading Lolita-in fact it was on the very first page-was how Lolita was given to us as Humbert's creature. We only see her in passing glimpses. "What I had madly possessed," he informs us, "was not she, but my own creation, another fanciful Lolita-perhaps, more real than Lolita . . . having no will, no consciousness-indeed no real life of her own." Humbert pins Lolita by first naming her, a name that becomes the echo of his desires. To reinvent her, Humbert must take from Lolita her own real history and replace it with his own, turning Lolita into a reincarnation of his lost, unfulfilled young love. Humbert's solipsization of Lolita. Yet she does have a past. Despite Humbert's attempts to orphan Lolita by robbing her of her history. Lolita has a tragic past, with a dead father and a dead two-year-old brother. And now also a dead mother. Like my students, Lolita's past comes to her not so much as a loss but as a lack, and like my students, she becomes a figment in someone else's dream. When I think of Lolita, I think of that half-alive butterfly pinned to the wall. The butterfly is not an obvious symbol, but it does suggest that Humbert fixes Lolita in the same manner that the butterfly is fixed; he wants her, a living breathing human being, to become stationary, to give up her life for the still life he offers her in return. Lolita's image is forever associated in the minds of her readers with that of her jailer. Lolita on her own has no meaning; she can only come to life through her prison bars. This is how I read Lolita. Again and again as we discussed Lolita in that class. And more and more I thought of that butterfly; what linked us so closely was this perverse intimacy of victim and jailer.

The possibility that liberal society does not represent the simultaneous satisfaction of desire and thymos but instead opens up a grave disjuncture between them is raised by critics on both the Left and the Right. The attack from the Left would maintain that the promise of universal, reciprocal recognition remains essentially unfulfilled in liberal societies, for the reasons just indicated: economic inequality brought about by capitalism ipso facto implies unequal recognition. The attack from the Right would argue that the problem with liberal society is not the inadequate universality of recognition, but the goal of equal recognition itself. The latter is problematic because human beings are inherently unequal; to treat them as equal is not to affirm but to deny their humanity.

You are probably familiar with the statement, “To thine own heart be true.” One of the ways we make our lives so complex is when we veer off course and ignore what is really important to us. If we put aside our own hearts and follow what the world thinks we should and ought to do, we will find ourselves unfulfilled and empty. Life will be tasteless. We will go through the motions, but nothing will satisfy us. What do you want out of life? What do you believe God’s will is for you? Some people spend so much time meeting what they think their obligations are that they don’t even know what they want. They never ask themselves because they figure it is way out of reach. When I ask what you want out of life, I am not talking about selfish desire; I am talking about heart desire. There is something deep in your heart God has planted there.

Rewriting the baseball record book must be very fulfilling. Or maybe not. Yankees outfielder Roger Maris knew firsthand the fickle nature of success. After an MVP season in 1960—when he hit 39 homers and drove in a league-high 112 runs—Maris began a historic assault on one of baseball’s most imposing records: Babe Ruth’s single-season home run mark of 60. In the thirty-three seasons since the Bambino had set the standard, only a handful of players had come close when Jimmie Foxx in 1932 and Hank Greenberg in 1938 each hit 58. Hack Wilson, in 1930, slammed 56. But in 1961, Maris—playing in “The House That Ruth Built”—launched 61 home runs to surpass baseball’s most legendary slugger. Surprisingly, the achievement angered fans who seemed to feel Maris lacked the appropriate credentials to unseat Ruth. Some record books reminded readers that the native Minnesotan had accomplished his feat in a season eight games longer than Ruth’s. Major League Baseball, due to expansion, changed the traditional 154-game season to 162 games with the 1961 season. Of the new home run record, Maris said, “All it ever brought me was trouble.” Human achievements can be that way. Apart from God, the things we most desire can become empty and unfulfilling—even frustrating—as the writer of Ecclesiastes noted. “Whoever loves money never has enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with their income,” he wrote (5:10). “Everyone’s toil is for their mouth,” he added, “yet their appetite is never satisfied” (6:7). But the Bible also shows where real satisfaction is found, in what Ecclesiastes calls “the conclusion of the matter.” Fulfillment comes to those who “fear God and keep his commandments” (12:13).

Here is an important twist you need to understand. God doesn’t create heaven and hell. We do. Whatever plane of consciousness we find ourselves in after the body drops away is a world of our own making, according to the Hindu seers. If our thoughts have been predominantly cheerful and benevolent, our after-death experience is similar. If our thoughts have been filled with violence and anger, our afterlife will be, too. The climate in the life after death is the atmosphere of our own minds. Our karma—the mental vectors we’ve created by our thoughts and actions—carries us to a high state, a low state, or an okay in-between state. We’re in control—if we’re living life consciously. If we’re not directing our lives with awareness, then the unconscious tendencies stored in our subtle body take control when we die. For many Hindus, a long stay in heaven is just what the doctor ordered, and some Hindus devote considerable effort to building up enough karmic velocity to transport them into a higher world after they jettison their bodies. Eventually, the karmic forces that propelled you into a disembodied realm peters out. Your stay in that world is up—it’s time to return to a physical body. You remember how much you enjoyed sex. You remember how much you enjoyed whipped cream puffs. You remember how much you wanted to go to Mars. You remember that your brother-in-law owes you $3,000. Your unfulfilled desires draw you back to an appropriate physical body and—poof!—here you are again. The obstetrician is cutting your umbilical cord and slapping your bottom while you wail helplessly at the indignity. You traded the old model in for a new vehicle. Hopefully, thanks to good karma, you’ve traded up.

He sought to awaken an underlying desire in all people: in the perpetrator and in the wronged, in whites and in blacks, the ones on this side of an issue and those on the other. King’s vision spoke to that which is fundamental to any human being, the theme that unites and uplifts the people on the street, the privileged in the suburbs, and the politicians in office. He demonstrated with body and soul that dreaming can make a difference. We are simply seeking to bring into full realization the American dream—a dream yet unfulfilled. A dream of equality of opportunity, of privilege and property widely distributed; a dream of a land where men no longer argue that the color of a man’s skin determines the content of his character, the dream of a land where every man will respect the dignity and worth of human personality. —DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR., July 19, 1962

And then one day everything changed; the world shifted on its axis, our consciousness evolved. Instead of making their purchase deci- sions based solely on price, people became willing to pay more for sustainable or organic products. They no longer wanted their meat mass-produced; they wanted grass-fed beef from a local farmer. Rather than just a good sweat from their exercise, they also wanted mindfulness, so they took up SoulCycle, yoga, or meditation. And rather than settling down to buy their dream home and build their 401k, they spent their resources searching out experiences they could share and cherish more than they would another purse or car. Above all else, they wouldn’t accept the status quo. Instead of working in secure yet unfulfilling jobs, they wanted to create an existence that reflected their innermost desires and beliefs. And they did, in record numbers.

He got in beside her and impatiently reached for her seat belt, snapping it in place. “You always forget,” he murmured, meeting her eyes. Her breath came uneasily through her lips as she met that level stare and responded helplessly to it. He was handsome and sexy and she loved him more than her own life. She had for years. But it was a hopeless, unreturned adoration that left her unfulfilled. He’d never touched her, not even in the most innocent way. He only looked. “I should close my door to you,” she said huskily. “Refuse to speak to you, refuse to see you, and get on with my life. You’re a constant torment.” Unexpectedly he reached out and touched her soft cheek with just his fingertips. They smoothed down to her full, soft mouth and teased the lower lip away from the upper one. “I’m Lakota,” he said quietly. “You’re white.” “There is,” she said unsteadily, “such a thing as birth control.” His face was very solemn and his eyes were narrow and intent on hers. “And sex is all you want from me, Cecily?” he asked mockingly. “No kids, ever?” It was the most serious conversation they’d ever had. She couldn’t look away from his dark eyes. She wanted him. But she wanted children, too, eventually. Her expression told him so. “No, Cecily,” he continued gently. “Sex isn’t what you want at all. And what you really want, I can’t give you. We have no future together. If I marry one day, it’s important to me that I marry a woman with the same background as my own. And I don’t want to live with a young, and all too innocent, white woman.” “I wouldn’t be innocent if you’d cooperate for an hour,” she muttered outrageously. His dark eyes twinkled. “Under different circumstances, I would,” he said, and there was suddenly something hot and dangerous in the way he looked at her as the smile faded from his chiseled lips, something that made her heart race even faster. “I’d love to strip you and throw you onto a bed and bend you like a willow twig under y body.” “Stop!” she whispered theatrically. “I’ll swoon!” And it wasn’t all acting. His hand slid behind her nape and contracted, dragging her rapt face just under his, so close that she could smell the coffee that clung to his clean breath, so close that her breasts almost touched his jacket. “You’ll tempt me once too often,” he bit off. “This teasing is more dangerous than you realize.” She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. She was throbbing, aroused, sick with desire. In all her life, there had been only this man who made her feel alive, who made her feel passion. Despite the traumatic experience of her teens, she had a fierce physical attraction to Tate that she was incapable of feeling with any other man. She touched his lean cheek with cold fingertips, slid them back, around his neck into the thick mane of long hair that he kept tightly bound-like his own passions. “You could kiss me,” she whispered unsteadily, “just to see how it feels.” He tensed. His mouth poised just above her parted lips. The silence in the car was pregnant, tense, alive with possibilities and anticipation. He looked into her wide, pale, eager green eyes and saw the heat she couldn’t disguise. His own body felt the pressure and warmth of hers and began to swell, against his will. “Tate,” she breathed, pushing upward, toward his mouth, his chiseled, beautiful mouth that promised heaven, promised satisfaction, promised paradise. His dark fingers corded in her hair. They hurt, and she didn’t care. Her whole body ached. “Cecily, you little fool,” he ground out. Her lips parted even more. He was weak. This once, he was weak. She could tempt him. It could happen. She could feel his mouth, taste it, breathe it. She felt him waver. She felt the sharp explosion of his breath against her lips as he let his control slip. His mouth parted and his head bent. She wanted it. Oh, God, she wanted it, wanted it, wanted it…

