On pleasure-less days

A day without pleasure has an air of desperation to it. It has a slight reek; of attempts to find cracks in the mundane that remind of pleasure. Glimpses of the outside world, of a desperate need to sit under trees and away from the miserable, stressed masses. Breathing in wafts of sunshine-induced pleasure infused with fresh air, bird calls, and solitude. It’s a top up of an empty barrel of pleasure; where apparent necessity has taken the place of free-falling pleasure.

The drive to and from the place-one-exchanges-ones-time, knowledge, energy and ‘skills’-for-monetary-gain, is filled with talking from a TED talk I selectively chose, to bring about and find some hope. Either that, or voices of fortune tellers that offer readings of hope. A pleasure-less day seems to suck away hope. The only hope left on a day such as this is a slow and quiet evening walk under a crescent moon, placed there just to remind me of pleasure, I’m sure. I desperately inhale a fully blooming peach coloured rose, and I whisper a little to God in gratitude for beautiful flowers and smells, and strangely, for all the ugly ones too.

The search for pleasure on days like today needs to be about finding tiny little pleasures. Ones child. Pets (a snoring cat is a strangely delightful and peaceful event to watch). The comfort of home. The couch. A book. Reassuring messages that appear on a small screen; of which I feel a disconnect to, because I am disconnected from something within myself when I am without pleasure. It’s like scourging around in the pantry, trying to find that one magical food object that will make me feel better again. Instant pleasure, instant gratification, becomes a go-to action on pleasure-less days. But this just creates a pseudo-pleasure of band-aid-like effectiveness when the soul is bleeding out. On pleasure-less days, it becomes about riding out the monotonous waves, clinging to a raft of that faith that pleasure will return; and more likely sooner than I think.

A pleasure-less day calls for a hand down the knickers, if one can find the time or privacy. If you’re lucky, you can steal away and if you’re luckier still, you can make yourself come quickly; an easy antidote for sure. A quick reminder that pleasure is still there and can still be found if you only just remember to look. That is, if you choose to look, instead of wallowing in self-pity and frustration. Pleasure comes alive when we are active in and with our attention to it. When we turn our bodies and minds in the direction of pleasure, it doesn’t ‘awaken’ per se, but we do – by our own choosing. To use an analogy I recently came across in this incredible book about near-death experiences, on earth and alive in our physical bodies we live in what could be described as a dark warehouse. We only see what we shine a light on in that warehouse. But actually, we’re in a giant – vast, infinitely big – warehouse that is dark, except for the light we shine on objects around us. Should the light switch be found and turned on (basically this is a proposition of what happens in the death-place) we become aware of and see everything. Everything that is and ever was. Everything that is a/the Universe, so huge it can’t be processed or fully understood by the human mind. Pleasure is like this.

Pleasure is a choice. Pleasure is the Universe. It is active and it is infinite in its possibilities, opportunities and existence. Even in pain. Even in suffering. It’s impossible for pleasure to exist without suffering, and for suffering to exist without pleasure. Therefore, it is everywhere if we choose to see it, to hear it, to feel it, to smell it, to touch it, to taste it, to create it, to be it. A pleasure-less day still has tiny – tiny! – grains of pleasure. Quantum level or not, they are there. Find it, and allow it. Cure your pleasure-less day.

Author: The Pleasure Advocate

A pleasure seeker like every human, I have a background in therapy and health, and am a passionate student of human sexuality. I'm a pleasure-inclusive sex educator, writer, lover, mother, and sexual explorer. May (consensual!) pleasure be yours always, Melanie x

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