I recently went through my ten-year ritual of buying a car. The anticipation was exciting; the search was stressful but enjoyable. Like most large purchases, we decided on a reasonable price range, browsed within it, and inevitably fell in love with something at the upper limit. We sat with the salesman, negotiated, and shook hands. You would think that spending so much money on something I genuinely wanted would make me the happiest guy in Rhode Island. But, if I’m honest, I didn’t feel much different.

Someone might say it just wasn’t the right car—that the right object would have changed everything. But most of us know that’s not true. We may feel a brief spark of pleasure, but not any sustained joy. Why? Because the fantasy surrounding the object disappears the moment we possess it.
What can sustain real contentment, however, is understanding the structure of desire—learning how it deceives us. Once we grasp this structure deeply, we gain the ability to enjoy the present rather than being manipulated by promises of future satisfaction. The one who inherently understands this structure can ever-sustain their enjoyment.

So I begin with a warning: satisfaction does not come from gaining things.
Everyone knows this. And yet we all behave as if buying the house, the car, or the jewelry will finally fulfill us. Every time. Why? Because we misunderstand how enjoyment works. We don’t see the structure of Desire, and we confuse it with something far simpler: Demand.
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Some things we “desire” are actually Demands—needs tied to survival, like food and drink. Demand can be satisfied by obtaining an object. A hungry baby gulps, burps, and smiles—that’s Demand fulfilled. But the moment a need moves beyond necessity, it enters the realm of Desire, and if we don’t understand Desire’s structure, dissatisfaction sets in, even when it appears we get what we want. This is the moment where others—especially those who understand Desire—gain power over us.

Because some objects satisfy Demand, we imagine an object must also exist that can satisfy Desire. We are promised this everywhere. But Desire is more complicated: it points not to a real object, but to an imaginary, idealized object shaped by what we imagine others desire. A useful name for this is the Sacred Object.

The Sacred Object is built by what we imagine other’s wanting—cars, houses, jewelry, status, beauty, youth, success. The greater the sacrifice required to obtain it, the more valuable it seems. And our culture exploits this structure relentlessly. Advertising is one of its most sophisticated tools. It is no coincidence that the father of public relations, Edward Bernays—Sigmund Freud’s nephew—used psychology to engineer mass desire. As he famously said: “If we understand the mechanism and motives of the group mind, is it not possible to control and regiment the masses according to our will without their knowing about it?”

The Sacred Object promises to fill an inner lack that began when we first became separate subjects—when the “oceanic oneness” with the mother ended. That lack stays with us for life, taking the shape of frustration, alienation, brokenness, or incompleteness. We seek to heal it. The Sacred Object promises to heal it. It never does. This is because in order to be a subject, in order to participate in the world, a gap is required, we must be a part and apart from it. And, therefore, the Sacred Object does not exist.

To understand how Desire traps us, in the non-existence of and inability to obtain the Sacred Object, we must explore how its two main components– Object of Desire (OoD) and the Object Cause of Desire (OCoD) – work together. Desire requires something we want (OoD) and a barrier that keeps it out of reach (OCoD). The barrier can be money, distance, wrapping paper—anything that maintains the “gap” between us and the object. Once the object is obtained, that gap collapses, and Desire collapses with it—leaving eventual boredom or melancholy.

This is why the “cures” for this alienation like commodities, self-help, drugs, and endless novelty fail us. They exploit the structure of Desire without revealing it. Two other “solutions” have been created which seem to escape the Desire trap, but they are tricks as well – my book Klobberland talks of a third option:

Option 1: Openly Position the Object of Desire as Unreachable.
This creates an infinite gap and an eternal Desire. Hedonistic Western religions often rely on this strategy—promising heaven, utopia, or salvation always “later,” always out of reach. This sustains Desire but hides its structure. It creates dependence on doctrine, priests, rituals, and “enemies” that must be defeated to preserve the promised future. It is a structure that has fueled everything from proselytization to genocides.

Option 2: Eliminate Desire Altogether.
This is the nihilistic approach associated with many Eastern traditions. It seeks to extinguish Desire by extinguishing the OoD. But Desire is essential to human life—it drives passion, purpose, and meaning. And the pursuit of “no desire” is its own Desire: Desiring not to desire. The OoD and OCoD remain intact. This path often turns violence inward through asceticism, bodily domination, or ego-annihilation; in some cases, it spills outward, as in those who use spiritual belief to justify self-destruction or harm to others.

Option 3: A third way — the path that Klobberland explores.
This approach teaches the structure of Desire openly. It refuses superstition and rejects fantasies of heaven or nirvana. Instead, it makes an object of desire out of the lack itself. It shows how “Nothing” can be desirable—not as nihilism, but as liberation from being controlled by illusions of completeness.

This is not defeatism. It is the only stance that dissolves external control and restores genuine freedom. It accepts brokenness rather than fleeing from it. Its byproduct is kindness: to ourselves, to others, and even to our own anxiety.

