Random PCS Thoughts Today
I have been feeling somewhat in a more pseudo-artistic/literary mood today and not so much a "scientific mood" as perhaps is my norm. In lecture, I even waxed rather MORE poetically about various physiological functions that is already my norm also. It was sort of akin to a "Van Gogh" sort of day for me..... with the earless fellow often being somewhat of an inspiration for me philosophically in terms of seeing the world through the eyes of an "artist".... something I wish I had more of inside me. I cannot paint here, except for the following feeble attempt with words:
There is a quiet, deliberate "magic" to be had in the ritual of packing and smoking a pipe. It is an art form that requires patience and perseverance.... things that seem almost forgotten in today’s rather frantic, hyper-connected world. For a man of my grey and furry-faced years having witnessed a fair share of Falls and Winters, the pipe is not merely a pastime; instead, it can often be a sanctuary. The process of smoking a pipe begins long before match or lighter is coaxed into ignition. It starts with a tactile pleasure of selecting the right blend.... and yes, this is often by feel..... feeling the ribbons, or cube-cut grains of tobacco between my fingers, and when ultimately a blend is selected..... carefully filling the bowl with a gentle, yet firm level of pressure that is impossible to teach, but instead becomes natural with practice. When well practiced, you innately KNOW.... you tamp it down just so... not too tight nor too loose. It really does incorporate a gentle, subtle touch that arises through the subconscious, with nary a thought required.
To me, the slow, methodical packing of the bowl and then smoking the pipe serves me as a meditative preamble that can, if I allow it, help me to briefly step away from the treadmill of modern life and anchor myself firmly in only the present moment. That ability, in many regards is an aspect I miss so tremendously. Instead of being buffeted by virtually any and every thought or stimulus, the packing of the bowl and then quietly smoking my pipe can truly can hone my mind so readily into..... literal FOCUS.
When the flame finally is nurtured into the leaf, another true reward begins as a rich, velvety plumes of aromatic smoke drift around me. The depths of flavors I experience across the papillae of my tongue, through to the olfactory epithelial cells of my nasal cavity are both vivid and in some facets indescribable with mere words. And, with my pipe, the flavors and tastes and aromas shifting subtly from the cranial aspect of the bowl and morph and meld into variations all the way through the caudal remnants in the heel. As I watch the thin gray ribbons of smoke twist and dissolve into the air, I feel a profound sense of grounding. In those fragrant clouds, the anxieties of the day seem to lose their grip, and what mentally emerges is a sense of warmth and quelling and quieting of anguish.
Of course, with it being 2026, the briar also serves as a physical bridge to history and is a tangible connection to my own history and the generations of my family who came before me. Holding onto the bowl of one of my older pipes while indulging...... its warm bowl in the palm of my hand feels akin to shaking hands with an old friend.
Ultimately, my love for the pipe boils down to a stubborn appreciation of an unhurried life. In a world that demands we do everything quicker, more electronically, and more "gizmoey", my pipe has been at times, a quiet, smoky rebellion of sorts as well. Not rebelling against FAMILY as may sometimes occur in the young, but rebelling against the modern thought that NOW is now and is all that matters.
Looking back on the above, I am not sure it would be classified as "artistic"..... but whatever it is, it represents a lot of the thoughts I am having on this second in a row PCS 9+ day.
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- Running was at an awfully damn cold 37 degrees F (~2.5 C) this morning. And, it was purely in the dark, only illuminated by my headlamp (Ha, a TRUE headlamp.... which I attached to the baseball cap I keep on my head when I run.). I am trying to resist the change to running on the indoor track. But, the transition to the cold of Winter seems to get harder and harder each season.... and hell, 37 degrees will be considered BALMY in two months when it will likely be -10 to -15 F (-22 to -25 C) some of the time.
- I am hoping my wife will feel up to swimming this afternoon. With her antibiotic on board, she IS feeling considerably better.... but still she may not feel up to it.







