A cannabis meditation writer’s journey.

I did an edible (Northern Standard’s Raspberry Ripples) and smoked pot while I waited for the edible to kick in (Northern Standard Bordeaux Lavender vape, to be exact). Then I meditated to this meditation on YouTube (which is also saved to a playlist on the Cannabis Meditation Network), and wrote the following before falling into a glorious sleep.

I went into a garden and walked along a path. I stopped for a moment to admire the brilliance of the leaves, which is when she appeared. She was lovely, a white witch, if you will. She bestowed a blessing and told me to proceed. I wanted to, but then again, didn’t. “You’re safe,” she said, “and you have been blessed. Go, explore.”

“Why can’t I stay and be like you,” I replied, wanting her grace. In that moment, horrible images of her flashed behind my eyelids as I blinked. Before me, she stood as she had been, pristine and magical. Her smile was warm, as though she could see the versions of herself reflecting in my eyes. “You do not want to be like me,” she reassured. I have suffered, like you, for many lifetimes over. It was an ascension for which I died many deaths. I do not want this for you, so go, carry on your way, knowing you have received your blessing.”

I found myself walking along a dirt path, surrounded by meadows so vast and magical I expected to see a fairytale giant laying down for a mid-afternoon nap. Up ahead was a village, one whose buildings were made of stone and a Maypole on the green. Villagers bustled about me, some welcoming me with warm smiles and happy eyes. I found myself in the village tavern, I didn’t catch the name. I was looking for someone in this communal room of tables and benches, I didn’t know his name either. But I waited anyway, because I knew eventually someone would arrive to guide my journey. That’s the moment when I realized, I can listen to their guidance or I cannot, either way, my journey will commence. The true test is, will I accept that every person I encounter is a guide which brought me to this exact point. Every single person holds a place in how I view myself, because I’ve always held myself to everyone else’s standards, rather than my own. Every single thing I have ever encountered brought me here, whether I believe it or not.

“What a lovely place,” I seemed to say aloud. “The place of your choices always is,” came the reply from the tiny bearded man sitting at the table near me. “It seems I’m always making choices,” I quietly replied. “Exactly,” he said as he smiled and sipped from his stein.