“Nature is not our enemy, to be raped and conquered. Nature is ourselves, to be cherished and explored.” Terence McKenna
“We have been to the moon, we have charted the depths of the ocean and the heart of the atom, but we have a fear of looking inward to ourselves because we sense that is where all the contradictions flow together.” ~ Terence McKenna
“Nature loves courage. You make the commitment and nature will respond to that commitment by removing impossible obstacles. Dream the impossible dream and the world will not grind you under, it will lift you up. This is the trick. This is what all these teachers and philosophers who really counted, who really touched the alchemical gold, this is what they understood. This is the shamanic dance in the waterfall. This is how magic is done. By hurling yourself into the abyss and discovering it’s a feather bed.” ~ Terence McKenna
Tis likely prudent to step lightly here, but I was just thinking that it would be most delightful if somebody would go all Soupy Sales on the President, you know, like all cream pie in the face. This thought is really just an attempt to get a cheap laugh, like back in the day, you and your friends getting good milage out of a bong. A bong and patchouli. Maybe a black light and a phosphorescent Jefferson Airplane poster? Feel free to experiment. But about the pie in the face thing — I just don’t want the Secret Service coming around here and saying, “Alright, dude, where’s the meringue?”. Geez, I told you it was cheap. So, do you remember Soupy Sales? Funny guy; slapstick. I love slapstick, don’t you? I say that anybody that doesn’t feel somewhat purged after a few good laughs over an old Three Stooges skit is probably in need of medication. Their “Niagara Falls” skit is right on up there with Abbot and Costello’s “Who’s on First?”, or Lucille Ball’s incredible mirror-image reflection slow-dance with Harpo. Anyway, I got my medication yesterday, when I swung by the dispensary on my way home from work, to pick up some stash. I never woulda thought that weed would be legal to any degree. Ever. Period. But I got my card. At the moment I am seeing the love of my life, Lori Mellon, as the victim of a gotcha, face all scrunched up in mock scorn at my gotcha. It’s legal now, Lori. Just as a side note, I should note that no degree of scrunching could at all hide the radiant beauty of that face, it could only enhance and enrich her perfection for me. Lori died 22 years ago, but I won’t get into that. Before she left she once told me that weed would never be legalized. Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk. She hated the Stooges, and thought that Trekkies are “freaks”. Freaks?! And your point is, my love . . . ? Damn it, I’m making myself cry! The point is that the loss of Lori greatly contributed to the depth of my PTSD. I experience it as a perpetual fear that I am going soon to lose someone else as well. Ouch. There’s panic behind them there words. Think I’ll go out and look at the post-dawn sky, then feed the cat, medicate her, water the chickens.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.