Dunia was a consummate whisperer, but she possessed, additionally, a rarer skill: the gift of listening, of approaching a sleeping man and placing her ear very gently against his chest and, by deciphering the secret language that the self speaks only to itself, discovering his heart’s desire. As she listened to Geronimo Manezes, she heard first his most predictable wishes, please let me sink down towards the earth so that my feet touch solid ground again, and beneath that the sadder unfulfillable wishes of old age, let me be young again, give me back the strength of youth and the confidence that life is long, and beneath that the dreams of the displaced, let me belong again to that faraway place I left so long ago, from which I am alienated, and which has forgotten me, in which I am an alien now even though it was the place where I began, let me belong again, walk those streets knowing they are mine, knowing that my story is a part of the story of those streets, even though it isn’t, it hasn’t been for most of a lifetime, let it be so, let it be so, let me see French cricket being played and listen to music at the bandstand and hear once more the children’s back-street rhymes. Still she listened and then she heard it, below everything else, the deepest note of his heart’s music, and she knew what she must do. —

So are you planning on dressing me in addition to everything else?” she asked once they’d cleared a challenging rise. “I planned to pack as much as I could this morning, so you could sleep later,” he lowered his voice, “or take care of what went unfinished last night.” He’d amazed himself by behaving so unselfishly as that. Her unfulfilled desire made it more likely that he’d get her into bed with him, and yet, he couldn’t stand to think of her suffering. “I was attempting to be considerate. Though I’ve little experience with it.” “I’m not talking to you about this. I’m just not.” “I can feel your need as strong as my own.” “Maybe I do have these needs—doesn’t mean you’re the one I’ll choose to help me work them out.” Her gaze drifted to Cade, who was greedily chugging water. His voice low and seething, Bowe said, “You regard him with an appraising eye one more time, Mariketa, and you’re going to get that demon killed. All he wants is to ‘attempt’ you. Do you ken what that means?” “In fact, I do ken what it means. In the throes, you know. One of my boyfriends was a demon.” “Boyfriends?” He frowned. “You mean lovers. How bloody many have you had?” He stopped. “Are you free with yourself, then? With other males? Because that’ll be ending—” “What’d you think?” she asked over her shoulder. “That I was a virgin?” “You’re only twenty-three,” he said, sounding very stodgy, even to himself. “And I try no’ to think of any male before me. But if you were no’ an innocent, then I’d hoped it would have been once, in the dark, with a ham-handed human who was so bad you had to stifle a yawn or fight against laughing.” She shrugged. “I’m sure the number of notches in my bedpost can’t compare to yours.” “Aye, but I’m twelve hundred years old! Even if I had one female a year, you’d understand how they could accumulate.” “Well, I am young.” Just as he felt a flicker of ease, she murmured in a sexy voice, “But, baby, I’ve been busy.” His fists clenched. “Jealous?” She probably wouldn’t think he’d admit to it, but in a low tone, he said, “Aye, I envy any man that’s had his hands on you.” She gave him an enigmatic, studying expression. “Now, if I guess the number you’ve taken into your bed, then you’ll tell me if I’m right.” She hastily faced forward once more. “Not playing. Get bent.” He narrowed his eyes. “One. You’ve had one.” Her shoulders stiffened barely perceptibly, and he wanted to sag with relief. “Because any male worthy of you would kill a rival who tried to steal you from him. I’m guessing the demon was your first and last. And how did you get him to let you go, then?” “What if I told you I was still seeing him?” Bowen shook his head. “No’ considering the way you were with me that first night. Besides, if he allowed you to enter the Hie without being there to guard you, he does no’ deserve you. When we return, I’ll kill him on principle.

When a little of his strength returned he moved onto his side, taking her with him, still a part of her. Her hair spilled over his naked chest like a rumpled satin waterfall, and he lifted a shaking hand to smooth it off her face, feeling humbled and blessed by her sweetness and unselfish ardor. Several minutes later Elizabeth stirred in his arms, and he tipped her chin up so that he could gaze into her eyes. “Have I ever told you that you are magnificent? She started to shake her head, then suddenly remembered that he had told her she was magnificent once before, and the recollection brought poignant tears to her eyes. “You did say that to me,” she amended, brushing her fingers over his smooth shoulder because she couldn’t seem to stop touching him. “You told me that when we were together-“ “In the woodcutter’s cottage,” he finished for her, recalling the occasion as well. In reply she had chided him for acting as if he also thought Charise Dumont was magnificent, Ian remembered, regretting all the time they had lost since then…the days and nights she could have been in his arms as she was now. “Do you know how I spent the rest of the afternoon after you left the cottage?” he asked softly. When she shook her head, he said with a wry smile, “I spent it pleasurably contemplating tonight. At the time, of course, I didn’t realize tonight was years away.” He paused to draw the sheet up over her back so she wouldn’t be chilled, then he continued in the same quiet voice, “I wanted you so badly that day that I actually ached while I watched you fasten that shirt you were wearing. Although,” he added dryly, “that particular condition, brought on by that particular cause, has become my normal state for the last four weeks, so I’m quite used to it now. I wonder if I’ll miss it,” he teased. “What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, realizing that he was perfectly serious despite his light tone. “The agony of unfulfilled desire,” he explained, brushing a kiss on her forehead, “brought on by wanting you.” “Wanting me?” she burst out, rearing up so abruptly that she nearly overturned him as she leaned up on an elbow, absently clutching the sheet to her breasts. “Is this-what we’ve just done, I mean-“ “The Scots think of it as making love,” he interrupted gently. “Unlike most English,” he added with flat scorn, “who prefer to regard it as ‘performing one’s marital duty.’” “Yes,” Elizabeth said absently, her mind on his earlier remark about wanting her until it caused him physical pain, “but is this what you meant all those times you’ve said you wanted me?” His sensual lips quirked in a half smile. “Yes.” A rosy blush stained her smooth cheeks, and despite her effort to sound severe, her eyes were lit with laughter. “And the day we bargained about the betrothal, and you told me I had something you wanted very badly, what you wanted to do with me…was this?” “Among other things,” he agreed, tenderly brushing his knuckles over her flushed cheek. “If I had known all this,” she said with a rueful smile, “I’m certain I would have asked for additional concessions.” That startled him-the thought that she would have tried to drive a harder bargain if she’d realized exactly how much and what sort of power she really held. “What kind of additional concessions?” he asked, his face carefully expressionless. She put her cheek against his shoulder, her arms curving around him. “A shorter betrothal,” she whispered. “A shorter courtship, and a shorter ceremony.

The Artist His gift is the ability to deeply see a woman. There are men who truly see women and men who see only what they want in women. The latter don’t get a lot in return. If you see only a body or a shell when you look at a woman, what would inspire her to share the gift of her innermost self? Remember, a woman thrives on being seen and known; a void of this reflection and caring leaves her feeling empty, unfulfilled, and resistant to you.  The Poet His gift is his capacity to give voice to what he sees. You might see a woman’s feminine essence, her unique beauty, and her inner beauty; but if you aren’t able to convey that to her, she won’t know or feel the depth of your love and desire. When you do choose to see and express who a woman is (at her essence) in words, you offer her a gift she cannot give to herself. Sure, she can know and cherish herself, but her feminine desire to be celebrated is different. “To be celebrated, honored, and valued with language and gesture” is a gift she cannot give herself. Note: The Artist and the Poet are clearly intertwined. Seeing and celebrating a woman are practically one in the same. And yet, one without the other leaves a void. Animate the Artist and the Poet together and feel inside you how deeply seeing a woman and being emotionally expressive with her unlocks your love and your power, and opens her. The Director His gift is the gift of direction – taking a woman somewhere she cannot take herself. The Artist and The Poet give shape to your loving, but without the forward motion and focus of the director, your relationship will lack directionality. The director takes a woman somewhere, sometimes literally, and sometimes within herself. Yes, a woman can direct herself; she has a masculine aspect. But your gift of directionality opens doorways, experiences, and feelings a feminine, flowing woman may never access on her own. Note: The Director and The Poet are natural partners. Giving voice to what you see and know about a woman builds trust. She relaxes. The Poet opens a woman’s desire to let go and turn herself over to a man’s directionality. Without this, The Director will meet with resistance. Remember, following is a choice. Letting go with you is a choice. A woman follows a confident dancer; she resists a weak one. Let her know you see and understand her, and she will open to your lead.

