The Pleasure Principle

There was a time I only knew pain. I only knew suffering.

No longer living on the dark side of the rainbow, I can look back with respect and reverence for that journey. It taught me something I couldn't have learned any other way. I now understand that I have lived much of my life as an extremist, experiencing both the highest highs and the deepest lows. Many of those experiences were born from wounds, unconscious choices, and a longing to feel deeply before I learned to create my life by design.

It is in traveling so far to both ends of the spectrum that I finally discovered the sweet spot: pleasure.

I don't believe I could experience the depth of pleasure I know today had I not first known profound pain. During my darkest hours, I would sit holding my heart, face full of tears, wondering how this tiny organ could radiate so much love while carrying so much sorrow. I wondered how it continued beating through heartbreak, disappointment, grief, and despair. Part of me yearned for it to stop because the ache felt so unbearable.

Yet it never did.

My heart kept beating through every tear, every fear, every birth, every death, every rebirth, every mistake, every failure, and every victory. She carried me somewhere I could not yet imagine. She delivered me here.

Yet my heart was not carrying me alone. Spirit met me in the silence of my grief, when everyone else had gone. Long before I trusted my thoughts again, I learned to trust my breath. Through my breath, prayer, meditation, music, chanting, and sacred stillness, I discovered a Presence that had never abandoned me.

What I once believed was breaking me was, in truth, awakening me. What I thought was the end of me became an invitation into a deeper relationship with the Divine. Each conscious inhale reminded me that life was still choosing me. Each exhale became an act of surrender. In moments when I believed I had nothing left to give, I discovered I was never truly alone.

My relationship with Spirit became my teacher, my mirror, my refuge, and my guide, gently revealing that pain was never my identity. It was the doorway through which I would remember who I truly am. Spirit taught me that pleasure is not indulgence; it is communion. It is the natural expression of a heart that has remembered its true nature.

Today, pleasure is no longer something I chase. She is something I embrace. I inhale her. She makes me salivate. I savor her, as a tiny grain of salt on the tip of my tongue. My desire for pleasure is unquenchable. I no longer give my time, energy, or heart to anything that diminishes my aliveness.

Pleasure lives in the warmth of sunlight across my skin, laughter that makes my eyes smile, touches that make me tingle, meaningful conversation that stimulates and expands my mind, music that awakens my soul, a home-cooked meal enjoyed with my children, and the quiet peace of knowing I survived what once convinced me I wouldn't.

Now I guard the gates of my heart with devotion. Not because I fear pain, for it will always be part of being alive, but because I have learned that my life flourishes in environments that nourish me. I choose relationships, conversations, experiences, and work that awaken every sense, that add beauty, curiosity, tenderness, and vitality to my days.

Pleasure is no longer a luxury or an escape. It is a practice. It is how I honor the woman who survived.

Pleasure has become my compass. She keeps me juicy, electric, fully alive and full of vibe. After a lifetime of surviving, I have finally learned that feeling good is not something to apologize for — it is something to enjoy, to indulge in even. Life will naturally deliver moments of pain; that is part of being human. But now I consciously choose people, places, and experiences that expand my capacity for joy.