Wisely reflecting, I use alms-food not for fun, not for pleasure, not for fattening, not for beautification, but only for the maintenance and nourishment of this body, for keeping it healthy, for helping with the holy life. Thinking thus, I will allay hunger without overeating, so that I may continue to live blamelessly and at ease.
-- midday prayer at Abhayagiri Buddhist Monastery
Yael says to me: "If someone got rid of all their desires, wouldn't they just become a rock?" She's right. There is no person alive with no desire, because desire is what keeps us alive.
I don't know what the buddha taught, but I do know what they teach today: that craving causes clinging, clinging causes suffering. The general idea is right. The more you want, the less you seem to have, and the more you suffer. There's no limit to how much you can want, so there's really no limit to how much you can suffer.
But there is a limit to how much you can spare. Isn't it natural to desire things like food and water, and safety and predictability, touch and affection? Can you ever truly get rid of these? Would that even be wise?
A monk might answer this by talking about the "middle way": that the buddha tried indulgence and it didn't work for him, but he also tried asceticism and that didn't work for him either. He ended up somewhere in between.
But this doesn't really answer the question for me. Are there desires we shouldn't get rid of? Can't get rid of? If so, are we doomed to suffer, even just a little bit?
It's possible. Maybe the idea of the end of suffering is just that -- an idea -- something to shoot for, or inch towards, but whose logic conflicts with the reality of being stuck in a body.
But there's one desire which, to me, breaks the rules: the desire for others to be happy. The Pali word for this is metta. Unlike the desire to taste, to touch, to own, metta does not exist purely to extinguish itself. Metta is its own reward. It feels good. It's harmonious. It sustains itself.
There's a difference between giving something with an expectation, and giving something with no expectation. The expectation can distress you. But the same action, done selflessly, does not. That difference can be felt in the heart.
Maybe metta buys us an out. When we do those unavoidable selfish things, we can do them with metta. Maybe not perfectly, but at least a little bit.
Imagine eating, for example, not for fun, not for pleasure, not for beautification, but as an act of kindness to the body, so that it can remain a faithful partner to you as you live a long and meaningful life.