Define Canada~ Disconnect In Progress

I live in what I consider to be the best country on this little blue planet.  I feel National pride like it's a seventh sense.  In 2010, Canada hosted the Winter Olympics in Vancouver, British Columbia.  I was a sobbing friggin' mess from the start of the opening ceremonies til the end and beyond.  I've even re-watched certain parts like the poem by Shane Koyczan titled "We Are More" and been overcome with tears.  Check it out HERE. Whenever I start to feel like giving up and accepting the nonsense in the world, in my country, I remember all the ways that we are more. 

There is some serious injustices going on in my country.... as in every country.  And there's a very good chance that my rantings do absolutely nothing to push change.  I've been told by loved ones to just accept certain things.  Like the fact that by the time certain Members of Parliament turn 90, we will have paid them 1.9 million dollars in pension.  I’ve told that to people, and they are choked.  Does that not seem excessive to you?  While the heroes who fought in the trenches with rotting feet and broken souls no longer get allowances for special dietary measures or adult diapers.  No money for the people who fought for our freedom ... literally.

One of the things that I'm most proud of about Canada is that we have a legal Medical Cannabis program where people who have proven the need with their doctor, are allowed to legally ingest this plant.  We would all do well to further our understanding that man-made, chemical medicines have only been around for 100 years.  The death toll from them is climbing like the sea levels, yet most hospitals and many Doctors would rather shove you full of those pills, than accept your use of this plant.  Does death toll truly mean so little to them?  Many likely don’t even believe this is true.  Though Health Canada states HERE on their website that "there has been no documented evidence of death exclusively attributable to cannabis overdoes to date".

One such Legal Cannabis Patient named Lisa 'Mamakind' Kirkman is the inspiration for this post.  I used to just stew about stuff like this, but now I write.  Lisa has been dealt a mixed bag of health issues, and almost all cause pain and discomfort.  One of those issues is from a gastric bypass that leaves her missing much of her intestinal tract.  Therefore most oral medications don't work for her.  Thank heavens she lives in a country with a legal cannabis program.  Her Doctors, her Pain Specialist, and Lisa have decided that the best if not only medication that works for her is vaporized cannabis.  Isn't it great that she can deal with her ailments without potential addiction and in a way that is virtually harmless? Vapor is not smoke. Think asthma inhaler.

Further to my bragging about my incredibly awesome country, because of that legal cannabis program in which Lisa takes part, she used to vaporize whenever she stayed in hospital.  In several Alberta hospitals, Lisa was allowed to use her legal, recommended, and Health Canada approved medicine.  Until November 2013.  What changed?  Great question!  We'd all like to know this.  Lisa wants to know so badly that she's spent the last month at the Calgary Court House trying to get a Judicial Review of what the heck happened.

Of course, there's more to this story.  Lisa is a journalist by trade, she knows every story has more than one side.  Much of what happened doesn't make me proud of my country though.  Or at least not very proud of the Alberta Health Services.  Hospitals are where medicine is.  Health Canada says Cannabis can be legally used as medicine by some.  Why can't Lisa use her medicine inside the hospital in Alberta?  And why the change in rules?

Now the really infuriating part to me, is that she is very welcome to admit herself into the hospital but she must leave her legally approved and recommended form of medicine at home and accept their opiates.  Opiates are synthetic heroin.  For any of you who are reading this thinking that she likely just wants to get high and do it legally, can understand that if she wanted to feel high, she could be higher than Johnny Cash on a bender.  How is that okay?  How is any of this okay?  Our hospitals would really rather have people addicted to Opiates than allow them to use the medicine that the Canadian Government and Health Canada and two Medical Doctors, one of which is a Pain Specialist have said she can legally use? 

So there sits Lisa at the Calgary Court House.  She sets up camp every day about ten am. She has her vaporizer running beside her, her herbal medicine heating up.  Laptop and small hand drawn sign stating:  I NEED A CIVIL LAWYER.  Thank heavens the Calgary Court House lets her vaporize inside, while she wastes no time taking on Justice.  Funny isn't that?  In Alberta, it's allowed where laws are made; banned where medicines are.

I just learned about the Queen's Bench Amicus Project, which Lisa visits daily.  It's like this program was designed just for this situation!  It's a pro-bono program of volunteers, giving better access to justice to those without a lawyer.  Check it out HERE.  From every angle the "Due Process" drains Lisa's energy, as day after day she is turned away from the QB Amicus because of conflicts of interest.  So many of the volunteer lawyers have already worked with AHS, the people Lisa's case is against.

