An Appointment with Pleasure

Every day I set an alarm at 2:30pm. I stop whatever I’m doing and give myself 5 minutes of being, of breathing, of experiencing the treasure of living in a body that’s alive with sensation. I give myself a reminder to take a moment each day for the pure pleasure of living. A reminder to have compassion for my body’s needs, wishes, and dreams.  A reminder that I can enjoy pleasure without strings attached.  Pleasure without bondage or walls or electrified fences.  Pleasure outside of the box society tries to shove me into.  I set aside 5 minutes of every day to remind myself that I am more than what I do.  So are you.

As woman, as humans, we are made for pleasure.  Every inch of our bodies is covered with nerves ready to tingle with any gentle caress, any kiss from the wind or our lovers lips. Our senses are alive, poised to feed us every detail of every moment of every experience of our innately sensual lives.

A Cage of Tears

I used to fear this, the overload of sensation.  I used to block it out because society told me it was wrong to feel so much, wrong to sip in every sensation until I’m overflowing with bliss, wrong to receive as much pleasure as my body could take.  Society told me it was selfish, and for 25 years I believed.  I suffered at the hands of an invisible jailer, who doled out pleasure like crusty, old bread and made me pay for every stale bite.  Don’t laugh too loud, don’t sing in the shower, don’t have fun when you’re supposed to be working, don’t show your emotions. A self imposed misery under the guise of morality, of fitting in, of being a good little girl. For years, I believed this bullshit, insulated myself from people, from love, from the simple experience of touch, and couldn’t figure out why I cried myself to sleep each night.

A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet

I lived in fear of my own body, but it was my body that rescued me. At first I called it what everybody else called it; cardio, yoga, exercise. Then I called it moving, dancing, stretching, breathing.  And then I stopped calling it anything at all.  I stopped naming things and started feeling them instead.  I started to believe in the simple truth of living IN my body, not insulating it.  I learned (AM learning actually) to acknowledge my own pain, accept my own pleasure, and express my own emotions.

We don’t have to subvert the experience of living just because society says it’s selfish.

I Am Selfish!

I love being selfish.  I practice being selfish with pleasure because no one else can feel what I feel; chemically, physically, mentally, and spiritually.  The subtle differences in every human body connected with the inherently chaotic aspect of time, leads to an infinite number of possible manifestations of life.  And I want to receive every drop of pleasure the chaos of life creates.  I want to feel every tingle, every wave, every goose pump, every sigh, every cry, every breath exactly as it enters my body.

And sometimes I’m still afraid of it, of being overwhelmed by pleasure (what a wonderful problem to have *wink*).  But then I remind myself (every day at 2:30pm) that I choose to be a woman who lives IN her body.  That I choose joy.   I choose to breath in as much life as I can, breath out whatever doesn’t serve me anymore, and fill myself up with pleasure. And if society calls that selfish, then I choose to be selfish too.

Because this moment, this one right here, right now, that is filled with the simple pleasure of breath dancing through my body, feels too fucking good to miss.