Happy, happy, happy

My view of the world includes distinctions between words others might regard as equivalent. Mind, brain, consciousness, intellect: all very different things to me in my perception.

So too with the concepts of pleasure, happiness, and bliss.

As a writer of erotica, my output is aimed at one or more of these things, and it is important to me to keep my thoughts focussed. I guess the easiest way to put it is that I’m aiming for smiles, but how I get to them can be very different.

Pleasure first. This is the easiest. You know that first taste of cold champagne on a warm evening? The smell of roses, the touch of gentle hands on bare skin, the first notes of a favourite song.

That’s pleasure. It’s sparked by perception. Or memories.

Undressing a lover, and there’s a moment where they stand unclad before you, every centimetre of their body presented for your enjoyment. Your senses are awake, your mind is rushing with the joys ahead, but that moment itself, before a single taste of tongue on lips, that is pleasure, right there.

Happiness is something quite different. It is a state of mind, not a state of body. A state of the heart might be a better way of describing it. Contentment, acceptance, all systems green, everything is fine and level and full and complete.

Pleasure helps in attaining happiness, but is not necessary. One may be happy in the middle of a blizzard with a broken leg. Just as one may be an unhappy billionaire, sipping a favourite beverage and worrying about the audit guys closing in.

Happiness is the absence of stress and worry and distraction.

Bliss is rare. At least for me. Pleasure and happiness I can more or less achieve at will. Slide a hand under my clothing, touch this and that, and there is pleasure, like turning on a tap.

I can sit down in a chair and meditate, let all tensions fade away, all thoughts ripple off into stillness, just be there in the moment, and that is happiness.

Bliss is different. I can get that twinkle of utter elation from contemplating a flower. Or a smile. Or a kiss.

I can feel it in a great art gallery, or a park, or a temple. It is an uplifting of the spirit beyond happiness or pleasure. It is tranquility and absolute harmony. One is one with the cosmos, and everything is perfect.

You might think, with so much emphasis in my writing on sex and bodily pleasures, that I might include an orgasm as blissful. And yes, it is, in a very crude way. Certainly the words I use often link the two concepts intimately.

But I see an orgasm as nothing much more than pleasure. It might not be something I can achieve on demand. Not directly, anyway. Sometimes it has to be teased and cajoled into gracing my existence for a moment or two, and sometimes it coyly remains out of grasp.

And sometimes it hits unexpectedly and unstoppably. Not out of a clear blue sky, to be sure, but nor is it something in my complete control.

Better than champagne or caviar, certainly. I can enjoy that flood of pleasure overwhelming my body and mind. Just for a moment or two, the angels are singing to me and there’s no way I can focus on anything else at all.

Bliss, in my book of words, is something beyond bodily pleasure or mental happiness, or even the superlative joy of the best orgasm. It is rare and precious and hard to find, and I welcome it when it arrives, but if I start rejoicing and admiring it, it vanishes.

Everything about me is heightened, uplifted, enhanced. I can see clearly and deeply. It may be just the sparkle of the dawn on a dewdrop, but I and it are one.

The smile is on the inside, I guess. And later, in the memory of bliss, it moves to the visible world. Bliss is my objective in life, but happiness isn’t too bad.


Photo by Rafael Barros from Pexels

erotica, life, love, philosophy , , , ,

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