smoking for health
At age 24, I have decided to take up smoking. It has been drawn to my attention, after years of what can only be justified by childlike ignorance, that smoking draws one closer to God, relaxes the mind, and-in moderation-heals the body from all its distractions.
Damien Hirst composed an artwork wherein a line struck me, ' I don't trust people who don't smoke'. This only further served my moral convction, that this new part of my life was one to give me a sort of roundedness that perhaps I previously lacked.
I am a modern woman after all. Is it so contradictory that in the afternoons-late-as the sun sets through the haze that I go for a run, then by night I sit out out on my balcony smoking looking at leaves and praying? I recently heard a statistic that people who run in Sydney will do more damage to their lungs than smokers. I was shocked that noone had warned me earlier of the hazards of being a runner.
Is this not who you want me to be philosophers?- You, oh confused Hollywood and Church pastors, isn't this your working in me? 'All things to all men'. I will be condemned only if I discover an angle unthought of, a line that I cannot debate to truth. I am modern. I am smoker. I have reached beyond reason and now exist in beyond.
Recently I went to my Pastor's house to ask for help and advice, and found him in the backyard ashing into a teapot chock full of butts. I was not disappointed. I was relieved that the man who was to show me a piece of God, still clearly held a piece of humanity. Would it be the same if I saw a Priest molesting a child? Surely not. Then what makes one man's weakness endearing and another detestable?
I think perhaps smoking is holy. That is why you see tradesmen, wearymen, businessmen smoking all the time, because there is so little time for God in this life that if we touch Him in the smoke it might be enough to sustain us. These men, who do not darken church doors have found God out the front of pubs, in breaks at work, squeezed between goodnight kisses and deep sleep.
'Not all who wander are lost' I once saw written on a banner in a shop when I was lost in Thailand. Perhaps this is true; Smoking: the Wanderer's Spirit in us, for but a moment.
Damien Hirst 'Home Sweet Home'
" To smoke is somehow to admit the way the world really is"
Damien Hirst composed an artwork wherein a line struck me, ' I don't trust people who don't smoke'. This only further served my moral convction, that this new part of my life was one to give me a sort of roundedness that perhaps I previously lacked.
I am a modern woman after all. Is it so contradictory that in the afternoons-late-as the sun sets through the haze that I go for a run, then by night I sit out out on my balcony smoking looking at leaves and praying? I recently heard a statistic that people who run in Sydney will do more damage to their lungs than smokers. I was shocked that noone had warned me earlier of the hazards of being a runner.
Is this not who you want me to be philosophers?- You, oh confused Hollywood and Church pastors, isn't this your working in me? 'All things to all men'. I will be condemned only if I discover an angle unthought of, a line that I cannot debate to truth. I am modern. I am smoker. I have reached beyond reason and now exist in beyond.
Recently I went to my Pastor's house to ask for help and advice, and found him in the backyard ashing into a teapot chock full of butts. I was not disappointed. I was relieved that the man who was to show me a piece of God, still clearly held a piece of humanity. Would it be the same if I saw a Priest molesting a child? Surely not. Then what makes one man's weakness endearing and another detestable?
I think perhaps smoking is holy. That is why you see tradesmen, wearymen, businessmen smoking all the time, because there is so little time for God in this life that if we touch Him in the smoke it might be enough to sustain us. These men, who do not darken church doors have found God out the front of pubs, in breaks at work, squeezed between goodnight kisses and deep sleep.
'Not all who wander are lost' I once saw written on a banner in a shop when I was lost in Thailand. Perhaps this is true; Smoking: the Wanderer's Spirit in us, for but a moment.
Damien Hirst 'Home Sweet Home'
" To smoke is somehow to admit the way the world really is"