I Don’t Want Less. I Want More.

A Reclamation of Desire as a Tool for Justice and Creation

Bri Chapman

Mar 07, 2025

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Much of modern activism is about asking for less. Less carbon. Less cruelty. Less destruction.

It is a language of subtraction, of cutting back.

If you’re like me, this type of activism might elicit in you some kind of vague exhaustion. The idea of attending a protest, emailing or calling my senator to urge them to “VOTE NO,” feeding endless snappy soundbites and infographics to the social media algorithms.. It all makes me feel so tired.

Like my flame has been snuffed out.

Like I’m taking cold medicine that tastes gross and is advertised to make me feel better but actually just numbs me so I can continue to function.

I write 1–2 times a week, always for free. If this was helpful or meaningful to you, I’d be grateful if you shared it with someone else who might appreciate it too.

I don’t want less. I want more.

I want so, so much more.

I want a coastline full of lush, dense kelp, where the whales play and otters hold hands whilst cracking shells on their bellies.

I want a world overflowing with justice, love, and possibility.

I want all living beings to experience dignity, peace, and joy.

And I want it yesterday… But I would be willing to compromise on tomorrow.

desire

“Desire is half of life; indifference is half of death.”

Desire is not a lack. Desire is the first spark of creation.

It is the force that turns dreams into action, that shapes ideas into reality.

Desire is the horizon, magnetically pulling the compass of our hearts into those misty bluffs that remain unexplored.

It is not emptiness, but the pulse of our becoming.

Desire keeps us awake to mystery, to love, and to transformation.

When we long for something, whether it is love, or justice, or healing, it is a sign that we are still alive. The longing is not an obstacle, it is an invitation.

The seed of courage has been planted.

And, after a dark, cold winter, it will grow.

…

A person who longs to love deeply is already reaching toward it.

A society that longs for justice is already re-shaping itself.

A world that longs for renewal is already in motion.

Longing is the fuel in the creative fire.

rage

“Do not be afraid of your sorrow, or grief, or rage. They come from your caring.”

There is a crevice between the world as it is, and the world as it should be.

That crevice is where our rage lives.

There he sits, biding his time, awaiting his moment.

He is an artist.

Specifically, he is a sculptor.

One day, when you ask him, “How did you create the world, exactly as it should be?”

he will answer, “I simply removed everything that was NOT the world as it should be, and there it was.”

…

Rage is often viewed as a destructive force, but that is a misunderstanding.

Rage, at its core, is longing.

To be angry at what is wrong is to desire what is right.

To be angry at oppression is to desire liberation.

To be angry at cruelty is to desire care.

…

Rage is the sharpest edge of desire.

Rage sculpts our wildest fantasies by carving away that which is “not it,” in order to reveal the “it” which we desire.

Comments are open. If you’ve got something to say or want to share what stood out to you, I’d love to hear it.

grief

“Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us.”

Grief is not just sadness.

Grief is longing — for what was, for what should have remained, and for what is no longer here (and may never be restored).

To grieve is to refuse to let something simply vanish.

It is to say, “this mattered. It mattered so much that it will shape me now, even after it is gone.”

Grief, then, is a form of re-creation — not bringing something back, but ensuring that it continues in another way.

When we are grieving, the soul re-shapes and re-organizes our being to embody that which we long for, so we can find it again within ourselves.

…

To grieve a home that no longer exists is to carry its warmth within us, to rebuild safety in new places, to become the shelter we once had.

To grieve a love that is no longer yours is to refuse to call it ‘wasted,’ to let it soften rather than harden you, to take its best parts and offer them to someone new.

To grieve the innocence of a world that no longer exists is to become a protector of what still matters, to be the hands that rebuild, to insist that wonder is still possible.

…

When we grieve, the soul transforms itself to hold what we have lost. It turns absence into presence in a new form—one that is carried, embodied, and passed on.

energy

There is a spark of desire beneath any longing, rage, or grief.

If you can find that spark, you can use it as a jumping point to switch nimbly between the three states.

Desire is a form of energy. Whether it destroys or awakens us depends on how we relate to it.

If we ignore that spark of desire, it can burn us alive, stealing quiet morsels of our energy until it becomes a raging, destructive fire we cannot ignore.

If we nurture it, it can illuminate our path forward, guiding us towards what is real, and what is right.

Guiding us to the place where we belong.

I write for free, once or twice a week, but the real joy is hearing from readers. You’re always welcome to respond. Hit 'reply' or send me a message below.