Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Smoke Rings and Whisky Stones

I had been sitting outside watching the sun set for a good hour as the thoughts began pouring through me. I had a cigar and just enough scotch left to last through it. I was left with enough sunlight to write down a few of those thoughts, and this is what came out.

When I first sat in the chair to wind down the evening I had lit the cigar only to find that I did not care for it. It no different than the others I had smoked before but I guess I just was not in the mood yet. I allowed myself to continue smoking. It was lit after all. I put on some happy music. I tend to gravitate towards Irish folk music because it can be happy and sad at the same time. I like that. After I managed the first few smoke rings my demeanor changed and I began to let the pressures and stress float away with them.

I let my mind wander to thoughts of the great minds that I have admired. Tolkien, Lewis, and Chesterton. I have often wondered what it would be like to sit with them, and just listen. Their words that I have read floated through me and my mind came to Mr. Chesterton, whose birthday is today. I don't consider myself adept in his writing mostly because I have not read (or reread) enough of him. He seems to be the flagship apologist from another time, likely because he is just so darn quotable. One of my favorite pieces by him is an essay on what he found in his pockets while stuck in a train station. Another favorite is an essay on chasing one's hat in the wind and why such a thing should not be regarded as silly. If an inconvenience rightly considered is indeed an adventure then I regarded these thoughts as a challenge to be written down and made sense of. So here you are Mr. Chesterton. See what you have sown.

The thing about smoking a pipe or cigar while drinking one's preferred whisky is that it creates a sense of ritual. Doing so at sundown and in bare feet only beckons the thoughts of hobbits saying farewell to their day of eating 6 meals and making mischief. If it is good enough for Bilbo Baggins then it is good enough for me! I wondered if my smoke rings would impress the Grey Wizard who visits the Shire from time to time. Maybe he would laugh. It was indeed a ritual and ritual is lost on our culture. The smoke rising from my chair was the smoke of worry being burnt away. It was the incense being burnt unto the Lord. Prayers rise as smoke to heaven. My thoughts were with them. Contemplative and ritualistic I let those puffs of smoke rise away and to a place that need not concern me because I was here. I was sitting at the center of Creation. I sat alongside those minds that I had admired. The music carried me so some lost tavern as the raucous melodies were chanted as I sat among a throng of men who all came before and after me the same way. I was joined by every man who watched the sun go down and that small part of him wondered if it would rise the next morning but with the faith that it would like some ambitious encore. I was with every man who ever wondered about his fate and how to get there. Ritual joined us together.

At times the smoke can become too much but that is what the whisky is for. They hold each other aloft. Two Pillars of one great moment. Two Pillars to one great faith. I felt grateful for both because I needed both.

Pondering further what the drink and smoke were telling me I thought that the old alchemists would be rather jealous of this. The whisky, the fire of the cigar, the air of my lungs, and the stones I used to chill the glass were bringing the base elements they strained over together. It was not their precious stone that I found though. Gold did not matter to me I thought. And the cold irons that weighted me down were transmuted into something far more precious and light: joy. Joy lightens the heart but only when there is room for it. We often don't realize the space we have for it until the space is made. Joy, that wonderful treasure that is gained only when that which we valued over it has gone missing.

I wished I had another cigar but sometimes you can make more out of less.


I cannot say why I was compelled to write these thoughts down. If for any reason but to recommend watching the sun set with your shoes off, your drink of choice, and a nice pipe. I once pondered the health risk of smoking. Depression kills too. Moderation doesn't. Let yourself float with the smoke rings. That may be the best way to climb to Heaven at times. Float, because after all: “Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly.” G.K. Chesterton whose birthday is today.