The Taste of Bestowal: A Journey Beyond the Self

There is a singular taste one can truly savor in this life, a choice that defines the essence of our existence. We stand at a crossroads: we can either cultivate a taste for bestowal — a selfless giving that diminishes our appetite for selfish reception — or we can cling to the fleeting pleasures of self-interest, forsaking the deeper joy of serving others. These two tastes cannot coexist in equal measure. To awaken to the sweetness of bestowal, we must first loosen our grip on the allure of receiving for ourselves alone.

This is no easy path. The taste for bestowal does not come naturally; it is an acquired delicacy, refined through deliberate effort. It demands that we relinquish our hunger for personal gain, a sacrifice that feels like an internal war. Our selfish ego rises in protest, resisting every step we take toward selflessness. Yet, it is precisely in this tension — between the clamoring ego and the quiet call to give — that the soul begins to stir, yearning to align with a higher purpose.

At the heart of this journey lies a choice: to work for the benefit of the Creator or to labor solely for ourselves. If we choose the Creator, we must engage in exercises of the spirit, actions that pull us away from self-serving deeds. But how do we approach the Divine, an essence so vast and intangible? The answer is humbling: we cannot work directly with the Creator. Instead, we practice through others — through the friends, the strangers, the souls around us. To feel the taste of bestowal, we must commit to constant efforts — serving, loving, and uplifting others while striving to ignore the whispers of self-concern that tug at our hearts.

This is where the struggle deepens. As we pour ourselves into the needs of others, forsaking our own benefit, a unique tension emerges. The ego, that relentless guardian of self-interest, fights back. It obstructs, it tempts, it pleads for us to return to the familiar comfort of personal gain. Yet, in this resistance lies the crucible of transformation. The Creator’s will, after all, is to guide us toward bestowal — to help us become vessels of His light. And so, we turn to our companions, our fellow travelers on this path, for it is only through them that we can refine our desire to mirror His.

We are, at our core, beings of desire — crafted to seek pleasure and fulfillment. To exist without these is impossible, for they are the threads of our being. But we hold a sacred power: we can choose what fulfills us. We can develop new senses, new tastes, new vessels to hold pleasures beyond the narrow confines of the self. This requires a gradual attachment — welcoming the desires of others as if they were our own, learning to cherish and nurture them with the same tenderness we once reserved for ourselves. The only thing we can truly change is our intention: with what purpose do we wield these desires — our own and those we embrace? For whom do we ask the Creator to fill them?

This shift demands a revolution in how we relate to pleasure. We must keep the vessels of fulfillment — the joys, the rewards — outside the orbit of our egoistic calculations. Our delight must come not from what we grasp, but from what we give, from the fulfillment of desires that lie beyond our inherent self-interest. This is why we turn to others, why we immerse ourselves in their needs and dreams. Through them, we glimpse the Creator, revealed always through concealment, through actions that echo His boundless generosity.

It begins with a prayer — an honest, aching cry from the depths of the heart. In response, the Creator lends us His qualities, His abilities, and something miraculous unfolds: we find ourselves able to embrace the desires of others as our own. We ask Him to fulfill them, not with the guarded hope of personal gain, but with the pure intention of love — embodying the principle, “Love your friend as yourself.” Yet, this awakening brings a shadow: a terrible fear of the ego, that cunning thief poised to claim every gift for itself. This fear, though, becomes a guardian, keeping us vigilant, independent of the ego’s pull, so we may continue to sense and fulfill the desires of others as if they were ours.

To simply want less for ourselves — to suppress or erase our own desires — is not the way of spirituality. Such denial runs counter to our nature. Instead, we must strive to serve and uplift others, even as our own desires erupt within us, wild and unbidden. In every state we traverse — every pleasure, every pain — we must acknowledge that it flows from a single governing force. Above these feelings, we are called to scrutinize ourselves relentlessly, asking: How do I relate to this force? Am I drawing closer to its essence?

The pinnacle of this journey lies in acceptance — an unconditional embrace of all that this force bestows upon us, received as an expression of selfless love. But this acceptance is possible only if we, too, can radiate that same selfless love toward others. When we approach them with the tenderness and generosity of the Creator Himself — when we act as conduits of His will — we begin to feel His presence mirrored back to us. Through others, we touch the Divine. Through bestowal, we taste the eternal.