Today marks my milestone of six months sober.


I am a high functioning pot head who is happiest functioning in the periphery, tenderly aware but more internal than present, distance and insulated from feeling the world. It is a tool that I discovered at 19 after the death of my dear friend Ryan. I’ve ridden it for over twenty years.


I love altering my consciousness. I love the places I go. The insights and interpretations, the reduced anxiety, the permission to detach… I spent a lot of time in my head: working with the principles of things as powerful shortcuts to understanding. Paying attention, though invigorating and empowering, can get to be exhausting. Smoking bridged paying attention to comprehension with none of the side effects of being timely, while enforcing a patience I didn’t know how to create for myself.


I was given access to deeper parts of myself that I judged, weird and wonderful parts, as my godmother would call them, full of funny dance moves, stories with no end, and an excitement that was innocently infectious.


There was more to this love. The ritual and the ceremony were grounding and consistent. Intention and prayer graced the sacred in the smoke, different for each ingestion preference. There were the random voyages to procure herb and the weirdos along the way; misfits who always had time for a random conversation about the esoteric. I would tap into something new. They would observe life happening.


Smoking permitted me a softer focus, taking my ego down a notch. I didn’t have to set the alarm in the morning so that the sun would rise. That kind of permission was invaluable to experience. I discovered myself to be less the creator of my life and more of a witness.


I did everything stoned. That was the issue.


Timothy Leary said that “when you get the message, hang up the phone.”


I spent decades relying upon Marijuana to get to a perception of the subtle.


That perception taught me that there is more out there, or rather, I am aware of more. Moments and events want to come through me. I am witness to things longing for birth, and I don’t know if anyone else can see them. My unique being was called for a purpose, and as I learn to speak for that, I learn to embrace my creator.


 I know pot heads who are incredibly productive. That was not me. I would take my intense dream and shuffle it around a bit but not do much in this world to bring it into being. And that got real tiresome. It felt less like love and more like a one night stand.


I didn’t have it in me to carry on like that. A slave to smoking, I was robbing me of my spirit. Slowly, I was less me. I would have loved to have encountered the medicine of Marijuana with none of the disruptive force that got me high. I’ve been looking for alternatives.


Six months of sobriety has given me a different home work assignment. I altar my consciousness with pranayama and meditation. This willful effort gets me to where I can perceive the layers of Light coming through me, waiting to be born. I observe stillness watching me and I witness it back. I use CBD Oil to support my neurological health and to treat inflammation throughout my body, so that I may support others.


I work with possibility. Nothingness isn’t the absence of everything. It’s filled with potential. As a creator, I recognize that life isn’t happening to me, it’s happening for me. My voyage is one of discovery and I explore the periphery so that I am able to hug into my center.


I believe we are but mirrors of Shadow and Light.


May you discover your road, as ever present with the field of possibility, radiant in the grace of love for yourself as I am certain that it is. Nothing, or rather, no thing separates us.


Love is all there is.

 

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