I am an empty vessel, small and insignificant to the world. With a steady heart but trembling hands I reach for my pocket. Though the movement itself is subtle and short in duration, a feat of expertise honed over the years, my hand tingles with excitement. Pulses of electricity course through my nervous system as my mind prepares my body for what's to come.
My hand closes over the pack. To the casual touch it feels just like it should – a box of cardboard. But to me it’s so much more. To me the pack is Pandora’s Box, Cornucopia, Spear of Destiny, Philosopher’s Stone and all the treasure chests of lore rolled into one, for it hides that which I covet the most.
Like a king would treat his queen, I caress the pack in my hands. How I’m afraid it might fall from my grasp! How I’m afraid that some cruel twist of fate would snatch the pack from my hands, taking away that which is dearest!
I am ready to open it, and I do so. No more do I care about being careful. I wrench the pack open like a man would rip a woman’s shirt open in a fit of passion. I wrench it open with the same lust that has ignited wars, overthrown governments and sent civilizations to the depths of the oceans.
And behold! The paper tubes – white as virgins – appear before my eyes in neat rows. My eyes are filled with tears as I look upon their perfect symmetry. It is as if they know their destiny. I’m overtaken by greed. I want to take each and every one of them at once! But no, I must be humble. I reverently pick one cigarette from the pack and place it between my lips.
I let the flesh of my lips caress the cigarette as if a mother would caress a long-lost son. My lips envelop the filter, and for a short while I just hold it there, never wanting to let go. With a small flick I moisten the tip of the filter with my tongue in a divine foreplay.
Slowly I bring the lighter upwards. I can barely contain myself. The excitement of smoking takes over my body and I almost drop the cigarette from my mouth. I berate myself for being so sloppy.
With the tiniest amount of lung pressure I inhale the cigarette and light it. I blow out the smoke and quickly take another drag, this time drawing a mouthful of smoke, twirling it around in my mouth, breathing it into my lungs and finally blowing it out through my mouth and my nose.
Tendrils of smoke twirl around my head, slowing down with each passing second. And then - time stops. That one moment of infinite time holds within all the happiness in the world. All my possible futures rush before my eyes, and I see the face of God. Waves of pleasure run through my body and I finally feel complete.
I am empty and insignificant no more. I have walked through the desert of desperation and I am now swimming in an ocean of joy. Every cell of my body screams with delight as my soul and the sacred smoke become one.
I feel like I’m walking in the footsteps of giants. I become part of a great historical continuum of smokers – Chief Sitting Bull, Wilde, Einstein, Tolkien, Camus, Dean, Bogart, me. With every intake I understand the mechanics of the world and life just a little bit more.
I take long, steady puffs of the cigarette. It is as if I’m a bellows, stirring the fire in the forge of Gods.
Soon only the filter remains, and I flick it away into the gutter. Instead of feeling down and depressed because the moment is over, I feel exalted and thankful for being given the chance.
And then I wake up.
Nine months have passed since I quit smoking after almost ten years of the habit and still I'm addicted.
[tags]smoking, cigarette, addiction, quitter[/tags]