I used to be afraid of fire. A pyrophobe was I. I've always seen it as a metaphor for being afraid of my own anger, my own internal fire. As I embrace joy, I am also learning to embrace rage and oddly enough, my fear of fire is dissipating.
I have spoken here about my experiences smoking pot. When I first started, I couldn't light my own joint. I was too afraid of the fire. I would have to rely on a friend to light it for me. This past Spring I bought my first little glass pipe, and graduated into using a BBQ lighter to light up. It kept the flame far enough away from my fingers to make me feel safe using it.
Today, I ventured into new territory. I bought my first lighter and played with it until I could light my own cigarillo (did I tell you I've fallen in love with cigarillos?). I only burnt myself once and can now get the damn thing to light within five tries. And every time I succeed, I do a little dance of joy...Wahoo, I've created fire!
So, cigarillos. I've acquired a taste for Captain Black Sweets. I don't smoke them often but when I do, I quite enjoy them. There's something very powerful about smoking that I never understood before. It's a sort of fire-breathing-dragon-I-don't-give-a-fuck-what-you-think-of-me kind of thing. It almost feels as though I'm giving a fire-tipped flip of the bird to everyone I see. I wonder if this is what people get addicted to. Maybe it's not just the nicotine. Maybe it goes deeper than that.
An amazing thing starts to happen in one's life when you realize that you're not the story your mind weaves. You suddenly realize that you can go out each day and make up your own story, that you can play with life in a way you never did before, and that so many of the things you judged others for (like smoking) can be fun in moderation. That it just is what it is. No more, no less. I like living life one moment at a time. It's really made every little bit of it so very precious.