It is natural for a man to desire what he reckons better than that which he has already, and be satisfied with nothing which lacks that special quality which he misses. Thus, if it is for her beauty that he loves his wife, he will cast longing eyes after a fairer woman. If he is clad in a rich garment, he will covet a costlier one; and no matter how rich he may be he will envy a man richer than himself. Do we not see people every day, endowed with vast estates, who keep on joining field to field, dreaming of wider boundaries for their lands? Those who dwell in palaces are ever adding house to house, continually building up and tearing down, remodeling and changing. Men in high places are driven by insatiable ambition to clutch at still greater prizes. And nowhere is there any final satisfaction, because nothing there can be defined as absolutely the best or highest. But it is natural that nothing should content a man's desires but the very best, as he reckons it. Is it not, then, mad folly always to be craving for things which can never quiet our longings, much less satisfy them? No matter how many such things one has, he is always lusting after what he has not; never at peace, he sighs for new possessions. Discontented, he spends himself in fruitless toil, and finds only weariness in the evanescent and unreal pleasures of the world. In his greediness, he counts all that he has clutched as nothing in comparison with what is beyond his grasp, and loses all pleasure in his actual possessions by longing after what he has not, yet covets. No man can ever hope to own all things. Even the little one does possess is got only with toil and is held in fear; since each is certain to lose what he hath when God's day, appointed though unrevealed. shall come. But the perverted will struggles towards the ultimate good by devious ways, yearning after satisfaction, yet led astray by vanity and deceived by wickedness. Ah, if you wish to attain to the consummation of all desire, so that nothing unfulfilled will be left, why weary yourself with fruitless efforts, running hither and thither, only to die long before the goal is reached? It is so that these impious ones wander in a circle, longing after something to gratify their yearnings, yet madly rejecting that which alone can bring them to their desired end, not by exhaustion but by attainment. They wear themselves out in vain travail, without reaching their blessed consummation, because they delight in creatures, not in the Creator. They want to traverse creation, trying all things one by one, rather than think of coming to him who is Lord of all. And if their utmost longing were realized, so that they should have all the world for their own, yet without possessing him who is the Author of all being, then the same law of their desires would make them contemn what they had and restlessly seek him whom they still lacked, that is, God himself.

Real life is so all-absorbing that it doesn’t leave us time to create an imaginary, parallel life. It’s very hard not to stay in love with or be captivated by someone who makes us laugh and does so even though he often mistreats us; the hardest thing to give up is that companionable laughter, once you’ve met someone and decided to stay with them. How cast down we are by rejection, and how much power accrues to the person to whom we gave that power, for no one can take power unless it is first given or conferred, unless you’re prepared to adore and fear that person, unless you aspire to being loved by him or to enjoy his unswerving approval, any such ambition is a sign of conceit and that conceit is what weakens and leaves us defenseless: once that ambition remains unsatisfied or unfulfilled, it marks the beginning of our downfall. Sensations are unstable things, they become transformed in memory, they shift and dance, they can prevail over what was said and heard, over rejection or acceptance. Sometimes, sensations can make us give up and, at others, encourage us to try again. That Spanish mania for mixing business deals with a semblance of incipient friendship. In Spain, oddly enough, it’s considered far more prestigious to be known by one’s first name, and this applies to only four or five or six people: “Federico” is always García Lorca, just as “Rubén” is Rubén Darío, “Juan Ramón” is the Nobel Laureate Jiménez, “Ramón” is Gómez de la Serna, “Mossèn Cinto” is Verdaguer and, five centuries on, “Garcilaso” is Garcilaso de la Vega. In the face of ignorance, one is always free to invent. “Far too civilized. Airport hub. Business deals by the shedload. No, I don’t like it, I don’t like it all. Tons of visitors. The annual Buchmesse. Money calling to money. Rumor on the other hand is what lasts, it’s unstoppable, undying, the one thing that endures. I certainly don’t want to give that imbecile the gift of a rumor. He probably often had such attacks of oral literature. Whoever he was with and whatever the circumstances, he found it hard not to slip into pedantic, didactic mode. Like many unhappy, lonely people, he kept a diary. Curiosity makes us lose all caution. Unhappy people often insist on trying to uncover the full magnitude of their unhappiness, or choose to investigate other people’s lives as a distraction from their own. The eyes of the imagination, which are the eyes that best remember a scene and best recall it later. In the middle of the night everything seems plausible and real. Desire is a selfish thing too and will do almost anything to achieve satisfaction—lie, flatter, take risks, inveigle, make false promises. A nostalgia for the life you discarded always lingers on in the inner depths of your being, and, during bad times, you seek refuge in it as you might in a daydream or a fantasy. I sometimes think that the bonds of deceit and unhappiness are the strongest of all, as are those of error; they may bind even more closely than those of openness, contentment and sincerity. We do sometimes bring about what we most fear because the only way of freeing ourselves from that fear is for the bad thing actually to have happened, for it to be in the past and not in the future or in the realm of possibilities. For it to remain behind.

You do not have a story until something goes wrong.” Master storyteller and bestselling novelist Steven James’s pithy advice for would-be writers also applies to the story God is writing in our lives. As James puts it: At its heart, a story is about a person dealing with tension, and tension is created by unfulfilled desire. Without forces of antagonism, without setbacks, without a crisis event that initiates the action, you have no story.

​All frustration is due to unfulfilled desires. If

War and ceasefire There was a war followed by a ceasefire, Swaths of land lay covered in ashes and dead men and women, Beside them lay still unfilled dreams and many a desire, Wherever one looked there appeared no end to them then, Because a country defeated in war, Enters into the state of passive spirit, Where to the victor, spirited men and women of the defeated country appear too few and too far, And they rush to assume this is it, their end, and the end of it! Followed by two immediate actions, Repatriation by the winning side, And reparation by the losing side while dealing with endless sanctions, And behind them their lost spirits hide, But as years pass by and time grows older, The defeated side realises the losses it suffered, The men it lost, and the women who fought in ways bolder, And the living ones, the paying ones, look at their spirits battered, And they hear echoes from the past, Few calling a mother, few a father, many a brother, a sister and a lost lover, And then the ship of agony and pain hoists its broad mast, And the left one, the still and forever paying one, is forced to become an avenger, Because he/she misses the person to whom these echoes belong, He/she struggles to deal with the past that haunts him/her in the present, And to deal with this belligerent self, he/she hums the firebird’s song, And finally with hatred and lament he/she is pregnant, And when the feeling is born, The defeated spirit rises from the ashes, And begins to sew together the feelings that lie scattered on the ground, mutilated and torn, With these feelings of hatred and vengeance now his/her spirit gushes, The silent ground that had been the graveyard of dreams and desires, Suddenly turns into a war zone once again, So those who say peace can be brokered are cynical liars, Because one who is dead can never be brought back again, And thus the battle between revenge and avenging deaths enters a new phase, Where the defeated side now fearlessly marches forth, Because it has nothing to lose now it has no more ghosts to chase, And thus is born the one who loves romancing the sun, the killer moth, And it stings all alike, and it flies freely everywhere, Until both sides accept defeat, Then they begin to dig graves to bury a hope here, a wish there, and someone’s desire somewhere, And somewhere lies the lover who his/her beloved could not meet, And then is born the curse of unfulfilled wishes, desires, hopes and life’s darling affairs, Now both sides lie in ruin because there is no ground left to bury the dead, And the sound of echoes keeps growing and the ground turns wet with tears, It is then the spirit forsakes them all, because genuine valour does not reside in places where courage on death is fed, And as time grows older there are no more bold men and women left, Because it is a diabolic ground where only echoes from the past haunt all, Where all are victims of a different kind of theft, That of humanity’s actual fall!

War and ceasefire There was a war followed by a ceasefire, Land covered in ash, dead men and women, Beside the dead were unfulfilled dreams and many a desire, This is how it is now and this is how it was then, Because a country defeated in war, Enters into the state of passive spirit, To the victor, spirited men and women of the defeated country appear too few and too far, So, they rush to assume this is it, the end of it! To be followed by two immediate actions, Repatriation by the winning side, And reparation by the losing side while dealing with endless sanctions, Behind which their broken spirits hide, But as years pass by and time grows older, The defeated side realises the losses it suffered, The men it lost, and the women who fought in ways bolder, And the living ones, the paying ones, look at their spirits battered, And they hear echoes from the past, Few calling a mother, few a father, many a brother, a sister and someone a lost lover, And then the ship of agony and pain hoists its broad mast, And the left one, the still and forever paying one, is forced to become an avenger, Because he/she misses the person to whom these echoes belong, He/she struggles to deal with the past that haunts him/her in the present, And to deal with this belligerent self, he/she hums the firebird’s song, And finally with hatred and lament he/she is pregnant, Finally when the feeling is born, The defeated spirit rises from the ashes, And begins to sew together the feelings that lie scattered on the ground, mutilated and torn, With these feelings of hatred and vengeance now his/her spirit gushes, The silent ground that had been the graveyard of dreams and desires, Suddenly turns into a war zone once again, So, those who say peace can be brokered are cynical liars, Because one who is dead can never be brought back again, And thus the battle between revenge and avenging deaths enters a new phase, Where the defeated side now fearlessly marches forth, Because it has nothing to lose and it has no more ghosts to chase, And thus is born the one who loves romancing the sun, the killer moth, It stings all, and it flies freely everywhere, Until both sides accept defeat, Then they begin to dig graves to bury a hope here, a wish there, and someone’s desire somewhere, And somewhere lies the lover who his/her beloved could not meet, And then is born the curse of unfulfilled wishes, desires, hopes and life’s darling affairs, Now both sides lie in ruin because there is no ground left to bury the dead, And the sound of echoes keeps getting louder and the ground turns wet with tears, It is then the spirit forsakes them all, because genuine valour does not reside in places where courage on death is fed, And as time grows older there are no more bold men and women left, Because it is a diabolic ground where only echoes from the past haunt all, Where all are victims of a different kind of theft, That of humanity’s innocence that actually was the cause of great fall!

Intention. This purposeful reason... is enough to change the direction of your life. It is the spark that ignites the lucid dreams of wanting. Yet, without striking the match, further efforts will go undone. It is not enough to desire… for without effort, intention stays just that… an unfulfilled dream.

Contentment isn't some Buddhist-like negation of all desire; it's living in such a way that your unfulfilled desires no longer curb your happiness.

