When it is time for me to put down my pipes, I will have already carefully chosen their next stewards who will receive them along with any information I might have about their history and previous owners.
The pipes, to me, evoke the
tsukumogami:
"To some pipe collectors it may seem odd that someone would have an obsession with "old wood." After all, what allure might a decrepit, filthy old briar have in comparison to an unsmoked, artisan-crafted masterpiece?
Japanese folklore describes certain commonplace objects that, on approaching their hundredth anniversary of utility, are instilled with a spirit and become alive and self-aware; they are the tsukumogami (付喪神). These now-animate objects furthermore often bear the anguish and resentment of having been ignored or orphaned in the shadow of their late age. Thus, the veneration of, and care for, these objects represents a reverential atonement--an appeasement of the tsukumogami--which restores balance and order. To some, pipes are mere objects, often overlooked or perhaps admired outwardly as one admires the dust jacket of a book. But pipes are transcendent little objects, bearing silent witness to the ebb and flow of their owners' often transient and unstable lives. One might remark "if only these pipes could speak!" But do we listen? Do we extend pause and reflection toward penetrating the silent language of the ancient briar? Toward unlocking the spirit that incubates within? You who are unfamiliar with these concepts may be forgiven for imagining that the qualities that make a pipe a "good smoker" are merely variables within the realm of the mechanical; that the whim that urges you toward a particular pipe on a particular occasion is but an impulse of your volition; and that a pipe breaks due merely to carelessness on the part of its owner. Verily for these "objets quotidiens," the essential within is invisible to the eyes."
