(Verse 1)
It is not what you are missing.
It is the wanting
you were taught to quiet.
It lives in the body.
In the belly’s turning.
In the chest that tightens
before it opens.
In the throat
where breath hesitates
at the edge of honesty.
You felt it rise
and named it excess.
Too much.
Too alive.
So you softened it.
Made it wrong.
(Pre-Chorus)
You were told holiness is smaller.
Less hunger.
Less heat.
Less sound.
So you practiced reduction.
You called it wisdom.
You dimmed the flame
and called it peace.
(Chorus)
Desire belongs here.
In the human heart.
Not as flaw
as movement.
The first stirring of love
inside matter.
Longing is not exile.
It is the path
curling back
to itself.
(Verse 2)
Desire was never separate from spirit.
It is how spirit leans into form.
How consciousness
enters breath.
You tasted distance
so closeness
could be known.
You stepped into forgetting
so remembering
could arrive in the body.
This ache you tried to transcend
it was sacred sensation
asking to be included.
(Pre-Chorus 2)
You learned to mistrust the pull.
Learned to rise above it.
But the rising
was another way
of leaving.
(Chorus)
Desire belongs here.
In the pulse.
In the trembling reach.
It is how the many return to One.
Nothing impure
about the wave
moving toward the shore.
The wave was always ocean.
(Verse 3)
You wrote a quiet rule:
I must not want too much.
You lived inside that sentence
until it felt like truth.
Not because you lacked authority
but because you were using it
to measure your worth.
The human was never a mistake.
It is holy
because it feels.
Because it breaks.
Because it longs.
(Bridge)
You have authority
to name yourself.
To choose the meaning
of the fire in your chest.
Nothing is being withheld.
Nothing is punishing you.
You are witnessing
your own authorship.
And the page is not closed.
You are free.
Free to revise.
Let love be your guide.
Desire, unhidden.
Breathing without apology.
The spark allowed to become flame.
The flame allowed to become devotion.
Devotion no longer reaching
just moving.
Magnetized by love.
Moving through the hands.
Through the voice.
Through the ordinary holiness
of being here.
Longing was never wrong.
It was love
learning texture.
You are not divided.
The body is not against the light.
The wanting was the current.
It carried you
all along.
Longing was love
returning to itself
wave becoming ocean,
spark becoming flame.
And the flame,
once allowed,
burned with such clarity
that only love remained.
AlchemistEthereal252
