Smoke Two Joints

 When you smoke the herb, it reveals you to yourself. (Bob Marley)

 Why is marijuana not legal? It’s a natural plant that grows in the dirt. Do you know what’s not natural? Eighty-year-old dudes with   hard-ons. That’s not natural. But we got pills for that. We’re dedicating all our medical resources to keeping the old guys erect,   but we’re putting people in jail for something that grows in the dirt? (Greg Giraldo)

 I find it quite ironic that the most dangerous thing about weed is getting caught with it. (Bill Murray)

 Some of my finest hours have been spent on my back veranda, smoking hemp and observing as far as my eye can see. (Thomas   Jefferson)

My first encounter with hemp took place many years ago, in an interesting and incredibly eclectic entourage – young people in the process of getting to know who they were, aspiring artists in the process of finding their personal brilliance, a bunch of curious individuals wanting to experience a little bit of some of the things out there…all under the strict supervision of an absurdly cool teacher. Well…not a teacher per se, more of a really cool aunt, the one who never got married because she was so complicated, no man could keep up with her and who now lives in Paris and comes to visit you from time to time and whenever she does, she shares amazing life stories and blows your mind with this refreshingly different way of seeing things, open minded and with a deep occidental mentality. To me, a mentor.

I didn’t know what I was doing at first. I didn’t even know how to puff it. I hated the smell. I had never smoked cigarettes. I was intrigued. I didn’t know much about weed, only that I had once suggested trying it to one of my old lovers to which he responded “absolutely not” leaving no room for interpretation. Or further argumentation. Oh and one more thing I knew was that my former lieutenant father would have absolutely committed daughter-slaughter had he somehow found out that his precious, perpetual little girl had been experiencing with drugs. Embarrasing. Disappointing. Unconceivable. Off-with-her-head unpardonable.

 

So when the opportunity presented itself, many, many years after my curiosity had awoken, I couldn’t miss it. I wanted to know what it would feel like to go for it, to jump into it head first, not giving a damn about any potential consequences. I wanted to understand why all the reggae songs composed in the name of Mary Jane were always filled with love and peace and unity. I wanted to know what all the fuss was about. I wanted to be one of those open minded people who’ve done all kinds of shit in their life. I just wanted to do it, that’s all there was to it.

But the first experience was a disaster in the sense that I didn’t feel anything.

So I went home and explained the situation to my boyfriend at the time and he immediately acted upon it in a sense that, the next day, all the things you’d need for a ganja smoking session were  right there, on his living room table, lined up and ready for us like a surgeon’s instruments in an O.R. before an operation. “Now, that’s the best boyfriend ever” you might think and you’d be right. He was absolutely amazing: explained the puffing thing, went through the possible scenarios in case of a good/bad trip, helped me to relax (forgot to put music though, which, in my case, is 99% of the whole experience) watched me as I went through an absolute sensorial explosion, constantly spoke to me in a calm, soothing voice and it all worked.

I felt all the things I was supposed to feel that night.

He’d been my guru.

After some time, it became a constant in my life. I remember coughing alot at first, but getting a hold of it eventually. I remember going through phases of weirdnesses and introspections. I remember seeing things that weren’t actually there. I remember laughing uncontrollably until it would hurt…I remember living in an apartment with two other girls, locking my room door and smoking until I’d mistake shadows on the wall with trees in the forest, I remember having really, really good sex. Revelatory sex. Revolutionary sex. Senses heightened, mind open, multiple orgasms. I remember writing poems in the air with my index finger, believing I was freakin’ Nina Casian. I remember having very deep, philosophical conversations about a “universal liver” and the “infinite balcony” (you had to be there). I remember feeling open and uninhibited, young and curious. I remember being happy: I was doing it, I was finally doing it and it made me feel alive and empowered, made writing absolutely necessary. It brought new meanings to old music. It changed everything. I remember going within, trying to find the right questions to get answers to. I remember so much, yet so little (I wonder why).

Then I moved to London, where it became almost compulsory due to the stress I was facing at work on a regular basis. I am not trying to find excuses, I chose this path and it is not something I am ashamed of. Come to think about it, nothing in my life is. I kinda like who I’ve become, flaws and all.

 

 

Most of all, I kinda like the way our brief but oh so irepetable encounter has made me hold a joint between my fingers like some life changing secrets have been revealed to me, like I’m the baddest chick in the yard, like I might be mastering some important shit – and I am, like someone had actually taken the time to get to know and love me the way I needed to – flawlessly, deeply, for the first time in my life – and they have. And after a love like this, I am holding a joint between my fingers like the most important epiphany had already been had, like the most important person in my life had already been in it and left, like the biggest decision I’d ever make had already been taken. After a love like this, I’m left holding a joint between my fingers with the mannerisms of a pro, because there is nothing else left to say or do.     

But today, as someone who will be trying to quit smoking soon (because it just doesn’t feel purposeful anymore but rather just a bad, stinky habit, I’m telling you that some of my greatest revelations, some of the most painful realizations, some of my happiest moments, some of the best memories, some of the most profound spiritual experiences and the most frightening personal demons showed up when I was stoned out of my mind. I learned more about myself during such trips than I could ever have learned on my own, sober.

The worst is over now, my darkest hour has passed, my spirit and mind have almost reached an accord with my body, I’ve already fought most of my demons and mercilessly murdered them one by one, most of my weed induced woke moments have already been had, it’s time for the next level of my evolution. And there isn’t much herb there nor the need for it, but a stronger, wiser, more experienced, happier, less vicious version of me. And she doesn’t need weed to get high on life anymore. She has learned to do without.

All in all, we’ve had a really good run – weed and I – and there are no regrets on my side – which reminds me: mom, dad, I hope we’ll still have a relationship after all this.

  

Marijuana is a useful catalyst for specific optical and aural aesthetic perceptions. I apprehended the structure of certain pieces of jazz and classical music in a new manner under the influence of marijuana, and these apprehensions have remained valid in years of normal consciousness. (Allen Ginsberg)

 I think people need to be educated to the fact that marijuana is not a drug. Marijuana is an herb and a flower. God put it here. If He   put it here and He wants it to grow, what gives the government the right to say that God is wrong? (Willie Nelson)

 Everything is better with a bag of weed. (Stewie Griffin) 

Green Eyed Kisses,