Washing your clothes in Salt Pans


We’ve got five senses that seem to work perfect as suppliers of happiness. Untill doom’s day comes around. This is not about January. This is about life. We’ve fullfilled our eyes, tastebuds, ears, skin and noise with any of the most delicate, unique and special experiences and pleasures in abundance because we could and now we are overfed.

We have to abstain.

Wether it’s ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyper Activity Disorder) that kicks in or the vague sentiment that Nothing is Enough to fullfill all wants and desires, the ‘I am simply becoming a slave of my wants, longings and desires’; our computer crashes.

Ctrl Alt Delete, shut down.
We reboot. This time satisfaction has to come from a deeper place. Targeting concepts like security and familiarity. We look for the trustworthy feeling of recognition (finding our thoughts confirmed). And simple cruise control patterns or habits that enable growth, learning and mastership.

This solid pace eventually runs out of resources too.

We shut the system down again. This time more considerate. Using the on/off button.
Depression, fatigue and worrying hold us back. Much sought after distraction from it in the form of drinking wine, watching tv, listening to music, following the news and going on a holiday are working it’s way up on the ladder of satisfaction. Until another bad day comes around and we feel overtaken. Our security searching driver, has become a way of life in itself.

We get a wake up call:’Hey you! Stop, Look, Open up, Listen!’ By your child, your kidneys or the proclamation of yet another war.

The system is overloaded again and we start to look inwards now. Instead of relating to what’s outside of us. A soft whisper in the back ground becomes louder and clear: ‘pick up gardening, yoga, any kind of art form’. As long as you express something from deeper within you: your inner self or your inner child. There’s soft whispering of ‘balance’ as well. Allowing us to justify the dichotomy between pain and pleasure. In other words, allowing pain into our lives.

That clear cut black and white segregration or duality between pain and pleasure is relative anyway. Pain versus pleasure. It’s more like they are each other’s alter egos, like Love and Hate. Analysing BDSM (Bondage Discipline Sado Masochism) reports I am fascinated by the simple discovery that the experience of pain hightens sexual pleasure. It’s like the fear that comes with bungy jumping that gives a purpose to the mind goggling experience of breaking through natural limits. It’s the adrenaline injected flight or fight response that intensifies any emotional experience and gives it a kick which might compare weakly to the kick heroin addicts find in feeling the liquid gold running through their veins.

Why do we yearn for these extremes is like asking who would want to wash their clothes in Salt Pans. Maybe we need all of it as a reminder to enjoy life as it comes.

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