So, as I mentioned above, I'm a very proud Canadian.  Maybe I'm more in love with the view from afar than the view from within.  I love how the world sees us.  I mean, Canada is so great, that tourists from other countries have been known to sew our flag on their bags to ensure respect while abroad. Every day I read updates from Lisa from many provinces away from me.  And every day I think that we are more than this!  In the midst of all of this, and to further confuse my national pride, we read HERE that the Sherbrooke University Hospital in Quebec just ok'd vaporizer use in hospital for legal cannabis patients.  When I explain the situation to others, they don't believe me, can't believe this is happening.  It's a clear violation of human rights.

We are the country of thank you's and world renowned Peace keeping missions. When we start offering more compassion to other countries and their citizens than we offer to our own, a disconnect has happened. And when we citizens sit back and allow that to happen, a break happens.

I want to know why this Canadian citizen is having her human rights, her health, and her future stomped on.  Don't you?

Stay up to date with this ongoing battle on facebook HERE.

Lisa has found representation with the firm Elias Facundo LLP.  I thanked them on their facebook page HERE if you want to follow along.

Give Lisa a shout out and some positive words.  Power to the Canadian People ... we are more than this!
And finally, if you can donate any funds to help pay legal fees, you can do so HERE

Life as an Unsolvable Equation.

When I have visits with family or rarely seen friends, I realize how much I bitch.  I do.  I bitch about shit all the time.  I read the news ticker, and pffft at what is considered news.  Solange Knowles turned 28 the other day.  Who the fuk is she?  And why do I care?

Drumming.  That's what my friend-in-the-know Kell says.  Drumming to distract.


So I had a visit with a girlfriend last night.  So good to catch up.  We discussed so many things.  Personal, family, municipal, countrywide ... we covered much of it.  My girlfriend works in a detox clinic.  She is a crucial spoke in the wheel of humanity.  I don't know much about her workday.  But I don't need to know that, to know that my fellow citizens are becoming addicts without fault of their own.  Many Doctors are actively making addicts out of so many of us by giving out scripts for Heroin.  A friend was having her wisdom teeth out and was told beforehand that she'd be given a script for Percocet..... Oxycontin (synthetic heroin) + Acetamenophen.  When an anti-inflammatory would work fine.  I'm getting my gall bladder out tomorrow morning.  I will be getting Tramadol not opiates.  And I'll be taking Cannabis infused Olive Oil that I make in my own kitchen ... in my 'lab' as my mom once joked.  This Lab is for addiction free health!

But back to the bitching.  Why do I do it?  Because I see injustice every day.  I see fakers in positions of power.  I see lies believed.  Stories fabricated.  I see facts ... then I see lies.  I see logic ... and then I see the actions of a majority Government with a hard-on for Oil.  I see money spent to warn our youth in the form of anti-Trudeau/anti-pot ads, when I should see warnings and education about Meth, Crack, Cocaine, and shit like that.  But your kids won't learn about that from our leaders, more likely from their older friends. Our leaders want them to beware of the Cannabis plant~the one with no death toll~ so they can win the next election.

I see society hypnotized with this belief that the business starters and the economy is all that really matter. While the people who stand as the forefront of those businesses are made to simply be glad they have a job. Do they forget how easily that forefront could ruin their business?  I as your minimum wage worker can make or break your business.  Seems like I may be more important than you realize eh?

I'm rambling here ... what's my point?

I'm beginning to see the enemy.  And yes there are so many.  Capitalism being the biggest in my mind.  But I'm seeing the enemy for you and I.  I'm seeing the enemy for society.  The enemy is the status-quo.  I've been told by loved ones to just accept things.  I've been told that my bitching only harms me.  A large part of me laughs at that thought.  Why vote then?  As it is, it seems asinine to me that we as a country don't even really decide what issues are dealt with.  We rely on Members of Parliament to do this.  And then we vote on those issues.  But what about all of the other issues out there?  Simply because the MP's don't see it as an issue, does not mean it isn't important to many and deserving of our attention.

The status quo is comfort.  The status quo makes accepting fukkery the norm.  Ain't nobody got time for that!  Life is short!  I'm already 40!  But the status quo tells me to get a job, pay my bills, vote for one of the pre-chosen issues .... rinse and repeat.  In my mind ... that's not why we're here.

"It's all progress ...." a thought that came to me this morn.  As each moment expires into the next, it is progress.  We cannot NOT progress forward.  Or can we?  The status quo hates progress.  The status quo hates change.  When we sit back and accept the nonsense and bite on our tongues, the status quo laughs.