In this third option, the OoD and OCoD collapse into one another. We no longer chase a final “Something” as though it will fill some hole within us, because we understand that once the object is obtained, the obstacle disappears and Desire evaporates. Instead, we set our sights on the gap itself—on the “not having”—and discover enjoyment there.

Love is a perfect illustration:
In love, the other is an object of desire whose endless mystery always maintains a distance. That distance sustains Desire.
In lust, the person is reduced to a simple object; Desire ends the moment they are “gotten.” 

The process of meditation also exposes this entire structure. We often assume that suffering belongs only to those who fail to get what they want. But even in the best of times—when I do get what I want—I immediately feel the impulse to gorge on it, and in that very indulgence discover that this isn’t what I wanted after all. Satisfaction folds quickly into dissatisfaction, and it is the belief that we can escape this cycle that produces suffering.
 
Meditation reveals this truth directly. The moment we attempt to sit still—even for five minutes—discomfort rushes in. With no distractions, we become acutely aware of the restless dissatisfaction built into us. This is the point: not to flee the frustration, but to encounter it. Meditation’s purpose is to expose the contradiction rather than to dissolve it. And in that exposure lies a quiet liberation.

This is enlightenment—not escape, but finding joy in the very contradiction that makes us who we are.
 
This is why meditation aligns naturally with the third option that Klobberland explores: embracing the structure of desire rather than masking it, fighting it, or elevating it into fantasy.
 
Klobberland does not say we cannot passionately pursue objects; only that achieving them will not complete us. It teaches that not-fully-getting – that getting Nothingness – is essential to Desire and the true path to enjoyment.

​If you enjoyed this new meditation on the deeper meaning of the game, you’ll love THE ART OF WAR AND BASEBALL!! Check it out here: www.theartofwarandbaseball.com

I would be remiss if I didn’t write about the Dodgers second World Series win in as many years. With the highest payroll in baseball ($95M/year more than the Blue Jays) much of the buzz leading up to the World Series was on the topic of the underdog, and so in this blog post I wanted to take the opportunity to explore this concept in greater detail. The idea of the underdog is complex. When we think about famous underdog stories like David and Goliath, it’s natural for most of us—aside from those with a personal stake in the outcome, like Goliath’s friends or family—to sympathize with the one who’s clearly outmatched. Especially if, in a match of intended fair play, one side appears to be equipped to a greater degree than another. Why is this?

​Well, my take is that it comes down to the idea of justice. Justice is what is called a “master signifier.” This means that although you can look up the word in the dictionary, it has no definite meaning. It is a purely visionary concept which one always strives to achieve but can never grasp. You can think of it as something that brings meaning to the world rather than has its own definite meaning. Other examples of master signifiers are truth and love. Poets will forever seek to describe their elusive nature, but luckily, never will. The law is the current distillation of the rules of justice, but this is exactly why the law changes, because, over time, we come to realize where the law, although seeming just, was not just. And so, we arrive at the underdog. The underdog appears when the Libra scale of justice has clearly become unbalanced  - when one side has the upper hand in some way. Using this image, justice always appears on the lower side of the scale - the side of the oppressed. And the oppressor can never be just unless the scales swing and they become the oppressed. This is why Simone Weil claimed that “justice flees from the camp of conquerors,” because if the oppressed happened to overtake the oppressor, they would become the oppressor, and the scale would shift the other way. This is precisely why everyone prefers to think of themselves as the underdog (I mean, I watched the Patriots claim to be the underdog for 20 years while they won 6 super bowls) because, as Camus said, “the king is always evil.” The king lacks a just purpose. The underdog is the only one with the valiant task of removing the boot from their neck, but the master only seeks to hold it there. This gives the underdog a strong purpose, and why the master, although appearing to be happy, or releasing an ecstatic burst upon winning, is typically, in their moment of triumph, more lost of purpose than the underdog. 

We see this in action during Freddy Freeman's interview after winning the greatest prize in baseball. He was asked how it felt to win back-to-back championships. He immediately reframed the answer in the guise of the underdog and referenced the Yankees as three-peat champions, maintaining his status as lower than the Evil Empire.

So, what does the Blue Jays manager, John Schneider, still have on his side after the World Series loss? My claim. Justice. And that's not a bad side to be on. For as MLK said, the universe "bends towards justice."

If you enjoyed this new meditation on the deeper meaning of the game, you’ll love THE ART OF WAR AND BASEBALL!! Check it out here: www.theartofwarandbaseball.com

With a new book, Klobberland, coming out in October, I describe the trajectory of my work.

Book 1: A book of meditations on baseball, a game that says something deep about the fundamental nature of reality.
Book 2: The story of one man’s uncensored encounter with that fundamental reality, and the suffering that can result from a lack of awareness of one’s relationship to it.
Book 3: An attempt to describe that fundamental reality directly through a creation myth. What it turned into was a critique of the prevailing myths and stories of our culture, which do everything they can to hide this fundamental reality from the world.
 
