Rejecting Desire and the Power of "Love" Destruction

It's difficult to describe the kind of power and self control you can get from rejecting desire, not having the thing you want, when you don't give in to what you wish you could have. There's something immensely powerful in saying 'No, I will NOT take that cup of coffee, that beer, have sex with someone, or turn on the TV, or call up that porn site.'

Even bringing that thing close to you, having it near you, cherishing it, wanting it, loving it, then destroying it, throwing it away -- you can feel the power fill your body. Before hand, it seems not only stupid but maybe impossible. But once you do it, all that energy you would have placated, that desire you would have satisfied, becomes yours: you own the energy that was being drained in your desire, the energy that would have been lost and spent in fulfilling that desire. You get it back. You puncture a hole in the veil of illusion and you wake up and find out you are alive.

There is a great release and liberation you can find by destroying, throwing away, objects you like or love. Or, not even something you love but think you need or just like. Like, a pair of shoes you have, or a poster, or a CD, a pair of sunglasses. Drive down the highway and throw it out the window (and if you hear a voice in your head saying, "oh, you shouldn't litter, say Fuck You! little voice). The bond of attachment to these objects is broken when you no longer possess them, and you realize they no longer possess you. (Cf. Fight Club.)

It's a religious rite, the making sacred through sacrifice (which means literally "to make sacred"), by investing an object (or substance) with value, desiring it, attaching yourself to it, then destroying it. This is a fundamental structure you find in many religious, mythological ceremonies. (Cf. the Catholic mass.)

Aside:
The intentional destruction of objects you like or want also applies to greenbacks; yes, money, much to Rachel O's irritation, during that night of the HMB bonfire, when suddenly, it seemed completely rational, it not essential, the take those dollars and fives out of the wallet and watch them burn into little crispy black piles of ashes. Ian, Uncle Vanya (Ilya), the dog, Patron Silver. It felt good, and I don't think it was completely a macho competition. Of course, being drunk, we probably weren't too far from running to the ATM machines. Even though a dollar felt good, a five felt magical, and a ten was borderline religious. What about a $20??