Your freedom is not restricted simply by external constraints. There's another odd kind of restriction. Your freedom gets limited by an internal reality that is a kind of brokenness or weakness or dividedness inside you. You want to stop drinking, but you can't. You want to live with a happy, cheerful, optimistic attitude, but you don't. You want to quit yelling at your kids, but you fail. You want to be the kind of person who manages anger really, really well, but you aren't. You'd like to think you have become unselfish, but you haven't. You are not free. The freedom you lack is an internal freedom, and this inner lack of freedom is much more dehumanizing, much more tragic than external constraints. This kind of freedom is internal, and it is precious. It is "soul-freedom." Remember that the soul is what integrates our parts. If our will is enslaved to our appetites, if our thoughts are obsessed with unfulfilled desires, if our emotions are slaves to our circumstances, if our bodily habits contradict our professed values, the soul is not free. The only way for the soul to be free is for all the parts of our personhood to be rightly ordered.

Love is desire sustained by unfulfillment.

Wings of fire It was a strange sight, That brought feelings of excitement and fright, A butterfly with wings of fire, One representing wishes and the other meant to hoist her every desire, There seemed to be no place where she could not go, I had never seen her before, not even long ago, Wherever she went, she set all flowers on fire, Creating blazing gardens of endless desire, Where wishes like pollen dust scattered everywhere, Lifted by the ever rising flames and then dispersed here and there, And wherever it fell, There was no beauty to be felt and no stories to tell, Because the flames turned the dust into a secret alchemy that resembled the inferno of hell, Gardens burned, lands were parched, it was a diabolic sight that no words can explain well, So, wherever the butterfly with wings of fire went, It left trails of fire and devastation, with nature’s will broken and completely bent, The butterfly used to be beautiful once, It loved to fly and freely dance, Until it was caught in a man made drought, Leaving it exhausted and distraught, As its wings stiffened and fell, And it began collapsing into the hell, There somehow she developed wings of fire, To claim her unfulfilled wishes and her every desire, And since then she has been on a rampage, Nature too does not want to contain her in the cage, Because she is avenging its losses, So, now she recklessly all heights and every length crosses, Wherever she goes the world of blazes and fires blooms, With just one prospect, that of gloom and endless dooms, Her desires are infinite, so her wings will never lose their fire now, There is only one way to stop her, via a kiss of love, But who would dare to kiss the wings of fire, Let alone the act, the very thought does scare and tire, Maybe the world, her world and our world will soon be reduced to cinders, And we can only hope that someday she forgives us all, her offenders, But behold the act of providence, Her only means of guidance, The wet drops of rain are soothing her hot and blazing wings, And as her wings regain their natural and colourful shades, she once again sings, Hopefully this spell of beauty lasts longer, And humans and beautiful butterflies will once again learn to live together!

The fireplace The embers in the fireplace were dying slowly, And their golden sheen that fell on her face was stealing her from me, Because the embers that no longer shimmered resplendently, Faded somewhere in the fireplace leaving her cold beside me, Because a part of her had been imprisoned by these golden embers, Her warm and loving heart was now in their custody, So I let my cold heart lament their untimely slumbers, The sleeping embers and in them a part of her sleeping too, leaving me behind to face this emotional fatality, Where her cold part lies motionless beside me and beside the cold fireplace, Only to awaken when the embers burn once again, And her heart feels the renewed and a warmer pace, Hopefully the embers do not die again then all this burning will be invain, But burning is the fate of few, their only destiny, So, I am sure when it is time the embers will shimmer in their golden fire, Until that happens let me establish with her cold heart and her cold part, a warm fraternity, And feel the warmth of my every unfulfilled desire, In this hope I keep staring at the ash filled fireplace, Where the embers have died, and where her warm part lies somewhere, But whether it is cold or warm, her sensations with no other I wish to replace, Because embers are meant to burn in the fireplace, else nowhere, It is a new day and the sun has not risen yet, But there is a pulse of golden waves forming across the fireplace, And outside, the rain that lasted the entire night has left everything wet, Except one place, my own space, I call the sacred fireplace, Because that is where my emotions burn with flames of desires, And now everything is covered in a warm and golden sheen, While my heart tries to separate flames from burning fires, I over her warm part in emotional relays lean!

I was caught between the warm clouds of unfulfilled desires and the cold wind of my reality

Cares for Something/Someone Outside the Self “It is the capacity to care — to care intensely about something beyond the limited self — that we seem to find our best clue to what mature individuality is.” —The Mind Alive The Overstreets convincingly argue that, for several reasons, the capacity to deeply care for someone or something forms the very core of the mature mind. First, it slays adolescent ego-absorption by shifting an individual’s focus outside the self, and training that focus on something bigger than the self. Second, it requires the “emotional overflow” of well-developed inner resources, particularly the development of courage, as sincerely caring is underrated as a truly frightening endeavor: “Caring — whether for another person, a line of work, a field of knowledge, or a conviction — is, in a sense, the most hazardous of human experiences. The emotionally impoverished person cannot afford it; for it means choosing to be vulnerable. . . . There is, in psychological truth, a certain terror that is part of the experience of deep caring: the terror of letting one’s self go; putting one’s whole capacity to feel and suffer at the disposal of something beyond the self. No one, it seems safe to assume, who has ever deeply and genuinely loved another human being or a chosen vocation or a social cause or a religious faith has ever wholly escaped this terror.” Third, it is the only way to catalyze one’s full potential: “If the risks of caring are great, so are the rewards; for it is one of the basic facts of human life that the ungiven self is the unfulfilled self. Only the individual who builds a strong, sound relationship with his world can himself become strong, sound, and resourceful: ready for what happens; able to be affirmative and creative in his dealings with experience.” Caring is such a key element of human fulfillment, in part because it provides a non-duplicable source of motivation:   “If a person never greatly cares about anything beyond himself, he has little spontaneous reason to get over the hump of inertia and submit himself to the discipline of a working material or a body of knowledge. . . . an individual’s area of caring and the strength of his caring determine the inconveniences he will willingly suffer and the risks he will run.” Finally, the practice of caring for things outside the self — a process in which the arrows of influence and need work both ways — disabuses you of delusional notions of complete autonomy and control (ideals maturity approaches, but can never completely attain, nor would find desirable to attain); it serves as a visceral, humbling reminder of where you remain (wonderfully) dependent. In caring for some person or idea, you come to an understanding of humanity’s interconnectedness, a “sense of how things hang together; not just the thing itself, but the meaning of it.” As the Overstreets conclude, “the capacity to care — to enjoy richly, love deeply, feel strongly, and if need be, suffer intensely — is, in short, the best guarantee any one of us can have against” the complete stagnation of the self.

Emotional territory I had never been there before, An emotional territory that was weighing on me and my soul, everyday a bit more, There were relays of feelings printed on the reels of mind, Where each feeling sought something that it could never find, That unfulfilled desire, a darling wish that always remained a dream, Now lost in the confusion where desires become wishes and wishes turn into desires representing heart’s every scream, And this is where I was now, a territory that I owned, but knew nothing about, It was like a reality based on known facts, yet the mind had its reasons to doubt, Every feeling, that rushed to seek this unknown desire, Not knowing what to like, what to love and what to admire, Because desires had turned into wishes and wishes into desires, Resulting in a quest of mind and heart that first seduces, and then tires, As I stood in the middle of this unfamiliar emotional territory, I thought of her and our love’s moments eternal and transitory, And then desires were vanquished by once felt emotions, Nothing was left of the wishes too, because now they were reduced to known and loving sensations, Her and my feelings, in our territory of known feelings, Then I reposed in this territory to think of her and let her old sensations be the cause of my temporary healings, I am here in the same territory still, with the few known and many unknown feelings, And I often wonder what defines my mind’s endeavours and my heart’s beatings, Maybe one may never know and I may know the least about this emotional reality, So I see no harm resting here in her emotional territory and her old memories, my own space of tranquility!

While contemplating the objects of the senses, attachment to them is born. From such attachment, intense desires arise. From unfulfilled desires, the seeds of anger appear. Ch.2 v.63 #110 krodhād bhavati saṁmohaḥ saṁmohāt smṛtivibhramaḥ smṛtibhraṁśād buddhināśo buddhināśāt praṇaśyati From unrestrained anger, delusion arises. From this delusion, memory is lost. When memory is lost, discernment is lost. When discernment is lost, this leads to harmful or destructive actions. Ch.2 v.64 #111

I have discussed how the goal of feeling happy is unusual; its not like other goals such as learning to bake a pizza, for which the desire to achieve is half the battle and steady application is the rest. Pressing harder on unfulfilled and unrealistic goals for happiness can paradoxically deepen depression.

The fireplace The embers in the fireplace were dying slowly, And their golden sheen that fell on her face was stealing her from me, Because the embers that no longer shimmered resplendently, Faded somewhere in the fireplace leaving her cold beside me, Because a part of her had escaped with these golden embers, Her warm and loving heart was now in their custody, So I let my cold heart participate in some organic vitriol to lament their untimely slumbers, The sleeping embers and in them a part of her sleeping too, leaving me behind to face this emotional fatality, Where her cold part lies motionless beside me and beside the cold fireplace, Only to awaken when the embers burn once again, And her heart feels the renewed and a warmer pace, Hopefully the embers do not die again then all this burning will be invain, But burning is the fate of few, their only destiny, So, I am sure when it is time the embers will shimmer in their golden fire, Until that happens let me establish with her cold heart and her cold part, a warm fraternity, And feel the warmth of my every unfulfilled desire, In this hope I keep staring at the ash gray fireplace, Where the embers have died, and where her warm part lies somewhere, But whether it is cold or warm, her sensations with no other I wish to replace, Because embers are meant to burn in the fireplace and nowhere, It is a new day and the sun has not risen yet, But there is a pulse of golden waves forming across the fireplace, And outside, the rain that lasted the entire night has left everything wet, Except one place, my own space, I call the sacred fireplace, Because that is where my emotions burn with flames of desires, And now everything is covered in a warm and golden sheen, While my heart tries to separate flames from burning fires, I over her warm part in emotional relays lean!

