“Is Patrick gonna need a ride to the drug test for Murphy’s? So he can start working?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. You should call him.” Mom suggests the obvious: call his cellular. I call his phone but the ring immediately goes to a lovely operator speaking in robotic tones. My first thought: he can’t afford his phone anymore.
Patrick, born a socialite, can take the twinkle in his eye straight to the streets with him in a life of meager living. Hoisting a duffel bag over his shoulder and with breath in his lungs, he can walk down the street and you’d never notice his empty pockets. The charm in his eyes shines more brightly than coins of value ever will. His 6-foot, medium-size body is mostly muscle and is complementary to his love for outdoor activities. Whether Patrick hikes in the mountains of Oregon, camps by creeks in Kentucky or dips his feet in the Ohio river, as long as the universe is spinning and he’s outside he’s content.
However, his ease of charm can’t keep him a job—can’t help against the scientific certainly of a marijuana drug test. No amount of swallowed bleach, working out and drinking liquids can fool the test. This particular drug test problematically arises several times throughout the year like a reoccurring, bad dream in Patrick’s life. He can’t pass the drug test. He pisses and tries, no doubt, but he can’t pass it.
“His phone is shut off. I’m going over there.”
At this point in my marijuana journey I don’t like the herb. My knuckles turn white over the steering wheel, my face tissue inflames to a red color and my jaw and brain ache. However, as usual I cannot completely give myself to the angry emotions. Wheels on other levels within me are always analyzing, turning and never halt. Even in the frustration of this moment I painfully know in my heart marijuana is not the problem. Patrick is the problem.
I grind the steering wheel against my palms and blood drains down my veins; my knuckles blush white. I want to blame a specific something or someone—other than Patrick. I want to evade the feared and approaching path in Patrick’s life, for another care-free moment in mine. However, my mind works too quickly for my emotions and I uncomfortably shrug in the mid-grade feeling I can’t fix Patrick’s unemployment problem—or whatever kind of problem he has.
My blue hatchback zooms down the expressway, the engine churns under the hood and I churn inside the cabin. No matter how much future thinking I must sort through, right now I really do dislike weed.
Hey all you smokers out there, wanna start a NORML Chapter in Kentucky?
Join with me and let’s support the nationwide effort to reform our marijuana laws. We can start at home, here in Kentucky and help get the ball rolling! Get in touch with me if you’re interested! Here is more information if you want to investigate first!
Once again this NPR story is the first to reach my eyes about the New Jersey medical marijuana bill. Will Kentucky hop on this train and petition lawmakers to create a medical marijuana bill?
Check out this post from a friend for a bit of truth.
Though this post has nothing to do with weed, Lori hit on a crucial point that somehow I feel is behind all that I do, even this blog. I feel compelled to share it with you.
Lori recently made the comment, “Someone said doubts are the beginning of wisdom or faith.” I echo this based on personal experience. I doubted many aspects and beliefs within western Christianity, and this ultimately spurred me toward the rebirth of my soul. I urge the many who are in doubt today, continue in your doubt and seek answers for you will find them.
The western Christians of my generation grow up experiencing a template, if you will, of Christianity. A pre-programmed system in which babies are immersed in from birth to young adulthood. There is some truth in this system of how Christianity should be done, this template of Christianity, for this system was Yahweh’s grace to me by introducing His word into my life.
However, as with everything touched by human hands, there are many false teachings and impurities in this system. Unfortunately, some parts of the system are so jacked, the very people immersed from birth in the system turn away from Yahweh rather than the system. Lori does an excellent job in this post of conveying how beautiful and important the spiritual rebirth is. This birth is lost in the system, for no man can achieve such a second birth, how therefore could he program it into religion successfully? Man couldn’t, but where man comes up short Yahweh shows up big. Thanks for reminding us of this, Lori. Rock on.
The holiday season rang true, providing many activities keeping my hands and feet moving. The parties this time of year gave me opportunities to smoke it up and that’s just what I did. Rather than go out and drink, I smoke and go out. This way I don’t have to worry about driving drunk, I remember the entire evening perfectly and I don’t have a hangover the next morning.
I sit back now and rest for the first time in several weeks. The madness of Christmas shopping, a wedding and Christmas and New Years parties is through and I’m kicking back in local coffee shops.
