
Me
It is sunny, the sky a vivid blue. It’s in the seventies, with a gentle breeze. The warmth, modulated periodically by caresses of air, feels delicious on my body.
I’m relaxing in my lounge chair, leaning back lazily, upon a soft cushion. I have another little cushion to hug the small of my back.

And now add a good book, to engage the mind while I eat.

What does it mean to truly experience something? I try to attend to pleasures; to be fully present to them; when I’m eating something, to be sure I’m really tasting it, without my mind being elsewhere.
But one’s mind is always elsewhere, at least partially. It’s not even a unitary phenomenon, the mind is always doing many things at once.

So is it possible to enjoy all these different pleasures simultaneously, or does my consciousness actually flit flightily back and forth among them? Do I really fully taste the grapes while my mind is engaged with what I’m reading? And am I still really feeling the Sun’s warmth?
And maybe add some music . . . and suppose further still that what I’m reading is erotically arousing . . . .
