Some drugs, some excitement, some women, some booze—that’s what your pleasure is, right? High speed driving, somehow managing a room in a posh hotel, walking into it with a girl—that’s what your pleasure is. How does the bedsheet look after the night? How is the morning after the rampage? How does the bottle look? What does it give you the next day but a hangover? You call that a pleasure? After five minutes of sex, you turn your back to her and start snoring, and she starts farting. Pleasure? Seriously? What pleasure are the two of you getting? Broken beer bottles—pleasure?
It is not your pleasures that I am against, it is your hollow pleasures. Yes, life has to be pleasurable. But remember who you are. Had you just been the body, why would have they buried you in the ground or burnt away the body? Who are you then?
Let the funeral ground clearly tell you who you are. Are you the body?