What many don't see--and maybe I don't show--is that within and around this bitching is the desire to do better, to find the better way.  Progress states that there is almost always a better way.  They say that every process in life can be written mathematically.  The status quo would see us with an unsolvable equation ... one that merely goes on and on into perpetuity.  I bitch to solve it.  I bitch to solve for 'x'.

It's hard to believe this considering how much I used to hate Algebra!

Imprinting ... it's how we're made. Deal with it.

What we experienced yesterday, affects who we are today.

Here are some of my own personal examples:

As a child, my parents were hyper-vigilant about quiet when I went to sleep.  Not sure how, with two older sisters living in a 150 year old house.  But they did.  So today, I must sleep with earplugs.  Mom thinks it's ridiculous and likely unhealthy, but if I don't and a dog barks five blocks away, I'll hear it and wake up.

Weekly Catholic Mass was a routine from my childhood, making it a big deal.  A spoke in the wheel so-to-speak.  We used to play mass at home and communion was clearly the most exciting part.  We'd take turns being the Priest~ almost a sacrilege since we were girls ~offering one another the "Body of Christ".  We even tried to make the Eucharist out of bread.  So hard to find unleavened bread in those days.  They were poofy white circular sacraments made with the rim of a shot glass.  So much tastier than the real thing.  We'd even try to smush them down with the palms of our hands.  So ... to this day when I give a treat to any dog in my family, in my mind I say .... "Body of Christ".

In that same vein, the smell of a church with it's incense and stale air, makes me feel somewhat verklempt~ overcome with emotion~to this day.  It feels familiar, so I feel comfort.  It feels authoritative, so I feel anxious.  The enormous paintings of the 'Stations of the Cross' make me sad.  The humanitarian in me remembers feeling so confused as a child.  The power and glory intermingled with brutality and death.  But all for me and my sins ... so I can be forgiven.  No wonder why I've had issues with guilt.

Today, I fear heights because of when I fell off of the wood pile.  I can still find the scar at my hairline.  I don't like amusement park rides, possibly because of the time my big sisters made that teeter-totter out of a ladder and a lawn-mower.  I was all dressed up to go out with my folks ... with blood-droplets on my gown.

My folks never fought in front of me.  So it's never felt right to scream.  My Dad never hunted, so I forever saw the season through those other eyes.  I cannot recall a time when we didn't have a pet.  Sometimes several different kinds.  So to this day, I feel absolutely desolate without one too.

I grew up in a small community, related to more than half.  As children we were reminded and possibly molded to be kind and friendly children who make eye contact and respond when spoken to.  Because of this, I have a very hard time with the chit-chat.  It's possible I do it too much.  Maybe that's why I love Facebook ... chit chats 24/7.  If only I could get paid to chew the fat.

And then we mustn't forget the other ways that upbringing molds us.  You have to pull out for a more macro view to see this.  Rather than an imprint being directly related to a situation, we're imprinted by other more broad things like customs and belief systems, and by the words used and the ways in which arguments were ended, fights broken up.  As my sister Kelly reminded me many months ago, I have always been about what's FAIR.  I've always seen a sort of par system needed.  Inequality in all it's shades of the rainbow has never seemed right to me.

So I can only surmise that mom and dad were very much about that too.  In fact, I know this is true, because I see it in how they interact with my niece, their only grandchild.  The only game we really play as a family is Crokinole.  Do you remember that game?  Many a fingernail was perpetually marked from too many Crokinole games.  Well ... rules are rules.  And there have been times when my niece has taken extra turns, or attempted to bend the rules in some way.  My dad is all over that shit.  In fact, he refused to continue to play once last year.  It was kind of a big deal.  Tears abound.  And yes ... that may be one of those defining moments that really stands out for Maddie.  That one action by my Dad ~her Papa could direct her passion in life.  I think that's a great inspiration! Maybe she'll be a lawyer though I really hope not.  Maybe a Politician. Maybe my niece will be Prime Minister of Canada and will finally bring back true socialism and the real united one love.

I see the future in her eyes.  And though we all want to shield our children from their lives and all the shit that it includes, we can't.  We shouldn't.  For every single experience~ the good and the bad ~affects the outcome of our lives.  Due to this fact, I am SO DIFFERENT now that I spent time off the rails, learning lessons, seeing truths.  It changed me to be who I am today.  And who I am NOW is the happiest I've ever been before.  I am the most content now ... content with knowing that I live what I feel, I speak what I know, I live how I love.  That may be more important to some of us than it is to others.  For me it's the only way.

