smelling salts and how i’ve choreographed an awakened state
I was 19 when I experienced smelling salts for the first time. It was administered to me by a paramedic after I’d fallen asleep at the wheel of my prized Ford Mustang, hitting a telephone pole along a barren road in Columbus, Ohio
After that first sniff, it felt like my brain did a backflip, snapped its fingers, and screamed, "I'm awake, let's party!" I have long believed that this eye-watering jolt was my initiation into that elusive buzz of being truly awake, without actually having to inhale anything quite so medieval on a regular basis.
Imagine trying to tune into the serene whispers of the universe with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. That was me, dabbling in every -ism I could find, from Buddhism's chill vibes to Taoism's go-with-the-flow mantra. I have even given a nod to the Greek philosopher Epicurus, who probably would have preferred a good cheese platter over a sniff of ammonium carbonate any day.
The fourth-century Chinese philosopher Mencius once said something about a great man keeping his child's heart. I figured that meant not losing your sense of wonder, or maybe just avoiding becoming a cynical old coot. Either way, it sounded like a good plan.
But staying spiritually awake isn't just about feeling buzzed or floating on some existential cloud; it's about sticking your hands in the dirt and feeling the earth between your fingers—even if you're more likely to be handling a smartphone than soil.
Now, take Taoism. It tells you to be like water—flowing around obstacles, adapting, and keeping cool unless it’s necessary to boil. Handy advice, especially in traffic jams or during family reunions.
Then there’s Buddhism, with its all-star meditation lineup teaching us how to watch our thoughts float by like clouds on a "not particularly interesting" day enduring weather in the UK. This is supposed to teach us detachment, which is great until you detach from remembering where you parked your car.
And let's not forget about our buddy Epicurus, who was all about maximizing pleasure. But he wasn’t advocating for the hedonistic rave you might imagine; he was more about savoring a good conversation or a sunset, though I’m sure he wouldn’t pass up a good party. His angle? Keep it simple, stupid. Happiness is a quiet mind, a good meal, and maybe a few well-chosen friends who won’t steal your olives.
Breathing is another big thing on the spiritual "do-gooder's" list. Not just the regular in-out, keep-you-alive kind, but the deep, soul-cleansing type that promises to fill you with life force, chi, or just good old-fashioned oxygen. Each inhale is a new hope, each exhale a dumping of yesterday’s regrets into the cosmic recycling bin.
Here’s the thing: being spiritually awake isn’t about feeling like you’ve downed ten espressos on an empty stomach. It’s about being so present that you can feel the tick of the clock, hear the hidden rhythms of the world, and not freak out about the existential "what ifs." It's realizing that life is a series of imperfections, and that's perfectly okay.
In the end, my journey has shown me that you don’t need to go on a wild goose chase for spiritual enlightenment or sniff any concoctions to see the light. It’s about keeping your eyes open during the daily grind, finding the sacred in the ordinary, and maybe, just once in a while, reminding yourself with a metaphoric sniff of smelling salts that every moment is a chance to wake up a little more.
And if all else fails, remember what Epicurus probably would’ve said: “Relax, have some wine, and don’t forget to laugh, especially at yourself.” Because in the end, isn’t life just the funniest thing you’ve ever woken up to?