What is this thing called Desire?

Way back in 1980, Prince Charles and Lady Diana were interviewed on the occasion of their engagement. When the naïve TV reporter asked them ‘Are you in love?’ blushing Lady Di mumbled, ‘Of course,’ and plum-in-the-mouth Charles muttered, ‘Whatever love is’. The cad! everyone thought at the time, my mother included.

But hang on a minute. Maybe it wasn’t poor Charlie’s fault. I mean, how can you truly define being ‘in love’? There are so many stories, films, songs and poems about the state of being ‘in love’, it’s hardly surprising that we get a little confused at times. I know I certainly do!

When you’re in love, you want the whole wide world to know it …  

Thus began the lyrics to a 1940s song that my mother used to sing to me during the years of my upbringing. She sang rather a lot of songs, come to think of it: Love is a many splendored thing, Smile When Your Heart is Aching , To know him is to love him, Why do fools fall in love … I could go on and on. No bloody wonder I became such an incurable romantic!

Here’s yet another quote about love, this time taken from an eleventh century verse. (Things haven’t changed much since then.)

Ah love, could thou and I with Fate conspire,

To grasp this sorry scheme of things entire

Would not we shatter it to bits and then,

Remould it to our hearts’ desire!

A lump always came to my throat at that last line. How I longed to remould things to my own heart’s desire, even though my attempts rarely worked – especially with one particular Benedictine monk who shall not be named. (He is, however, named in my novel, Infinite Stranger, and has apparently read it but refuses to write a review, the miserable so and so. Okay, end of irrelevant aside.)

Love and desire, desire and love – the two human traits that make the world go round. But the trouble is, how can we know when the feelings we’re experiencing are purely desire without love, or love without desire, or – hope upon hope – when they’re that magical, electric, beyond-the realms chemical reaction of the two combined? The jackpot of our lives.

If we’re honest with ourselves, when we’re dementedly attracted to another person, we convince ourselves it’s the real thing. We tremble at their slightest touch, we dream about them at night, fantasise about what ifs (and other things…), find it hard to concentrate; we lose our appetite, become distracted, ecstatically happy one moment and fearful the next as we question ourselves: does he/she feel the same way? Will this last? Should it last (if it’s illicit desire), and so on, ad infinitum. But sooner or later we’ll be zoomed right back to square one, shivering and fantasising and longing and all the rest, whether it’s right or wrong, whether it’s wise or foolish, whether it’s true love or just desire.

Just desire? Hmm. Isn’t desire in itself, without the added accolade of love, more than enough to set your heart on fire, not to mention other body parts? Isn’t that intoxicating sensation wonderful enough in itself, without analysing and fretting and fast-forwarding into the as yet non-existent future? Isn’t it the now moment that is so brilliant about being in love, or in desire, or … well, just longing to do the thing that makes the world go round?

I’m glad my parents did it, because hey presto, I was the result of their desire, if not their love. Here I am, several decades later, writing about that very thing that created me, as well as millions of other people worldwide. And right now many of those millions of other people worldwide are no doubt trembling over the exact same feelings. Just think of all those multiple orgasms at this very moment, exploding and hurtling the world on its axis, round and round and round, again and again and again!

Love might not last, desire will definitely not last, but the world will continue to turn, no matter what. And that’s enough for me, right now.