However, most of the time, it’s not accidental at all. The habits and behaviors you can’t stop engaging in—no matter how destructive or limiting they may be—are intelligently designed by your subconscious to meet an unfulfilled need, displaced emotion, or neglected desire.

Every single thing in the Universe is vibrating at a particular frequency. Your thoughts and feelings, including everything in your subconscious, are transmitting a particular vibration out into the Universe, and those vibrations shape the life you are living. This is simply how the Universe works. The good news is that once you understand how the Universe works, you have the power to get the Universe to work for you! If you’re feeling stuck, unfulfilled, or dissatisfied with your life, the answer lies in raising your personal vibration to that perfect pitch where your intentions and desires resonate with the intentions and desires of the Universe.

Every wish is an unfulfilled desire.

Doesn’t the unfulfillable longing evoked by beauty qualify as an innate desire? We have a longing for joy, love, and beauty that no amount or quality of food, sex, friendship, or success can satisfy. We want something that nothing in this world can fulfill. Isn’t that at least a clue that this “something” that we want exists?15 This unfulfillable longing, then, qualifies as a deep, innate human desire, and that makes it a major clue that God is there.

your frustration is due to unfulfilled desire.

We may not realize it, but sometimes the stories we write are the reflection of our own unfulfilled desires. #WritingCommunity

The Enforcement Directorate (ED) in India is currently seen as an establishment that is unleashing draconian measures to penalize people and companies. Resultantly, the very mention of the ED’s name appears to evoke fear in many. But when we look at Life in a spiritual context, we will realize that there is a more tyrannical ED that resides within each of us. Be wary of this inner ED. It is made up of twin oppressors – Ego and Desire! Importantly, ego and desire, as long as they are in control, hold us hostage. The ego cripples us by ceaselessly whipping up the deafening ‘I-me-mine’ frenzy. And desire suffocates us through stoking an endless wanting in us: for Life to be different from what it is. Both these forces constantly make us feel on edge. That’s why we often feel miserable, unfulfilled and very, very unhappy. There is a way to get out of the stranglehold of this inner ED. That way is to learn to dissolve our ego and our desires through diligently training the mind, through embracing a meditative practice. Only then can we be truly free. And happy!

I've come to the conclusion that we are all looking for fulfillment in an unfulfilling world. For example, you get good grades, play sports/instruments, and so on, because other people tell you this is a good thing, not because this is what you really want to do. If it was then you probably wouldn't be so bored of it. Going to a new school or getting involved in a relationship might bring on temporary ease, but you will get tired of it soon and it will not bring you the satisfaction you desire. In order to reach a state of contentment, don't blindly take other people's advice, instead search yourself for your true identity. Be more open to life. Try new things, and venture out a little more. Go out of your comfort zone. Don't let your 'friends' in the right now hold you back from things possible in the future. You can ask others for their opinion, ask them what they think is best, but ultimately, this is your life and you have to make the decisions.

Aata hai dagh_e_hasrat_e_dil ka shumaar yaad, Mujh se mere gunah ka hisaab ay Khuda na maang. O Lord, please do not ask for an account of my sins as this reminds me of the scars caused by the unfulfilled desires of my heart.

Oscar Wilde wrote, “In this world there are only two tragedies. One is getting what one wants, and the other is not getting it.” When our desires are unfulfilled, we

A man may desire to go to Mecca. His conscience tells him that he ought to go to Mecca. He fares forth, either by the aid of Cook's, or unassisted; he may probably never reach Mecca; he may drown before he gets to Port Said; he may perish ingloriously on the coast of the Red Sea; his desire may remain eternally frustrated. Unfulfilled aspiration may always trouble him. But he will not be tormented in the same way as the man who, desiring to reach Mecca, and harried by the desire to reach Mecca, never leaves Brixton. It is something to have left Brixton. Most of us have not left Brixton. We have not even taken a cab to Ludgate Circus.

According to them, it is better to have a calm mind free of desires than to have a restless mind full of unfulfilled ones, because non-fulfilment of desires leads to depression and sadness.

I find that daydreams are oftentimes similar in this respect to real dreams, the kind we experience in an unconscious state. Our mind puts together scenic imagery and simulated interactions in a seemingly designless, irregular, and often circuitous manner. We may think the substance of the dream is simply an agglomeration of thoughts, ideas, and experiences, but in truth, it may be pulling inspiration from somewhere deep down within. It may be the result of some unfulfilled desire, or possibly the expression of some dark hidden fear (like spiders or clowns).

A life without unfulfilled desire is not what you want. A life without unfulfilled desire is a life without desire. The beach, you say. You want to go to the beach? Is that really what you want? The beach. The pool. The library. You want to go to the butcher, the bake, the supermarket. You want to go to the mountains and swim with friends in the lake. To want, in the infinitive form. To want, conjugated: I want, you want, he, she, one wants, we want, you all want, they want. Have you ever thought about putting a question into this device, about what would happen if you asked about the world, instead of just asking for it? Who do you think you are> Who do you think I am? What do you think you have in your hands? Why would you think you have any idea of what you want? You've had thirty-seven years to get it right, thirty-seven years with the device at your disposal, just waiting, ready, willing, and most nights you still go to bed confused, angry at yourself. When are you going to start considering the possibility that you are exactly who you want to be?

The rapid pulse in her wrist vibrated against his lips. His own rhythm matching the jumps in her heartbeat. He closed his eyes, breathed in her sweet scent one last time, and looked down into her eyes. She stared back at him, boldly assessing. God help him. He could not seduce her. He could not live with himself if he did. Expecting her to remove her hand, he closed his eyes again and sighed softly, willing his body to relax. Her hand slowly left his face. This is for the best. His heart and body ached at the loss and the unfulfillment of his desires. The next instant, her gentle hand stroked his chin and bottom lip and his whole body jerked. He kept his eyes closed, afraid to break the spell. Warm fingers slid down his neck. Shivers coursed up and down his spine. Sweet was the torment and fragile was his control as he felt it slip away.

The desire to be everything your coveted child needs; the desire to have that indelible bond with the human you created; the desire to provide sustenance from your very being. And when for whatever reason this desire goes unfulfilled, the resulting emotion is often guilt-- not because we feel like we did something wrong but because we feel there must be something fundamentally, awfully wrong with us, to be unable to perform this most basic of human functions.

Anything that interferes with the protagonist reaching her goal and fulfilling her unmet desire is the antagonist. That means it might not always be another person. It could be a storm or a demon or a dog. It might be the protagonist’s past or her unfulfilled dreams or her grudge against her friend. Since the antagonist isn’t always a human being, some story theorists refer to the “forces of antagonism” in a broad sense, rather than “antagonist” in a narrow sense.

The wind was strangely warm for March, with a hint of salt impossible this far from the sea. The kind of peculiar wind that dampened the soul and whispered of longings unfulfilled, of desires just out of reach. The

the family circle, for example, just like in many other settings, covert narcissists are restricted in their behavior, so it is unlikely that anyone who is not part of the family will ever notice the narcissistic patterns. These parents are usually very socially acceptable, likable, display themselves and are perceived as perfect parents and members of society. However, behind closed doors they expect perfection from their kids, wanting them to cater to their own needs and to fit into the idea of an ideal child, shaming individuality and authenticity. It is not uncommon for a narcissistic parent to project their unfulfilled ambitions, expectations, and desires of social success onto their children, putting a lot of pressure on the kids to achieve success, usually at the expense of a child’s happiness.

Good question. You have studied your history, and you know that slaves were property, not human beings, so they were objects instead of subjects to the government. To view another human being as property—objects instead of human beings—would not be biblical, because a slavemaster would kind of be acting like God–ruling over others and trying to use them for their own desires. That is not right, because the Bible says that no one is like God, and they shouldn’t act like a God over other people, because there is only one God, as one of the Ten Commandments mentioned. “Also, even if human beings were allowed to act like God, the way those types of people rule over their slaves is unbiblical, because they do not follow the commandments about love. The New Testament says that we should love, forgive, and help others the same way Jesus did, but if people are going to objectify each other and view each other as property, slave masters' intentions to love, forgive, and help others would be reduced, if not unfulfilled. “You also mentioned the New Testament’s commandments. You are correct, there are verses about slaves. Titus 2:9-10 says, ‘Slaves must always obey their masters and do their best to please them. They must not talk back or steal, but must show themselves to be entirely trustworthy and good. Then they will make the teaching about God our Savior attractive in every way.’ By law, a slave would have to obedient to his or her master, so Paul was sent to show that God acknowledges the existence of this law, but even though this law was used, notice how slaves are required to not argue and steal, and they are required to be trustworthy. Those are values that were taught to freed believers! Titus 3:9 talks about preventing quarrels, Exodus 20:15 literally says, “Do not steal,” and Proverbs 11:13 condemns slanderers and praises trustworthy people, so even though slaves were still expected to follow the law, they, like other believers, had the opportunity to uphold biblical values and become strong Christians. Colossians 4:1 also says, ‘Masters, be just and fair to your slaves. Remember that you also have a Master—in heaven.’ This verse actually ensures the welfares of slaves. The laws that the government enforced at that time probably did spread the notion that slaves are property, and so, by law, slaves were still property, but by Christ, they were quite equal to the status of a freed believer. Their was care for slaves’ welfares, which, under Christ, raised them to a greater status than just property. They were property by law, but children of Christ through God.

You will find throughout all nature the law of action and reaction, of rest and motion. These two must balance, then there will be harmony and equilibrium. You are here to let the life principle flow through you rhythmically and harmoniously. The intake and the outgo must be equal. The impression and the expression must be equal. All your frustration is due to unfulfilled desire.