I am still unemployed and I enjoy reading, writing and listening to music on Bardstown Road when I cannot find anyone to go out with. However, most evenings I’ve spent with old friends checking out Louisville bars and making new friends. Driving into town takes about thirty minutes and of course I consider that prime time for a smoke and some good tunes to set vibes for the night.
Despite returning home from college and living in the same house as my parents and the frequent interaction between us I smoke just as much as I did at school in Tennessee. Unfortunately for you I have no new opinions about marijuana to share with you… my stance remains it has only been a blessing to this point in my life. I’m continuing to investigate the matter and future interviews will occur with people having room to speak on the subject.
One substantial point I will make addresses smoking on a personal level. I think smoking, as with anything else, must find its niche within one’s life. For example, some people enjoy exercising in the morning and others enjoy it at night. For whatever reason(s) morning exercise may work best in a person’s schedule rather than at night. There’s no rhyme or reason it’s just how that activity falls into his or her life. Another example is yoga or even grocery shopping. Some people do those activities once a week and others do them three or four times a week. Smoking marijuana is no different in that the user must find how it fits within his or her life.
Over the past four weeks I smoked a lot and it has been in the context of “partying.” I’ve learned from this type of smoking versus staying at home and smoking while relaxing/meditating/creating. I will say I am longing to move into my apartment (Feb. 1!), set up my space and kick back with a good smoke and tunes. I deeply miss the smoking ritual I began with this summer. This ritual is my ideal smoke and involves reading the Bible, writing, drawing, listening to music, reading articles online, playing guitar, reading books and being outdoors.
Going to bars and being silly with friends is certainly still a great time to smoke because marijuana is a much safer drug than alcohol. However, for myself, if this was the only time I used marijuana I would certainly not blink twice about giving it up.
Because I use marijuana in other contexts it has more meaning to me. I think it is important to not become lazy and party the days away, but be diligent to continually set aside time for important activities such as meditation, praying, thinking, reading, walking and creating.
Especially as a regular smoker it is easy to identify the substance with whatever context it is used in. I do not want to lose the special attributes of marijuana and I do tire of only going out and being silly with friends while smoking. I want to use marijuana in its most beneficial form for me, and I do not think this can be achieved if I am at the bars.
It is ridiculous the cop was not charged, but the video is hilarious.
This blog began in April as a tool for well being, functioning as a food journal. However, it developed into the outline of a story beginning last January and extending through today. I began writing entries about the topic foremost on my mind (marijuana) and from that grew a train of thought now blossoming into full bloom. On these Web pages you can find traces of this bloom and its thoughts, and I hope you will enjoy it.
What marijuana sparked in me extends beyond a desire for fair government, community and peace. It brings into 3D the tenderness and transparency of life that is otherwise layered behind images we can’t see around or through. As I smoke and contemplate the complexities swirling around inside of me and also contemplate how across the world millions are living their day, each person with a trillion unique details about his/her life, I wonder at how one divinity can catch the tears of them all, laugh with all the joyful and care after all the sick and needy. Smoking and thinking about this brings into panoramic view how small my bedroom is within this cold, winter night. Suddenly the starry sky outside my window is daunting in strength and length. The world grows big and our problems stay the same, consuming and exhausting our bodies and spirits.
At all of these wonders I wonder as I smoke. As the world shows itself more transparent against the lyrics and music of Trevor Hall, the tough exoskeleton of religious people and the idea of church as an institution crumbles as dust before my feet. Left in the hollowed out darkness are souls quivering for a bit of light and bread for their aching bodies. Suddenly everything man 
has known read more…
Great news for medical marijuana distributors, the federal government shouldn’t be banging down the doors of state-licensed dispensaries.
The Justice Department issued orders that its officials “should not focus federal resources in your states on individuals whose actions are in clear and unambiguous compliance with existing state laws providing for the medical use of marijuana.”
Okay guys, I’ve promised to be honest so I’m coming to you in all my honest glory. Here are a few things from my side of the world you may want to experience if you are a smoker on the other side of the world. More to come.
Quicksilver Messenger Service, “Happy Trails” song four, “How Do You Love.” It will almost make you lose your mind following all the happy trails — no pun intended — the guitar solo on this song pulls you through. Prepare to be enraptured for two minutes and forty-five seconds.
