Fellowship

-The smoke idles, caressed and molded by the wind as it takes on mystical shapes above my head and then dissipates into nothing, like the many ghost that surround us but are nothing of the Ten Thousand Things. And perhaps that is the connection, the communion that binds us, the one that I have been unable to break.
Perhaps when I was younger, it wasn’t an excuse but in fact a moment of calirvoyance, when I would respond that the impetus to smoke was a desire toward the secret fellowship with death. It must be still, even now, the driving force of addiction. Not a longing to satiate the physiological desires of the body, but to come upon moments that transcend the decaying creature that I am. And so I continue to ignite the embers and place myself, my physical being on the altar of sacrifice that I may have that moment cigarette by cigarette in which the temporal seams are visible and I take a walk with something less than life and more than ephemeral. There is a certain comfort in this familiarity; it has long been my communion and secret fellowship.
And there is something here, something greater than myself, than the experience of me. Something that permeates beyong my temporal being and that has been before, before even I. A path I have followed and continue on, but like many before, one I will have to abandon. It is that final moment, when death must ravage the closest parts of and it is you or this fellowship, which is you that must end. And so I must chose.