We are whole beings and when we numb ourselves, override our needs, ignore our desires, neutralize our yearnings, and withhold our truest feelings on a regular basis, we don’t have easy access to them in times of passion and intimate self-expression.

The habits and behaviors you can’t stop engaging in—no matter how destructive or limiting they may be—are intelligently designed by your subconscious to meet an unfulfilled need, displaced emotion, or neglected desire.

In the imperialistic discourse of Germany at that time, the slogan Volk ohne Raum (a people without land) came into popular use. This phrase expressed a sort of self-identity otherwise unknown among the imperial powers, one that provided a specifically German variety of motivation for the general, Europe-wide antipathy toward America. Behind the pathos of Karl May and other contemporary Germans concerning the boundlessness of the American land lurked a secret wish to possess a country so big. These desires were of course to remain unfulfilled (indeed, America seemed to be colonizing Germans, more than Germans America), adding particular bitterness to the fact that so many of their fellow Germans chose to go to America. For many Germans, this emigration was more than a simple loss. It was treason.

It’s a fact: laziness is rooted in self-love. It is the ability to take ourselves off the hook. It is the willingness to permit ourselves not to do things we know we should do. It is believing that good things should come our way without our having to work to get them. It is opting for what is comfortable for ourselves rather than what is best for our spouse. Laziness is always self-focused and self-excusing. Laziness is undisciplined and unmotivated. Laziness permits us to be passive when decisive and loving action is needed. Laziness allows us to avoid when we should be engaged. Laziness expects more from others than we require from ourselves. Laziness demands good things without being willing to invest in them. I am persuaded that laziness is a much bigger deal in our marriages than we have tended to think. Check out these proverbs. I passed by the field of a sluggard, by the vineyard of a man lacking sense, and behold, it was all overgrown with thorns; the ground was covered with nettles and its stone wall was broken down. (Prov. 24: 30-31) Isn’t this exactly what we have been describing? Your marriage is inflicted with difficulty because you have failed to act to keep it what God intended it to be. The desire of the sluggard kills him, for his hands refuse to labor. (Prov. 21: 25) Often, marriages are troubled by discontent and unfulfilled desire. Proverbs connects these to laziness. Because you are not doing the hard work of following the command principles of God’s Word, the good desires that you have for your marriage remain unfulfilled. This heightens your discontent, adding more trouble to your marriage and making it even harder to deal with the things you must deal with for your marriage to be what God designed it to be. The sluggard will not plow by reason of the winter; Therefore he shall beg in harvest, and have nothing. (Prov. 20: 4 ASV) The sluggard says, “There is a lion outside! I shall be killed in the streets!” (Prov. 22: 13) These proverbs capture the excuse dynamic of laziness. We take ourselves off the hook by giving ourselves plausible reasons (excuses) for our inactivity. The way of a sluggard is like a hedge of thorns, but the path of the upright is a level highway. (Prov. 15: 19) Where does laziness in marriage lead? It leads to disappointment, discouragement, discontentment, and future trouble. In a fallen world, very few things are corrected by inaction.

Because Lacan understood the ego to be a defensive edifice that consistently resorts to misleading fantasy formations to shelter the subject from having to accept the realities of its psychic predicament—particularly the idea that lack is a necessary foundation of its identity—he believed that any concession to the ego’s logic would merely make the subject suffer more in the long run. Yielding to the demands of the ego, in other words, would only perpetuate the deep-seated fantasies that make it difficult for the subject to come to terms with the uncanny idea that unfulfilled desire, and the resulting agitation, are immanent to human existence. The objective of psychoanalysis, for Lacan, was therefore not to overcome lack by strengthening the ego, but rather to work through, and gradually break down, the elaborate fantasies that keep the subject from imaginatively facing the challenges of its existential 2 situation.

(Knife) Something just now moved through my heart like the thinnest of blades as that red-tail pumped once with its great wings and flew above the gray, cracked rock wall. It wasn’t about the bird, it was something about the way stone stays mute and put, whatever goes flashing by. Sometimes, when I sit like this, quiet, all the dreams of my blood and all outrageous divisions of time seem ready to leave, to slide out of me. Then, I imagine, I would never move. By now the hawk has flown five miles at least, dazzling whoever else has happened to look up. I was dazzled. But that wasn’t the knife. It was the sheer, dense wall of blind stone without a pinch of hope or a single unfulfilled desire sponging up and reflecting, so brilliantly, as it has for centuries, the sun’s fire.

There was a sharp rap on the door. Her aunt Faith shouted, "No wonder psychology is your major. You and your split personality get out of this bathroom. Some of us have old bladders, ya know." ....God. Can't a person have a little privacy?" Faith pushed her aside. "Not when you hear voices in your head." She shut the door in her face. Lily hit it with the palm of her hand. "Your latent hostility is a sign of unfulfilled desire!" Faith yelled out, "You're so right. My desire to pee.

While our infinite desire may nag us with the feeling of unfulfillment, it doesn’t force us to seek lower goods and less meaningful pursuits. It is at the root of all our meaningful pursuits — even the highest among them — constantly spurring us on in search of what gives genuine peace and withholding satisfaction until we have found it.

But the problem is: The vast majority of humans, or maybe just well-to-do Americans, never get all that close to the center of anything. Instead we get this other life. One I try to be grateful for. I, Maeve, Jane, and Jack feel at home in Damariscotta—even if I always believed that to stay on the Midcoast, or even to return to it, would mean that I’d given up on the pursuit of something greater. Which may well be the case, but at a certain point the hardest thing about so much of your ambition going unfulfilled becomes finding out that you’re basically okay with the way things have gone. And while it could be said that I haven’t been at the center of any story that anyone would find very interesting, it could also be said that I’ve been near enough to a few of them. And I think—or hope—that all that matters, returning to that impulse I’ve been trying to identify—the desire to be somehow near-er a tragedy—is what I feel when I’ve achieved some distance from the episode, and the way I feel then is relieved. I’m happy I have what I have. I’m happy I haven’t lost any of it along the way. I could have risked more—and perhaps lived to tell about it and therefore had more to tell—but with all apologies to my younger self, I can’t think of a single instance from my past that I wish had gone another way. —

The basic truth about addiction is that you have lived your life vaguely, not fully or with the whole being. Unfulfilled desires create a samskara in you pulling you back to fulfill the desire by re-experiencing the same desire again and again.

The cohesive force by which all three bodies [causal, astral and physical] are held together is desire. [...] The mere presence of a body signifies that its existence is made possible by unfulfilled desires. pg425, Chapter 43, The resurrection of Sri Yukteswar

A man may desire to go to Mecca. His conscience tells him that he ought to go to Mecca. He fares forth, either by the aid of the Cook's, or unassisted; he may probably never reach Mecca; he may drown before he gets to Port Said; he may perish ingloriously on the coast of the Red Sea; his desire may remain eternally frustrate. Unfulfilled aspiration may always trouble him. But he will not be tormented in the same way as the man who, desiring to reach Mecca, and harried by the desire to reach Mecca, never leaves Brixton.

Jesus divines what hard thoughts men think of God under the burden of unfulfilled desire; how they doubt His goodness, and deem Him indifferent, heartless, unjust. He shows His intimate knowledge of their secret imaginations by the cases He puts; for the unkind friend and unnatural father, and we may add, the unjust judge, are pictures not indeed of what God is, or of what He would have us believe God to be, but certainly of what even pious men sometimes think Him to be. And He cannot only divine, but sympathize.

One pattern that made the practice of love especially difficult was my constant choosing to be with men who were emotionally wounded, who were not that interested in being loving even though they desired to be loved. I wanted to know love but I was afraid to surrender and trust another person. I was afraid to be intimate. By choosing men who were not interested in being loving, I was able to practice giving love, but always within an unfulfilling context. Naturally, my need to receive love was not met. I got what I was accustomed to getting -- care and affection, usually mingled with a degree of unkindness, neglect, and, on some occasions, outright cruelty. It took me a long time to recognize that while I wanted to know love, I was afraid to be truly intimate. Many of us choose relationships of affection and care that will never become loving because they feel safer. The demands are not as intense as loving requires. The risk is not as great.

5. All frustration is due to unfulfilled desires. If you dwell on obstacles, delays, and difficulties, your subconscious mind responds accordingly, and you are blocking your own good.

Instead of the church’s lessons helping women to participate in loving, mutual relationships, they perpetuate singleness and unfulfilled partnerships because the men in our lives desire confident women who are able to play with the possibilities of sexual engagement.

Like the rainbow in clouds and the rain drop in mud You irked like a torn of love in my heart. My naught desire is burning, as my beautiful hope is unfulfilled. Is it to raise the madness of love in me or to kill me? You are the girl I wished for, the damsel that left me, you are a merciless demon and the craze in my heart. You are a fish eyed beauty and a surprising sage, you are my moonlight in the dark... Come to me my beloved!! How do I live without you? Come to me my beloved! Can’t you be seen to my eyes? I am living in your thoughts this way... I considered you my heartbeat, how do I live without you? Come to me my beloved! My dear girl, oh beauty bird.. my heart slipped down magically and started roaming around you chanting your name in your quest, dancing just like you to reach me. How many days or years it might be, I would be waiting to see you even if it takes a hundred years. Let there be any dangers or whirlpools ahead, oh my love.. I will be beside you in everything. Shall we exist as one together? This is a never-ending celebration. Oh my gosh, my gorgeous babe.. You are a sweet unforgettable thought. Glimpses of your twittering laugh and the gleam of your eyes can be seen tempting deep in my heart. Wherever I am and whatever I do. I keep seeing the love of billions of my dreams. Shall I place you deep inside my carved heard and workshop you with the flowers of my blood? Shall we pull the time backwards and write our story again? How do I live without you? Come to me my beloved!