Book 1: The Art of War and Baseball – in the words of the commissioner A. Bartlet Giamatti (late 80s) “baseball breaks your heart. It’s designed to break your heart.” – And so is life. This can discourage the best of us. We believe we find no pleasure in the all-too-frequent valleys of the game. We become easily disinterested in the vicissitudes of sport. We can’t buy-in to the struggle, the habitual failure of a .250 batting average. But this brokenness of heart can also have the opposite effect, keeping us in an endless illusion of belief, that tomorrow will finally bring the win that will make one a champion, and end the need to continue the game at all. Both of these responses betray the game. One runs while another wishes its end. And then there are others who were born with the wisdom to know that nothing lasts. And it’s only when we live well with that “nothing” that we find the eternal, we see “nothing,” not as worthless, but like the Rubin’s Vase, coming into focus before our eyes. Although this nothingness is the ungraspable component of the universe, when we have the courage to reduce ourselves towards it, we can see it uniquely cloaked in the state of being a game. Not in endless wins or losses, not in belief or disbelief, but in that joy of suspended disbelief, the state where we know it’s all a game, and we know it’s here to break our heart, but we choose to participate anyway. Through cold or intense heat, and sometimes, in a warm green field, in the sun.

Book 2: Hologram Heroes – Johnny is affected by a physical brokenness. The most prominent actor in the play of Johnny’s life is his amputated hand, a phantom, a present absence that can fulfill or destroy. “Hologram heroes” is his reference to hologram baseball cards – reflecting the power that the stories we tell ourselves have to create the prevailing myths and heroes which outline the enjoyment or despair of our current state.

Book 3: Klobberland, is a mythic journey beyond belief and identity that reveals what emerges when the stories fall away and the brokenness that remains paves the way for the mystery of the self to break through. 

Be careful of this word “religion,” for, sadly, this term has come to often represent an insidious exploitation of the worst qualities of man. Although this may seem a harsh critique, I am opposed to downplaying the devastating effects this term can have on the potential for widespread destruction if left unchallenged. Why? Because "religion" has come to embody a type of commodity fetishism, selling fantasies and feeding off the hidden (and glaring) ambitions of the wayward while disguising itself as a type of comforting security blanket to protect people from their alienation and brokenness. If religion is a righteous occupation to be involved in then one should ask oneself why a rich and powerful robber baron who outwardly attacks the downtrodden, sexualizes and oppresses women, insults the disabled, steals from the poor, and exhibits little, if any, remorse would be interested in its proliferation. It is easy to be initially tricked into thinking there is some nobility in this cause, maybe regret, or desire to change one’s hateful ways. But this would be to disregard all evidence to the contrary, evidence that is found in the continuation of this man’s selfishness, arrogance, cynicism, narcissism, and self-centeredness. No, what draws this type of person to religion is twofold. One, religion’s ability to control the masses through “sacred” manipulation and authority. And two, its likeness to a type of high-brow capitalism in which one acts, not to sell products for material riches, but in a type of economic exchange of belief and conformance for salvation and eternal treasure. Unfortunately, I think "religion," in the common use of the word, is a lost cause and should likely be abandoned for other terms which better align to its original intent.

This is sad because, at its best, religion is simply a response to an unconditional event which cannot be conceptualized. It is this event, experienced even in the most common everyday unhappiness and brokenness of life, which drives every poet to attempt to articulate it. Yet, every artist feels, as they stand back and look at their completed work, like they’ve left out some essential component, as though this event of life could never be captured as it has been claimed to be in today's religion. This antagonism of wrestling with this event is what fuels an endless stream artistry and beauty in the world. This, I feel, is what the atheist finds most concerning about religion. Not the acknowledgement that there is a dimension of material reality that isn’t reducible to it, but with the assertion that this dimension can be discussed with authority. We make any discussion on religious ideas profane when we forget we are always engaging, with our speech, in a type of hoax. There is a domain of reality that cannot be talked about without our talking becoming hypocritical. This is no reason not to talk, but all the reason to caveat our words, when we attempt to point at it, with humility. Baseball, as religion, is touching on something other than the common use of the word. Not as a set of dogmas which elevates players and coaches for worship. Not as a ritual act of batting and catching. I’m talking about a much more subtle aspect of baseball. A subtly that is nearly lost in religion, as a concept, today. It is baseball as something that only promises one thing: heartache. Baseball is openly honest about this knowledge and doesn’t try to cover it up. It doesn't woo you into joining with the promise of eternal triumph. It exposes the sacred in a never-ending struggle for desire. It exposes God as a type of Absence which can never be filled but ever fuels one’s energy to come back, day after day. It is fulfilling in what it doesn’t give you. It’s a religion of nothing.

If you enjoyed this new meditation on the deeper meaning of the game, you’ll love my other work on the BENEFITS OF BROKENNESS!! Check it out here: www.theartofwarandbaseball.com