Pleasure

Pleasure.

just pleasure.

The pleasure of a certain movement on

my instrument.

A pattern that I love to play.

A way of being. 

 

There is nothing that doesn’t make sense when it comes out of a real place of pleasure. 

Pleasure is not complacency.

Pleasure is something simple. 

You stay close to the source of pleasure, without building this state up towards an attitude of complacency.

Pleasure is not an attitude.

You know pleasure because your body

tells you you experience it.

It is not a disposition.

 

Lying down in a certain way can give you pleasure.

 

Sitting in a way can give you pleasure.

 

A warm bath.

 

A hot tea.

A spoon of honey.

 

A certain color red or green or blue.

 

Preparing to play or the hours after a concert give me pleasure. My body is in a state of excited foreboding and afterglow.

Not to forget to invite the notion of foreglow.

 

I sometimes play something in the music, just because it gives me pleasure to do so. 

There’s no need for justification more than the genuine pleasure it offers.

 

In terms of music playing, pleasure is a place to start from, at any given moment, without any reason.

 

YET

 

I can not and will not even try to make

a necklace only of pearls of pleasure. 

Pleasure is not another Utopia.

This would reflect an idealistic place,

not a ‘real’ place.

In a real place all things co-exist both decaying and emerging, blossoming and dull, sad, angry and ecstatic, yet full of joy.