Pleasure

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Latin again? πŸ™‚ Well, yes, although English just mangled a French version of it. But oh, just the research of it was indeed its name. I have read about Hedonism, Schopenhauer, Buddhism and I have just scratched the surface of a word expressing something that is so intuitively normal that one has to wonder at the amount of paperwork that exists in order to analyze, explain, opine or otherwise debate the subject. Basic or elevated, frowned upon or exalted, pleasure has baffled many and upset even more πŸ™‚

And isn’t it ironic that what I heard about people like Schopenhauer, while remaining true or at least truthful, comes nowhere near the begrudging agreement with some of the ideas of the man himself πŸ™‚ Out of my comfort zone? Well, yes, I am an agnostic, compassionate, cynical humanist, of course some of those ideas take me out of my comfort zones. It is easy to call him a mysoginist when I was born so deep in my century that I have no idea about his world. Anyhoo, back to pleasure…

Besides being normal (not only in the absence of pain) pleasure is of course individual. De gustibus… and all that. And I have always enjoyed hearing about but have never practiced the list making of pleasurable things, to be taken out and explored when the road ahead of us is rough. I never practiced it because I seem to just do it. Like the baby of the zodiac that I am, I do not have to learn to be in the moment, because that is where I am πŸ™‚

If you have been in pleasurable contact with babies and animals, then you know all about the luxurious stretching, the trusting floppiness that signals impending sleep, the silly expressions and strange positions that seem to give them an inordinate amount of pleasure. But even for me (self described as happy) it is easy to differentiate between happiness and pleasure. Different ends of the spectrum, different stage of being, different intensity and emotional involvement… really, more differences than similarities!

Bone tired and snuggling into a warm bed is so pleasant I wriggle about trying to feel it with all my body. But learning a new thing or having old things rearranged into a new scenery raises that pleasure into happiness.

A song heard for the first time and immediately liked can keep me humming for hours, even days. But a piece of music that reminds me of a friend, of times of joy, of love requited, albeit lost… ah, that is treasure indeed, and so much more than pleasure.

The little things that children do, making something with my own hands (jam, a scarf, a puzzle), a plant that was almost dead but in the spring pulls through, β€œthese are a few of my favourite things” πŸ™‚

But seeing the little one grow, writing a poem or cooking my own produce… these I put on the same level as those dreams I have of travelling and absorbing art and walking with a friend through rain and wind while discussing the state of the world as we know it…

I guess what I am trying to say is that pleasure can make life bearable. But for true living, it is not enough, not even nearly…

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Garden – a rant

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I am sure that, should you wish, you could find on YouTube several hilarious videos with bouncy music about the perils of having a garden and not taking care of it. I intend to find those videos and enjoy the companionship πŸ™‚

For a garden is a terrible thing to have… when you don’t have time or money or both. Not that I am complaining much, as I still enjoy having said garden. It just doesn’t look good and that brings me down sometimes. There are a few plants that take over. Weeds, we call them. Pests, really. Invaders, you could say. Wandering jew, orache, bindweed, kikuyu. They make the others look tame by comparison. The other weeds, you see, once you pull them out they’re dead, dead, dead. Not so these ones, unfortunately. Deep under your reach some defeat you with taproots the size of melons. Across the entire garden some defeat you with stolons and nodes and roots that travel to the ends of the world it seems… definitely to the end of your patience! A single fragment left behind and in one season it is back to how it was before you spent that afternoon kneeling and cursing under the blazing sun.

You develop odd types of pleasure it seems. Measuring kikuyu after you pull it out. Discovering moist soil teeming with insects right under that mat of wandering jew that made a tropical looking corner under that bush. Yanking orache out of olive trees or digging that tap root out . Sitting down and willing yourself to patience while you unwind bindweed from your other plants (can’t yank it out, you break everything!).

Mulching would help… except you don’t have anything to mulch with. An animal would help (even benefit from orache and kikuyu)… but you don’t have it. Planting other things would help motivate you to weed more often – if you have the plants to plant there and the time to weed. Frustrating, it was! I have stopped weeding just for the sake of weeding (as in, appearances). I will weed if I want to plant there something. Most of the time it is a bush I have rescued or has been given to me.

I have grown quite fond of my overgrown jungle… most of the time. Of course, then I visit a well tended garden and I don’t feel so good. I take comfort from counting the perrenial edibles currently growing amongst the weeds. In a couple of years there should be enough to show for the work done, an orchard is beginning to take shape. Good signs are here: a handful of blueberries, apples and grapes and peaches ripening, five cherries, lemons, strong healthy growth on the loquat we saved, flowers on the feijoas, the scent of lemon verbena peeking through the towering Jerusalem artichokes, the wavy fronds of asparagus, the rambling fragility of Cape gooseberries.

I have also relented and started buying flowers. A bit of care and the pot-bound yellowing wreck the shop put on special 6 for 1 dollar starts to glow in shades of rainbows. I have seen more bees and bumblebees this year than in all the years before combined! Maybe in a couple of years, when I have planted more flowers, a hive would not come amiss nestled amongs the fruit trees.

One hopes… and weeds! πŸ™‚