There is one thing you should know about me… I’ve been high as fuck.
Everybody knows… I am a passionate advocate for medical cannabis patient’s rights. Access to good, affordable medicine for those who need it trumps any fun I might have had getting high in the past. Not so much for me… Others need this far more than I do. I know a guy. He’s gross, and lives near tweekers that always get raided by the DEA, but… uh… A seventy-year old woman with breast cancer shouldn’t have to dance with guys like this.
I’ve danced with Shiva myself… Shiva-Shiva-BHANG-BHANG! Why read Fifty Shades of GAY when you can be high as fuck while Shiva taps that ass with a vengeance? SURPRISE SHIVA SECKS!
I don’t get high anymore. A year ago, Cymbalta closed the portal in my brain. I’m learning to do underworld and journey work without the aid of cannabis. I’ve done it before I danced with Mary Jane, and I’ve done it after. All plants have an aspect of spirit, and the cannabis plant has a very gentle, loving, goddess spirit. I once responded to her gently spirialing caress like motherfucking gangbusters. Instead of a suveying a very visual landscape as I often do in my dreams, instead I’d trip into the landscape and become a part of it while I tripped. Cannabis as a gentle entheogen has a lot of potential, especially if you’re sensitive to it.
Last year, I stopped getting high. Didn’t matter how much, it just stopped. I still had great euphoric, pain, and energy benefits from it, but it was more of a habit than anything else. The baktuns whirl on. (HOLY FUCKING SHIT… THIS IS THE CLOSEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN TO WHAT I’VE SEEN ON MY MOST VISUAL AND AMAZING SHAMANIC JOURNEYS! I swam through them, and moved through astral time with them, if that makes sense… SHIT!!! I didn’t want to Work today… Bah… I have a tummy bug! And this!!!! Forget the psuedo-science-white-lighter-mumbo-jumbo, blah, blah, blah, a 13 month calendar is perfect for Earth Magick and moon workings! Hecate, my lady, you’re quite fond of making me roll up my sleeves instead of rolling up a joint…)
Those journeys were tantamount in learning to do The Work. Without them, I’d probably have a lot more shoes in my closet to fill the the black hole… A mighty void of my own design, swallowing my heart. In May, I had to take an unwanted, and very pragmatic look at myself. Here I was, spending upwards of $100 a week, often more, just to get back to those places.
I am a stoner, and I hate myself for it. A dirty, dirty, pathetic stoner. I’m preoccupied with weed, and for what?
Swimming in the rainbow belted currents of creation, walking across a shining lake lit by a sinking sun with Anubis at my side, seeing the cyclic nature of the Universe itself… GOD! Why wouldn’t you smoke everything you could afford to in order to get back to those places?! With the bonus of relaxation, pain relief, and mood brightening? Fuck yeah! It’s depressing to think that those places lurk, but I have to scrappily fight tooth, nail, flesh, blood, and bone to get there. No wonder I’m taking antidepressants… I’m pretty much fuckin’ crazy, if I listen to myself.
Thankfully, Spirit prevails, and I know what is real, beautiful, and true. I have clarity in my practice and work, and the messages are much more clear. I don’t need to wade in the waters to find my answers. I have access to guides and psychically, I’m aeons from where I was before.
Still, it’s nice to go for a swim sometimes…
Sometimes, Spirit compels me do make a choice I don’t fully understand at the time. SPIRIT FINGERS all up in my grill, you dig?
Adding tobacco to my smoking mix, a male god-spirit plant (not making shit up- got it from a Guide), gave me a bump and a jump to get back, but it’s a terrible way to go. The experience gave me just enough of a lift to make things more clear.
Simply put, I don’t need cannabis anymore. Since May, I’ve been blessed with a small and steady trickle of insight, messages, and continued improvement. The signs are clear… I need to stop for a bit to allocate and conserve my resources more effectively. Spirit says… Slow your roll, Smokey Joe, Gotta make it till’ Friday, dontcha’ know… Hey-Hey… Ho-Ho! I typically shop on Friday, if you know what I mean.
I’ve got a pain management regimen that works, I don’t need the cannabis for pain. A nice evening smoke from a vanilla e-cigarette has become just as relaxing as the five bowls I could pack away.
And my journey work? In becoming closer to Hecate, I am seeing that I’m building earthly roots so that I can walk between the worlds. I recognize the difference between going into Spirit, going “under” to the Underworld, and astral journeys. Spirit and underworld work are things that are home to me. Familiar.
Why? Because I’m Eris Fucking Hilton! I don’t need Mary Jane’s help to do the Work… I’m a fucking workhorse! It’s a labor of love. Quitting has not been easy. I’ve tried and failed weekly for two months.
So far, I’ve gone a week without bud or hash. The TCH stick is helping with the urge, but I realize it’s psychological rather than physical.
We had our dance, and now it’s time to grow up. I need my mind clear, clean, and my wits sharp. This isn’t an easy world to live in, or an easy time to be living in it.
I believe in access to safe medicine, but for me a little inconvenience goes a long way. My club is shutting down at the end of the month, and while I’m sad for those losing their jobs, I’m releived for myself. It makes this process that much easier.
Shit. I need a cigarette.
I keed… I keed…