Sojourn, “Over The Grave” song seven, “Alas! And Did My Savior Bleed” will blow your mind with haunting tunes that explode into a worship for the god of victory, Yahweh. This band is an awesome, jamming addition to any Christian smoker’s stash, or any non-Christian’s stash as well.
Esquire Magazine is a man’s bible. Not just any man, though. A man of wit, esteem and respect volleying off his side of class and sportsmanship. This bible’s man is one of knowledge and appreciation for the humor that undercuts everything. Not to mention, the cologne ads are spellbinding to the nose while reading. Men and women can appreciate this magazine.
Amber by 311 provides its listeners with tunes reminiscent of good memories in the ol’ days. The song reinvents itself every 10 seconds in the listener’s mind so it’s hard to pull away even for a moment. Another aspect making this song so relaxing is its groovy guitar loops in the background. Somehow you know what’s coming up next in the song, so you’re already enjoying it before it arrives. Its not just you and the song, you are the song.
Newcastle Brown Ale, this self-proclaimed “full of flavor and remarkably smooth” beer will knock your socks off with rich and smooth quality. For my wheat-bread loving friends you will be instantly enchanted with the substance of this brown ale. This beer tastes like swallowing a hearty, thick loaf of homemade wheat bread. A must try. Plus, it’s from England.
Psalms, written mostly by a King David of Israel. No matter if you’re religious or not, this man pours his heart onto the page in a way everyone can relate to. Rage, hurt, desperation, loneliness, depression, heartache or joy—this man writes what he feels. He also uses imagery of nature, clay pots, jewels and armies to describe his pain or joy. It’s a feast for the mind and soul.
I was around eight years old when I drank my first beer. My grandpa popped open a frothy can, set it on the table in front of me, smiled at me and left the room. I remember feeling the cold, wet can against the palm of my hand as I wrapped my fingers around it. I don’t remember anything after that—it was a long time ago. My mom remembers though. She said forty-five minutes later a neighbor pulled his truck into the driveway with me sitting on the tailgate. Apparently he found me walking down the street taking my clothes off.
Later in life, in middle and high school, I used to nab alcohol from my parents stash. My parents went for an evening date or to a bible study and I saw them out the door. Mom shouted instructions from the car as dad impatiently reversed out the driveway. I smiled and nodded as I slowly closed the door. Ten minutes later I opened the cupboard doors hiding the alcohol. I didn’t know about how to fix a drink but I wanted to taste it all.
I sat on the floor taking swig after swig of different liquors. Whiskey, vodka and I don’t remember what else. I sometimes mixed vodka with orange juice because I thought I saw it in a movie. It never tasted good. I didn’t like the taste of any of it. Yet for years I did this. Explaining why I felt the need to do this is not a story for here, but it will suffice to say the rebellion and heartache leading me to drink thankfully vanished by the grace of my sweet God.
As an adult I always enjoy drinking. I advocate drinking to my piers and family members. I’m the individual wanting to go out drinking while the others want coffee at Starbucks. Needless to say: I have a lifelong love affair with alcohol.
However, lately I find myself more and more hostile toward alcohol. Tonight I’m eating with a couple friends and I find it hard to stay humble as I judgmentally watch one of my friends sip her martini. A few minutes earlier she judgmentally rolled her eyes at me for a comment made about marijuana and after that I look critically at her. I don’t understand how she can diss marijuana at the same time she gets tipsy on alcohol.
Looking back on the evening, I become more and more angry with the stigma on marijuana. My friend is so, so naive in her judgment. She is exactly the product the government, churches and other organizations want her to be. She bought the lie that stamped across the bud of the marijuana plant is “WICKED,” and a general wrongness is associated with it and anyone who utilizes it.
Society should not be the judge of truth. Society should pursue truth, but don’t be naive thinking society always gets it right. Be a creation of your god, not society. Let who you are be based off what you know is true from your experiences and your investigations and your truths from these things. Don’t let the debated, changing rules of society define you only because your brain receives more textbook input from them.
“They smoke? Oh they must be that kind of person. I would never to that. Break the law? For drugs? Oh my no.” read more…
