Others have done excellent jobs of describing this aspect of the human condition, but I particularly enjoy the imagery, provided by Rumi, by way of Coleman Barks.
There's a part of us that's like an itch
Call it the animal soul, a foolishness
That when we're in it, we make
Hundreds of others around us itchy
And there is an intelligent soul
With another desire, more like sweet basil
Or the feeling of a breeze.
Listen and be thankful, even when receiving scolding
That comes from the intelligent soul
It flows out close to where you flowed out
But that itchiness wants to put
Food in our mouths that will make us sick
Feverish with the aftertaste of kissing
A donkey's rump. It's like blackening your robe
Against a kettle, without being anywhere near
A table of companionship
The truth of being human is a blank table
Made of soul-intelligence
Gradually reduce what you give your animal soul
The bread that after all overflows from sunlight
The animal soul itself spilled out
And sprouted from the other.
Taste more often what nourishes your clear light
And you'll have less use for the smoky oven.
You'll bury that baking equipment in the ground!
This poem is available in the book The Essential Rumi
