this habit when I was 21. It felt good at the time, for a long list of reasons,
chief of which was that I was asserting my autonomy. For a time, smoking felt
empowering, strange as that may sound.
just a remnant of a different phase of my life; an unfortunate habit I am
having the most difficult (and interesting) time kicking. It’s time – it’s been
time for a while – for me to leave this behind.
And so I
have, repeatedly. (I’m really good at quitting. Not so much at maintaining the
quit.) The interesting thing that happens when you give up your most cemented
habit is that a lot of stuff you didn’t know you had comes up. With hourly
cravings suddenly abandoning centre stage, the slower more profound yearning
emerges. It’s hard to explain this, but it’s as if my constant back-and-forth
with cigarettes was distracting me from what was going on below that: a longing
to know and be known by Life. A deep thirst, a discomfort, a yearning to be
I ask of this yearning: What are you?
The only answer I have thus far is that it feels like a distress call coming off a stranded spaceship, floating free in foreign atmosphere. It knows it belongs somewhere. It’s calling out to that place.
In between this
odd adventure into yearning, however, I simply, plainly, miss cigarettes. Today
I bummed one off my neighbour. I should have known it would make no difference
– ten minutes after smoking it, I was feeling the pangs of realisation that I
couldn’t have another.
familiar shame that comes with these cravings. My self-talk starts spiralling: I’m
meant to be better at this by now. How do I except to grow as a human if I can’t
let go of this one basic bad habit? I don’t deserve to have nice things if I
can’t quit already. It’s embarrassing – every other ‘spiritual’ person I know
is doing awesome things like meditating for hours every day, and I am chained
to a packet of stinky nicotine sticks. Why am I so weak? And on and on the
Then I read this poem by Hafiz:
Because of our Wisdom
In many parts of this world water is
Scarce and precious.
People sometimes have to walk
A great distance
Then carry heavy jugs upon their
Because of our wisdom, we will travel
Far for love.
All movement is a sign of
Most speaking really says,
“I am hungry to know you.”
Every desire of your body is holy;
Every desire of your body is
Why wait until you are dying
To discover that divine
I read the poem once. It was beautiful. I read it again, repeating out loud “every desire of your body is holy”. As often happens for me when I’m reading poems, the beauty of the words struck me before their meaning really did. But then I paused – wait, what? What does this really say?
It says, I realised, that I am holy. I am a spark of Essence; I am the breath of the Source (or God, or of Life, whatever your words might be),
I am a chip off the old block which is Consciousness.
This world is sacred. I, within it, am sacred. And so are my desires, mundane or annoying or embarrassing as they might seem. How dare I call anything in this strange and difficult life less than holy? With what superior knowledge do I get to choose which parts of my experiences are sacred, and which are mundane or foul? I do not get to pick and choose. I get to embrace my life as best I can.
And so I will honour my every desire, whether deeper yearning or simple craving for nicotine. Honouring does not mean humouring: I honour my desire for cigarettes. I recognise this as my body’s way of offering me relief from the discomfort of the moment. I honour my insecurities and anxieties and cravings, and I hold myself with care in this moment. But I do not simply roll over and have another smoke. There are better ways, I tell my body. In three days you’ll be glad I hung on.
But this, this struggle not to smoke, this giving in and then quitting again, this soul-battering addiction? This is holy too. Every bit of it.