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Comments on CHRONICles III

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Joined: Apr 19, 2005

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Posted 05/12/08 - 5:48 PM:
Subject: CHRONICles III
It ain't easy, being green.

Nor is it easy to find green. Sometimes. It really depends. A lot of people have life-long contacts they established back in highschool or associates they've colluded with in the pot cafes. But for a free wheelin' independent like myself without a steady connect, finding green can be a matter of luck. Or rather, faith.

Faith is a simple thing.

But it has a definite metaphysical basis. It accepts as axiomatic that reality exists in such a way that intentions and focussed energy can and do have an impact on the nature of unfolding of events. It accepts, therefore, that the essence of the human body is more than just its physical condition, or, that its physical condition includes as of yet unidentified (or imagined) fundamental connections to the rest of the swirling mass of creation. This suggests that a being like a human being can shape reality not only by the sweat of his brow, as it were, but also by direct and focussed application of his mind.

This doesn't mean the mundane process of coming up with an idea and then putting it in to practice, like a carpenter conceiving and building a house with his bare hands, tools, and materials around him. No, this applies to a more direct connection of thought and emotion with the very substance of reality as it appears, shaping and affecting outcomes of events in subtle ways. Faith is built on the basis of the metaphysical recognition of the principle law of attraction, raised beyond the merely physical to the state of an overarching metaprinciple of reality.

Faith, in this sense, can promote the occurence of fortuitous events. But the principle works in the reverse as well--misguided focus and intention can create negative repurcussions to manifest through the same subtle connection of mind to reality. Hence, faith is not just a recognition of this principle as metaphysically sound, but also a conscious effort to direct all and every intention towards a positive end, to diminish the impact of negative thinking and feeling and promote abundant flourishing (that is, success).

When you're out trolling for weed you need faith--faith that the weed will find you, and that it won't be of dubious quality. Especially if you go to the usual haunts--downtown, city park, trendy artsy areas. Hell, even trying to get a hold of a dealer, if you have one, is not always as easy as it sounds. Especially if, again, you only correspond with them once in a while. They tend to forget who you are and you constantly need to remind them with some secret code word that sparks their memory so they drop the surprised and confused pretense (like 'what do you mean, green??') and start talking price per ounce.

Sometimes weed is plentiful in the city streets. All you need to do is walk down a few blocks in the downtown core and you're liable to be knee deep in pot peddlars. Unless that's what you're looking for, in which case you might just as well find a bunch of tumbleweeds dancing across the pavement.

But that's where faith comes in. Faith helps secure the possibility of a peddlar being in the right place at the right time. It helps increase the probability that you will in fact be successful.

So I put this to the test.

It's starting to warm up now, as spring is quickly moving towards summer. The weekend saw a mix of sun and rain. At the first sign of sun I wondered whether the summertime weed dealers were out on the local beaches yet. They usually only come out on real sunny, hot days when the beaches are crowded with people. Better chance of making sales, but also higher risk, what with the increase in Police beach patrols in the last couple of seasons. However, people who are beach regulars can easily spot a snout and avoid uncomfortable situations. The trouble begins at the end of the day when you've been sampling the product and your caution has diminished as you try to push the last two grams.

But it's still early in the season, and the cops wouldn't be bothered to come out yet. But if I know the folks who love Lighthouse Beach--the hippy beach of the city--this sun will draw them out like moths to a flame. And for as many dozen that come to sunbath, one or two will either have weed or know where to get it.

I hemmed and hawed about it for a few hours. I don't live very close to the beach, and I don't have a car, so getting there is timeconsuming. It's a big risk. The downtown streets are currently dried up, the cops busted the compassion cafe in the artsy district, so the beach is the last resort. But there may or may not be any connects there today. Is it worth it to waste the time and effort to go on a potential wild goose chase?

Yes, I resolve, it is. At the very least I will get out and get some sun.

I put the secret law into effect.

