Formerly known as the About.com Smoking Cessation support forum, this community is open to all who are recovering from nicotine addiction.
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I have to admit, I did not know that about agave plants. After seeing your last picture, I spent a good half an hour reading about it - totally interesting! So, thank you for enlightening me :) I love to learn new things!
Nice photo. I miss living in the Portland Area. So much creativity. I live in Boise, Idaho now. It's quite different. The beauty here is in nature the natural landscapes are amazing. I lived in the San Francisco Bay Area for 25 years then Beaverton, OR for 2.5 and now Boise, Idaho. It's a bit of a change politically. I am trying to keep an open mind. I appreciate the quiet peacefulness and simple beauty.
So here we are. Battling nicotine in a time isolation WOW aren't we special. Have a nice day in the great city of Portland, OR.
Ahhh...a near perfect night.
I decided to walk with no music for a while now. Sounds like Portland is scheduled for phase 1 reopening June 12th and I want to embrace as much of the quiet evenings that remain as I can. Nice too as like my daughter said about me “thinking in music” is true. Tonight was not a night for thoughts. It is a night of warmth and breeze and darkness and shadows dancing across the spaces, leaving comfort for my mind that somewhere there is light.
I did startle as I neared the curve by John the Agave. The city must have restored a street light that is nearly hidden by a very large tree and it flicked on just as I entered the corner, filling the pavement with shadows of leaves darting and moving quickly in the breeze. It was one of those instances that for a split second my mind didn’t register what happened and it quickly filled it’s vacant space with the thought of that scene from the movie “Ghost” where the guy who killed Sam met his demise and the little shadow spirits come up from the pavement to whisk his spirit away into eternal darkness. Yeah...thank goodness that thought passed quickly! It was replaced just as quickly with this unexpected beautiful display of light play on the pavement and my thoughts went to days gone by of dance floors and mirror balls and the comfort of a Tequila Sunrise followed by a late night drive home in my old Camaro being guided by a full moon....ahhh...Summer Nights....they will never grow tiresome or old and there will never be enough of them. The thought of sitting down on the curb to have a smoke was so strong I put my hand to front jeans pocket. Yes, it was a moment of void and reminiscing and let down. But it was enough to break the spell I had for likely several minutes been under and to bring me back to walking around the corner. There, in all his glory... as if waiting for me to hand him a Tequila Sunrise, was my friend John. Appearing strong and tall and steady, and I could almost hear him whisper to me on the breeze, calling for me to step out on the dance floor...
Knew I had to take either my music tonight, or stop and get smokes to go check. When I got there I was glad I hadn’t chosen to smoke...
Morning has broken, like the first word...
Hope for another smoke free day...?
Good job Portland. Good job. Together we are stronger in ALL things...
Here’s hope to no kind of smoke at the end of the day.
Today is D-Day.
Wow... when I think about the struggles in the past 76 years...
How far we have come in many ways, and how few steps we have taken in so many other ways, it is unsettling. We managed to be such a tremendous force and ally in the liberation of so many in a profound anti-fascist movement. Yet...we remain so profoundly accepting and unchanged in so many other ways. I’m left to wonder what advice those that died on the beaches of Normandy would have for us now? Would they raise their fists and cry for change? Would they be standing at the ready to be called to the streets on their own soil?
Just because we quit smoking does not mean we must stop thinking. To all of those that fought before us, thank you. You have liberated me enough to make healthier choices for myself in many ways.
Today John still stands and he gives me hope and peace as I continue on my journey as a warrior for, with, and against other demons, of which nicotine is only one of many. Perhaps in reality nicotine has so far been the most easily defeated.
Whatever your battle today...stay strong and believe we are stronger together.
Your a very nice writer.
Have a nice week
Thank you DJ.
Mostly ramblings from a fellow addict, caught up in constant thought and reflection. Sometimes pertaining directly to smoking, sometimes indirectly, and sometimes not so much at all but coming from a need to express, often that which smoking suppressed. Never intended with malice. Always with the hope to provoke thought, inspire strength, console, or comfort...and largely to be taken as a distraction from smoking for others and distraction for and from myself as well.
Wandering the acrid smoke filled streets of Seattle, I ponder on “choosing my confessions” and on how to come here to profess...
I pause on The Hill to reflect for a moment on the importance of Joy.
A sort of third eye cinema for personal growth. A sort of candid introspection caught in still-life.
A sort of Love, frozen in snippets of foggy memory and lost in the smoke. As the synapses fire indefinitely, the picture, perhaps, becomes further from the truth.
Yet it is a picture that is clung to like seeds on the head of a dandelion. Like the global ecosystem clings to biodiversity and the city clings to diversity. Like a mother or father might cling to their child.
In awe of a moment of fleeting transcendence. It is a picture of joy. A picture of happiness. And while felt only briefly, what a happiness it was.
A soft touch to the trees...the trees that have seen more than is often imaginable. A firm hand to the soil, the soil which cradles the essence of our lives even after the smoke settles.
A gentle finger, held out to capture a drop of water from the surge of rain. A gentle kiss to the stone. The stone that holds our shared history.
Forever grateful for our history. Forever tearful for our losses. The Earth and her people are my soul, and my soul cries out in anguish...
But within the sorrow, there is retreat. The synapses fire...a momentary respite.
A picture of Joy.
A familiar moment, painted with acrid smoke and yet still with numinous perfection, and freed of the confines of a singular reality.
For it is not, necessarily, the truth of memory that is important. It is but a picture of that which is needed. That which is clung to. Hoped for. Loved. Lost.
And found again.
I’ll finish this pack and come back again. It is not about strength for me. Today, it is just about being with something familiar and known.
"For it is not, necessarily, the truth of memory that is important. It is but a picture of that which is needed." This reminds me of Richard Hofstadter's "memory is the thread of personal identity, history of public identity".
Have you finished the pack/ready to come back?