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.
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