Chanting and focussing on the long bus ride, I repeat things like 'weed come to me' like a mantra. Under my breath I'm quietly calling on the universe to manifest an outcome that I desire, and to direct me to that point that I might not only see it, but also attain it. Many times the door is opened, but the way is barred. I need to be able to both open and walk through that door.

An hour later I'm walking to the beach, spirits light. I can't focus too intently on the desire--weed--lest the law of inverse attraction come into effect. When expectation is too high the risk becomes greater that the desired result will not occur. This happens, I think, because in that state we are focussing far too much on transforming reality to fit our desire rather than coaxing reality to mould itself in the direction of our pleasure. Too much ego perhaps?

Lighthouse beach lies at the bottom of a huge set of stairs that wind down through soft cedar needle soil past ferns and fallen redwoods. There's probably 300 steps. There's a nice little stream that runs donw one side, and a kind of mini-waterfall at the bottom. The smell of the cedar forest is always fresh and potent. This is a big party beach, one the cops love to patrol, but that has such a forceful (but peaceful) history and community that it maintains its integrity even without the explicit presence of law and order. However, when the cops climb up those steps, the whole beach cheers, and beers are cracked open in defiance.

Today the beach was sparse. It was as I feared. A sparse beach meant that it was increasingly unlikely that a weed dealer would happen by. Why would they bother to come out for a market of only a couple dozen? I trudged forward through the soft white sand, stepping over driftwood and old fire pits. I glanced at a couple larger groups and a handful of individuals sitting behind the many logs that lined the shore. Nothing promising. People were mostly fully clothed. Even though the sun was out, it wasn't too warm yet. Not quite summer.

After making a few passes of the crowds, hoping to spot a familiar face or familiar gait (the dealer typically has a distinct walk and look about him or her), I decide to head out to the rocks. The tide was out, so the water line was about 200 yards from the main beach. Great for skim-boarding. No one out today though. Too cold perhaps?

I causally strolled out to the waters edge, then along the lapping, frothing suds to the link of rocks that formed a man-made harbour, keeping forestry logs on one side and swimmers on the other. I sat on a flat stone on a deserted patch, with a view of the beach behind me. Still too few people. I guess the goose was wild afterall.

I shook off the negative feeling and began causally reciting my weed-mantra. I distanced myself in my mind from any expectation of success. I figured I would sit on my rock a while and let the spirit tell me when it's time to go.

So I did. I took off my shirt and bared my chest to the nearly setting sun. The last rays of the day were for me to make vitamin D. I closed my eyes and relaxed, focussing on my breathing. I began to overlay a mantra of 'calm' to still the latent anxiety that this excursion had stirred up in me. Again, the excitement of the hunt was with me. I knew I had to let it go.

After about half an hour I opened my eyes and rose to my feet. Dusting off my pants I looked towards the beach. A few more people had arrived, but not many. I walked back, buttoning up my shirt. I dragged my heels, slowly cruising past the crowds, listining for that honey-dipped hope--the call of the dealer. Like lovers passing in the night, he would reveal himself only in whispers, a gentle and secret exchange, seen yet unseen by all.

Still nothing.

I resolved to head back up the mountain of stairs and catch the bus home. I figured I would come back and try again on the following weekend, when hotter temperatures were forecasted.

Just as I was approaching the steps, a bearded fellow with a cooler came into view. He walked past me and spoke. I responded. He said 'beer' and I said 'green'. When he stopped he went for the cooler. I politely declined the beer, but asked if there was any green about. He pulled out an old beaded drawstring pouch and produced a baggie with 4 grams of weed. I handed over my cash without hesitation, all the while making small talk about the 'fine day'. He went on his way and I went on mine. Up the stairs, across the field, to the bus stop, and home.

Through faith I found my green.

On the way home I started chanting a horny girlfriend mantra.


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Joined: Apr 16, 2005
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Posted 05/15/08 - 8:44 PM:

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