Hope and desire, All unfulfilled. Have more than rope And hangman killed.

The cause of our human suffering lies in the realm of desire. It arises when our desire remains unfulfilled,

125: Craving, Neediness, Addiction, Compulsion, Unfulfilled Desire, Longing, Obsession This field of energy is immersed in wanting, needing, craving, getting, and taking. This naturally leads to a lack of money and resources because the focus is on what one doesn’t have rather than what one does have. This

Of all the regrets, I have, over a lifetime on my journey, not being able to see you, one more time alive, has been my greatest regret, and this longing, this unfulfilled desire lives with me permanently

Blessed be those who preserve these words and may those who alter them suffer for what they do. 43       The world is glorified through men whose lives are governed by dedication and duty, who completely devote themselves to carrying out the purpose ordained by Yahuah, using earthly conditions to this end. The desires and longings of the heart - the hopes and aspirations of men - will never go unfulfilled or be ignored by Elohim while men are willing to rise to greatness through selfless sacrifices and devotion to duty. The highest duty to which anyone can be called is service and suffering in the cause of Yahuah.

Unconsciously, perhaps inevitably, Sophia accepted Allston’s standard. For Sophia, it had always been Doughty and Harding and Allston who were “masterly.” They “embodied” art in a way that the turbaned Catherine Scollay in her attic studio never could. If women had a recognized place in the art world it was as muse or model—or wife. Yet, with the exception of the Reverend Channing’s question, no one spoke of art in terms of gender. Because it was unacknowledged, the gap between a young woman with talent and a man of accomplishment could seem an unbridgeable chasm. It was safer for Sophia to paint covers for ladies’ card cases or, at most, copy paintings that offered a thrilling proximity to greatness. Neither would require an open admission of her own aspirations to greatness—aspirations that could easily go unfulfilled in the absence of adequate training. Sophia had seen what had happened to her oldest sister, whose naked desire to become “all and more than all, that those she loved would have her be” had exposed her to disappointment and failure. Sophia would not risk that. In

when we are subjected to the senses and allow them to dominate, the attachments come, from the attachments we get the desire , from unfulfilled desire/broken desire the anger comes, from anger the delusion comes, from delusion we get confused in memory and we lose reasoning and that leads to ruin.

The power of unfulfilled desires is the root of all of man’s slavery.

Krishna went ahead and told Arjuna,  when we are subjected to the senses and allow them to predominate, the attachments come, from the attachments we get the desire , from unfulfilled desire/broken desire the anger comes, from anger the delusion comes, from delusion we get confused in memory and we lose reasoning and that leads to ruin.

In Every Breath" in every breath if you’re the center of your own desires you’ll lose the grace of your beloved but if in every breath you blow away your self claim the ecstasy of love will soon arrive in every breath if you’re the center of your own thoughts the sadness of autumn will fall on you but if in every breath you strip naked just like a winter the joy of spring will grow from within all your impatience comes from the push for gain of patience let go of the effort and peace will arrive all your unfulfilled desires are from your greed for gain of fulfillments let go of them all and they will be sent as gifts fall in love with the agony of love not the ecstasy then the beloved will fall in love with you.

Affectionate detachment is stronger than any attachment could possibly be, because attachment is created through unfulfilled desire, salted and peppered with fear. Fear of loss, fear of the unexpected, fear that life may not have much more to offer than what has already been offered, fear of old age, fear of harm, fear of accident—these are the fears which salt and pepper the unfulfilled desires. This is attachment.

Note the difference between the following expressions of disappointment: Example 1 A: “You disappointed me by not coming over last evening.” B: “I was disappointed when you didn’t come over, because I wanted to talk over some things that were bothering me.” Speaker A attributes responsibility for his disappointment solely to another person’s action. Speaker B traces his feeling of disappointment to his own unfulfilled desire.

As long as our loneliness brings us together with the hope that together we no longer will be alone, we castigate each other with our unfulfilled and unrealistic desires for oneness, inner tranquility and the uninterrupted experience of communion.

Meditate and Smile. Smile and Serve. Serve and Celebrate." "I Promise" If I had to promise you something, what would it be? I can't promise that you would always be comfortable... Because comfort brings boredom and discomfort. I can't promise that all your desires will be fullfiled... Because desires whether fulfilled or unfulfilled bring frustration. I can't promise that there will always be good times... Because it is the tough times that makes us appreciate joy. I can't promise that we will be rich or famous or powerful... Because they can all be pathways to misery. I can't promise that we will always be together... Because it is separation that makes togetherness so wonderful. Yet if you are willing to walk with me, If you are willing to value love over everything else ~ I promise that this will be the most rich and fulfilling life possible. I promise your life will be an eternal celebration. I promise you I will cherish you more tha a king cherishes his crown. And I shall love you more than a mother loves her newborn. If you are willing to walk into my arms, If you are willing to live in my heart, You will find the one you have waited for forever... You will meet yourself in my arms... I promise.

The attraction of an exotic presence that was intensely carnal and at the same time as intangible as a promise was contained not in her attitude or words but in her very presence, the shape of her face, the color of her hair and eyes, the timbre of her voice, and something else not in her, the promise of so many unfulfilled and often unformed desires in him, roused by her proximity as if by a clap of hands or a voice revealing the dimension of a great area of darkness.

Most of our desires tend to reveal their pettiness a few months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, or even seconds, after they have been fulfilled.

My first dharma teacher, Anagarika Munindra, used to ask us, “Where is the end of seeing, the end of tasting, the end of feeling?” There is, of course, nothing wrong in these experiences—they simply do not have the ability to satisfy our deep yearning for happiness. The wonderful paradox of the spiritual path is that all of these changing phenomena as objects of our desire leave us feeling unfulfilled, while as objects of mindfulness they become the very vehicle of awakening. When we try to possess and hold on to experiences that are transitory in nature, we are left feeling finally unsatisfied. Yet when we look with mindful attention at the constantly changing nature of these same experiences, we’re no longer quite so driven by the thirst of desire. By mindfulness I mean the quality of paying full attention to the moment, opening to the truth of change. So it is not a question of closing our senses and withdrawing from the world, but of opening our eye of wisdom and being free in the world.

The adhesive force by which all three bodies are held together is desire. The power of unfulfilled desires is the root of all man's slavery.

It’s not the having that matters to you, am I right? So you can imagine living your whole life beside me, in a state of unfulfilled desire, and that’s acceptable to you because it is desire itself that gives you joy.

We all have unfulfilled dreams and goals and desires. Unfulfilled, why? Reasons pop up, but they’re just guises for fear. Fear that we’re not good enough. Fear that we’ll fail. Fear that our fears will be true. Whatever the rationalization is, it is fear. And fear is not the truth.

All cravings are the mind seeking salvation or fulfillment in external things and in the future as a substitute for the joy of Being. As long as I am my mind, I am those cravings, those needs, wants, attachments, and aversions, and apart from them there is no “I” except as a mere possibility, an unfulfilled potential, a seed that has not yet sprouted. In that state, even my desire to become free or enlightened is just another craving for fulfillment or completion in the future. So don’t seek to become free of desire or “achieve” enlightenment. Become present. Be there as the observer of the mind. Instead

Was there anything as dangerous or as self-serving as a parent who imposed their unfulfilled desires onto their child?

High Levels of Energy 1000 Infinity / Divinity 700 Oneness, Non-Duality, Vast Awareness 600 Bliss, Peace, Serenity, Lightness 570 Ecstasy, Exaltation 550 Unconditional Love 540 Humor, Happiness 530 Love, Intuition, Appreciation 510 Power, Initiative, Integrity 505 Beauty, Creativity, Imagination 475 Joy, Creativity Mid Levels of Energy 450 Intelligence, Knowledge, Reason 400 Acceptance, Interest, Attention, Neutrality 320 Willingness, Kindness, Optimism, Activity 275 Courage, Relaxation, Eagerness, Fun 200 Contentment, Routine, Functionality, Boredom Low Levels of Energy 190 Pride, Superiority, Arrogance 180 Antagonism, Criticism, Discontent, Complaint, Blame 160 Anger, Domination, Aggression, Coldness 120 Craving, Need, Compulsion, Unfulfilled Desire 100 Fear, Worry, Shyness, Inferiority, Paranoia 80 Grief, Sorrow, Self-Pity 50 Apathy, Despair, Depression, Hopelessness 30 Guilt, Shame, Psychosis, Humiliation, Hatred

Universe to give me a sign that I am on the right path. The sign I asked… First of all, I would like to thank Rhonda and 부산오피 everyone involved, as well as everyone who wrote “The Secret” stories posted here, as they have inspired me and propelled me forward in my journey. I am a college senior engaged to my boyfriend of 6 years, but for some reason, I felt very unfulfilled… This story is nothing short of a miracle, and I hope it gives everyone who is reading this hope and faith. My girlfriend, who is the most perfect girl for me and makes me the happiest man alive, broke up with me because her parents wanted her to get married, and she, too, wanted to… I cannot thank you enough for sharing The Secret with the world as it has fully changed my life and state of mind I have a story to share. The secret says learn how to use it, start off with asking for small desires that you want in your life, whether it be a cup… I have been a believer since I was a child, and ‘The Secret’ completely changed my life. It strengthened my faith and helped me connect more with my higher self. It made me a positive and grateful person, something that I was not aware of before. I did not realize how much I lacked gratitude…. The first thing I would like to do is to thank Rhonda and the Universe for bringing this amazing reality into my life. I can’t begin to describe the ways in which my life has changed in the two years since learning about The Secret. And to anyone losing faith, as I have many times,… I am a young Swedish woman who loves her job. I have a loving family, and I am in love with a handsome and generous man who always puts his 부산op loved ones first. This is my story and it is just the beginning. I had given The Secret a few tries over the last few… Laugh it out. My first goal was 부산출장마사지 to get into welding school, and I just signed up too late, but I’m starting in January. My second goal was to make 65k by age 20, and I am 18. My third goal was to get a really good part-time job. So five weeks later, out of… I asked my husband to watch The Secret last year. He found it liberating, and it really shifted his point of view. Fast 부산오피 forward to today. He was reorganizing his home office as he got a new monitor for work and is bringing two of his old ones into the office for his new hybrid job…. My secret story. For more than five years, The Secret has been in the back of my mind, but I really began to use it to influence and guide my life a little over a year ago. I had moved to a new city to escape painful 부산op memories of a life and relationship gone sour… I am extremely excited to share my story and I am so very grateful for the opportunity to do so here. I come from a poor family, and my father worked as an operator in a sugar factory. I always dreamed of having a good job and a good salary. So, I used the law… Hi guys, First of all, I want to say thank you to God and Jesus Christ for making this dream possible. Thank you to Ma’am Rhonda Byrne, The Secret team, and everyone who shares their inspiring stories. I want to share how I got my architect license that I always wanted ever since 부산출장마사지 I was…

