On PleasurePleasure is a freedom-song,But it is not freedom.It is the blossoming of your desires,But it is not their fruit.It is a depth calling unto a height,But it is not the deep nor the high.It is the caged taking wing,But it is not space encompassed.Aye, in very truth, pleasure is a freedom-song.And I fain would have you sing it with fullness of heart; yet I would not have you lose your hearts in the singing.Some of your youth seek pleasure as if it were all and they are judgedand rebuked.I would not judge nor rebuke them. I would have them seek.For they shall find pleasure, but not her alone;Seven are her sisters and the least of them is more beautiful thanpleasure.Have you not heard of the man who was digging in the earth for rootsand found a treasure?And some of your elders remember pleasures with regret like wrongscommitted in drunkenness.But regret is the beclouding of the mind and not its chastisement.They should remember their pleasures with gratitude, as they wouldthe harvest of a summer.Yet if it comforts them to regret, let them be comforted.And there are among you those who are neither young to seek nor oldto remember;And in their fear of seeking and remembering they shun all pleasures,lest they neglect the spirit or offend against it.But even in their foregoing is their pleasure.And thus they too find a treasure though they dig for roots with quiveringhands.But tell me, who is he that can offend the spirit?Shall the nightingale offend the stillness of the night, or the firefly thestars?And shall your flame or your smoke burden the wind?Think you the spirit is a still pool which you can trouble with a staff?Oftentimes in denying yourself pleasure you do but store the desire inthe recesses of your being.Who knows but that which seems omitted today, waits for tomorrow?Even your body knows its heritage and its rightful need and will notbe deceived.And your body is the harp of your soul,And it is yours to bring forth sweet music from it or confused sounds.And now you ask in your heart, How shall we distinguish that whichis good in pleasure from that which is not good?Go to your fields and your gardens and you shall learn that it is thepleasure of the bee to gather honey of the flower,But it is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the bee.For to the bee a flower is a fountain of life,And to the flower a bee is a messenger of love,And to both, bee and flower, the giving and the receiving of pleasureis a need and an ecstasy.
Kahlil Gibran
We would gladly have listened to her (they said) if only she had spoken like a lady. But they are liars and the truth is not in them.Shrill… vituperative… no concern for the future of society… maunderings of antiquated feminism… selfish femlib… needs a good lay… this shapeless book… of course a calm and objective discussion is beyond… twisted, neurotic… some truth buried in a largely hysterical… of very limited interest, I should… another tract for the trash-can… burned her bra and thought that… no characterization, no plot… really important issues are neglected while… hermetically sealed… women's limited experience… another of the screaming sisterhood… a not very appealing aggressiveness… could have been done with wit if the author had… deflowering the pretentious male… a man would have given his right arm to… hardly girlish… a woman's book… another shrill polemic which the… a mere male like myself can hardly… a brilliant but basically confused study of feminine hysteria which… feminine lack of objectivity… this pretense at a novel… trying to shock… the tired tricks of the anti-novelists… how often must a poor critic have to… the usual boring obligatory references to Lesbianism… denial of the profound sexual polarity which… an all too womanly refusal to face facts… pseudo-masculine brusqueness… the ladies'-magazine level… trivial topics like housework and the predictable screams of… those who cuddled up to ball-breaker Kate will… unfortunately sexless in its outlook… drivel… a warped clinical protest against… violently waspish attack… formidable self-pity which erodes any chance of… formless… the inability to accept the female role which… the predictable fury at anatomy displaced to… without the grace and compassion which we have the right to expect… anatomy is destiny… destiny is anatomy… sharp and funny but without real weight or anything beyond a topical… just plain bad… we dear ladies, whom Russ would do away with, unfortunately just don't feel… ephemeral trash, missiles of the sex war… a female lack of experience which… Q. E. D. Quod erat demonstrandum. It has been proved.
Joanna Russ
People who are depressed at the thought that all our motives are selfish are [confused]. They have mixed up ultimate causation (why something evolved by natural selection) with proximate causation (how the entity works here and now). [A] good way to understand the logic of natural selection is to imagine that genes are agents with selfish motives. [T]he genes have metaphorical motives — making copies of themselves — and the organisms they design have real motives. But they are not the same motives. Sometimes the most selfish thing a gene can do is wire unselfish motives into a human brain — heartfelt, unstinting, deep-in-the-marrow unselfishness. The love of children (who carry one's genes into posterity), a faithful spouse (whose genetic fate is identical to one's own) and friends and allies (who trust you if you're trustworthy) can be bottomless and unimpeachable as far as we humans are concerned (proximate level), even if it is metaphorically self-serving as far as the genes are concerned (ultimate level). Combine this with the common misconception that the genes are a kind of essence or core of the person and you get a mongrel of Dawkins and Freud: the idea that the metaphorical motives of the genes are the deep, unconscious, ulterior motives of the person. That is an error.
Steven Pinker
Encouragement, Love, HopeThere was a man that struggled with every step and walked each step with fear. As we all know when you walk and pave a path of fear, the steps slow down and the true light of faith dims. His family did, however, stand behind him. Though his steps were slow and not going far, his family followed covering each of those steps with encouragement and hope. As he kept walking and turned his head, the people who cared most weren't clear. His fear had taken over and there was uncertainty that slowed him down even further. The family that stands behind you is the one who gives you the push you need to keep going.The man was saddened with fear and started to sob. Mystery of the unknown was the overwhelming door he wasn't ready to open. His family followed right behind him, saying, We are there for you, you are strong; you can make it through the toughest path with the strongest light of hope.It seemed he couldn't hear all that was said. It was as if he wasn't truly listening to the strongest words, but to the heavy negativity that kept drowning him in his fear. His steps slowed down even further. He cried some more and was shaken even more by the unknown that was ahead. It was that he didn't want to take a chance of what could come ahead, what could be the most enlightening and most life changing steps he could take to better himself in the future.His family still stood behind him with every step he took. Every time he looked back it was getting dimmer and dimmer, but they were still there. They spoke softly to him, Everybody has risks in their lives, even obstacles they must over come. It will only make you stronger in the end, without risks in life, there is no chance.He didn't hear them speak; he heard it as if it was another language, something so far from understanding.The man found a bench and sat down. He was tired and didn't want to walk any further. His eyes filled with tears that streamed down his cheeks. His hands starting to cover his face, drowning in the fear that was overwhelming him. Again his loving family was there, but he couldn't see. They were around him with heart-filling encouragement and love and best of all, that blessedness of hopeThe man lay down on the bench; his tears had soaked his cheeks and palms of his hands and fell asleep. When he awoke, his eyes slowly opened, trying to look around, finding that he was in an unfamiliar place. His vision was a bit fuzzy. He looked down and started to realize he wasn't on the bench anymore.He saw his legs and started to look up further; he was in a hospital gown. The man's eyes grew even more confused. He stood there in silence as his head slowly tilted up. He didn't understand why here was there.His eyes turn and he looks, as he notices numerous cords
Kittie Blessed