I want to gain immortality because of my brain and not because of the potential of my womb. I cast about for much of my life oking for a way in, inside myself. The desire to be an artist is something that burns inside of me all of my life but I can't get it out, l just don't know how to make anything, my hands are not skilled, they are as useful as two clay lumps. I don't have the patience to sit in the quiet. I want whatever it is to reveal itself to me now. I try dancing, drawing, sculpture, performance art, poetry. I am overwrought and sentimental. lam a lovesick teenager in tone and this does not make great art. Wantingto be an artist and being one are different. Perhaps I am just like everyone else and my disappointment is desiring to be special but not being special at all. Perhaps my life's purpose is to square myself with this. Toyin Ojih Odutola talks of our generation having to accept a hard truth that we may be the stepping stone to something greater in the future because it's not us. On a familial level, there are stories of Jim Carrey and Hanif Kureishi's fathers wanting to be writers and performers but not making it and of the guilt their children have to carry of their parent's unfulfilled dreams in tandem with their success. Maybe this is me. I am the fathers caught in an unchosen generation. I will have to learn how to amplify who comes next. I am the stepping stone because it is not me. I am mediocre I have the will and desire but ultimately zero talent. I have to reconcile myself to being ordinary. I am like everybody else.

Intermingled in the mess was another, subtler secret that James and I had hid from each other for years: we were happy, yet unfulfilled. It was possible, I understood now, to be both at the same time. I was happy with the stability of working for my family, yet unfulfilled by my job and burdened by the things I hadn’t pursued. I was happy with our desire to someday have children, yet unfulfilled by my achievements apart from family life. How had I only just learned that happiness and fulfillment were entirely distinct things?

Of all the regrets, I have, over a lifetime on my journey, not being able to see you, one more time alive, has been my greatest regret and this longing this unfulfilled desire lives with me permanently

If I stayed here, something inside me would be lost forever - something I couldn't afford to lose. It was like a vague dream, a burning, unfulfilled desire. The kind of dream people have only when they're seventeen.

Leaving the attic, Jake clutched the keys and his luggage, his choices pressing upon him. Stepping out into the fading daylight, he glanced back at the home he had once believed would cradle their shared memories, aging alongside their love. It was a house that had held the promise of future generations, of joyous celebrations, and the laughter of grandchildren. But those dreams had evaporated, dissolving into the void of unfulfilled desires.

The acclaimed foreign film Three Seasons is a series of vignettes about life in postwar Vietnam. One of the stories is about a Hai, a cyclo driver (a bicycle rickshaw), and Lan, a beautiful prostitute. Both have deep, unfulfilled desires. Hai is in love with Lan, but she is out of his price range. Lan lives in grinding poverty and longs to live in the beautiful world of the elegant hotels where she works, but in which she never spends the night. She hopes that the money she makes by prostitution will be her means of escape, but instead the work brutalizes and enslaves her. Then Hai enters a cyclo race and wins the top prize. With the money he brings Lan to the hotel. He pays for the night and pays her fee. Then, to everyone’s shock, he tells her he just wants to watch her fall asleep. Instead of using the power of his wealth to have sex with her, he spends it to purchase a place for her for one night in the normal world, to fulfill her desire to belong. Lan finds such grace deeply troubling at first, thinking Hai has done this to control her. When it becomes apparent that he is using his power to serve rather than use her, it begins to transform her, making it impossible to return to a life of prostitution. Jesus Christ, who had all the power in the world, saw us enslaved by the very things we thought would free us. So he emptied himself of his glory and became a servant (Philippians 2). He laid aside the infinities and immensities of his being and, at the cost of his life, paid the debt for our sins, purchasing us the only place our hearts can rest, in his Father’s house.

Now instead of feeling the justifiable anger of the callous way she had disregarded their love, all he felt was the unfulfilled ache of desiring her and sorrow. The surge of cold rage and the need to use her body had vanished. Why? A soft breath expelled from him, and he closed his eyes. It was because of her blindness. The shock of her words had been a brutal punch to his system, and all thoughts of hurting her had vanished. The pain and vulnerability on her face had been deep; he would be an arse to even want to add to her suffering.

Of bliss on bliss, while I to Hell am thrust, Where neither joy nor love, but fierce desire, Among our other torments not the least, Still unfulfill'd with pain of longing pines.

Powerful Love Spells in Toronto: Unlock the True Power of Love Love is one of the most powerful feelings governing the life of a human being. Yet, most couples experience some problems, such as misunderstanding, emotional distance, breakups, or unfulfilled desire. In such cases, spiritual guidance and ancient practices come into play. Powerful Love Spells in Toronto are gaining popularity among those people who seek valid solutions to restore love, strengthen bonds, and bring positive romantic energies into life. Understanding Love Spells and Their Purpose Love spells can be termed as spiritual practices that can impact the emotions, energies, and circumstances that surround the concept of love. These spells have been developed on the principles of ancient wisdom. They operate by balancing the positive energies as well as eliminating the barriers in the emotions of the individual that hamper the development of the emotions of love. Why People Choose Powerful Love Spells in Toronto Current lifestyles bring along stress, misunderstandings, and emotional alienation in many relationships. Many people seek Powerful Love Spells in Toronto to help them with matters such as lost love, postponed marriage, conflicts, and a lack of commitment in their relationships. Such love spells are considered to possess spiritual powers to reconnect emotionally and re-establish trust in relationships. People also seek love spells to help them find a suitable partner or to spice up their existing relationship with passion and intimacy. Types of Love Spells Commonly Practiced Different kinds of love spells are meant for a particular task. Reconciliation love spells are meant to reunite an individual with an ex-lover to rectify any misunderstandings that led to the separation. Attraction love spells can be used to ensure that one attracts good love in his or her life by increasing one’s attractiveness. Commitment love spells are meant to promote commitment between the couple. Nevertheless, marriage love spells ensure that anything that is delaying marriage is removed. Role of Spiritual Energy and Positivity Powerful Love Spells in Toronto work well due to the proper mix of spiritual energy, as well as positive emotions. If the person performing the spell harbors negative emotions such as anger, jealousy, or hatred, the process may fail, resulting in the absence of love energy. Spiritual cleaning rituals performed by Powerful Love Spells, in Toronto, allow the elimination of negative energy, making room for positive emotions. Benefits of Love Spells for Emotional Well-Being Apart from the romantic outcomes, love spells can also work in terms of healing emotional attachments. These help people get away with a broken heart, overcome relationship anxiety, and build esteem in the process of relationship and emotional renewal. Everything else falls into place because the energies are in balance. Final Thoughts It is supposed to nurture, fulfill, and uplift. Spiritual solutions offer hope and clarity as one navigates through life's difficulties. Through Powerful Love Spells in Toronto, a path is made available to those desiring to restore lost love, strengthen a relationship, or invite good, meaningful connections into one's life. Using the right approach, these age-old practices will help in transforming emotional turmoil and struggles into harmonious and lasting love experiences.

Yes, I've loved once, but that chapter feels like a distant memory now. The vibrant hues of true love have faded away, leaving behind a muted landscape. I've come to realize that there's no such thing as genuine, lasting love without compromise, without a willingness to meet in the middle and navigate the inevitable storms together. Now, staring at the precipice of what feels like a wasted life, I feel a sudden urgency. No time to lose anymore. I have to finally, truly think about what *my* needs and wants are, apart from the interwoven tapestry of another person's. No more putting myself last, no more sacrificing my own well-being on the altar of a relationship. The pain, a constant companion for so long, has intensified. That harsh headache, a physical manifestation of all the emotional turmoil, has found me again, throbbing with the weight of unfulfilled desires and unspoken truths. Yes, I've loved, poured my heart and soul into someone else's orbit. I've given everything, sacrificed pieces of myself, and yes, I've even lost precious time for myself, time I can never get back. The dream, the shared future I so carefully cultivated, is over. Love dies, suffocated by neglect, disappointment, and the sharp sting of betrayal. Heartbroken, I pick up the pieces, trying to reconstruct a self I barely recognize. No more false promises, no more illusions. This is the end of a chapter, and the beginning of a journey inward.

A bucket list implies a lack, a store of unfulfilled desires or aspirations, a worry that you haven’t done enough with your life. It suggests that more experience is better, whereas the opposite might equally be true. I don’t have a bucket list because it comforts me to remember the things I have done, rather than hanker after the things I haven’t done. Whatever they are, I figure they weren’t for me, and that gives me a sense of contentment, a sort of ballast as I set out on my very last trip.