I am imprinted with memories, experiences.  And so are you.  They are the recipe ingredients, the ingredient list, the make up of the contents therein.   They are you.  And this effectively takes the pressure off of you. Live today.  Give yourself a break.  And don't forget to smell some roses along the way.

So Long and Thanks For All the Pollen!

The Bees are dying and the causes are still in debate.  As if it matters at this point.  We’re doing the same thing with Climate Change and pollution, still discussing or denying while action of any kind is imminently imperative.  But unlike Climate Change, there is no argument who is to blame for this loss of a crucial spoke in the food source wheel.  Do we understand completely just how wobbly and unsteady that wheel will be without that spoke … that group of species we call pollinators?  No clue at all.  And it’s already happening right here at home.  Paintbrushes are being purchased and used for pollinating apple orchards; instead of being used to paint them.

From what I have read, Bee keepers were noticing bees coming back to the hives in early spring carrying pollen.  Yet the season was too early for that to naturally happen.  Upon further inspection, it’s been confirmed that what was sticking to their furry legs and baskets wasn’t pollen at all, but pesticide residue.  Like a modern-day Trojan horse, the pollinators are unknowingly bringing the enemy into their hives and nests.  The experts and the bee-keepers are in some agreement that a common pesticide ingredient called Neonicotinoids is the culprit.  And then there is a subsequent viral infection.  Or is it the infection that makes them more susceptible to the pesticide?  I don’t care.  I really don’t.  What I care about is that there are actions we can take now that would benefit all of the pollinators and yet we’re allowing Capitalism to stop us. 

Profitability, the sacred economy, and our obsession with ‘weed-free’ landscapes lets us justify the sale of pesticides and fertilizers that are most definitely infecting the water table, sterilizing soils, and off-setting millions of balancing ecosystems every single day.  Whatever will Capitalism do when there is nothing naturally-grown for it to sell us?  It’s like they don’t realize that the soil AND the sun--two of the three components for growth—are free!  I can’t wait until they realize how much more expensive a shipment of Apples will be when they have to grow them hydroponically and pay for the photosynthesis!  I mean, when the soil is officially sterilized of all living organisms, nothing will grow in it.  And there is no spray Mons@nto can create that will give it that spark known as the “God-particle” that instigates germination.  Like Austin Powers’ mojo … it’s an unexplainable force that allows a seed to sprout.  We humans believe we can control that.  So easy to say while it’s happening.  But when it’s gone, what will we do?  It is then that we will see how little gold truly means in the scope of life?

In so many ways we've abused this creature, myself most definitely included.  I've always been a tree-hugging nature-lover, but I've allowed others to influence my actions at times where it concerns our insects.  We demonize them.  We swat at them.  We share recipes of natural bee killers.  That seems like such an oxymoron to me now.

 Tell me, if you could speak "Bee", what would you say to they who remain hanging by a thread?  Are you with me at the point where you too will gladly implore them to stay? I would sing Van Morrison’s “Baby please don’t go … baby please don’t go-o” over and over to them.

If it were you running the show, would you beg them to stay living?  I would, and it would go something like this: 

“Dear Pollinators:  I hereby promise to invite you to all of the picnics this summer.  I’ll bring you homemade jelly too!  No longer will you be ostracized simply because people misunderstand you.  I’ll start telling them about you more.  I’ll make them see in you what I see in you.  We’ll make that buzzing sound comforting and good!  They won’t get so nervous when you come around.  I know you can smell their fear- I know those pheromones freak you out.  We can do this!  I know we can.  Bees … please don’t go!

I’ll leave room for you in the shed and in any abandoned buildings, feel free to set up camp.  I‘ll speak with my municipal leaders about controlling harmful pesticide use.  Grassroots all the way!  I know I’m not alone, we can change pesticide laws.  Just hold on guys, give us a chance, bees … please don’t go!

I’ll even talk to the Bee-keepers about the supplemental feed packs they give you.  You deserve Organic all the way!  What good is supplemental Bee feeding, if we’re feeding you GMO crap?  I will implore our Government to subsidize Bee-keeping and all of the products they use.  There are things we can do to help you.  We can do this.  I love you so … Bees … please don’t go.

I’m going to make Pure Raw Honey the newest new black.  I’ll pull out all of the info, all of the recipes, all of the anecdotal cures.  I’ll take selfies of me doing honey facials … facials all around!  I’ll tell virtual strangers about the Honey you make from the Tea Tree flower … I hear that honey kills MRSA!  Bees … I’ll do more I will … just please bees … please don’t go!

I’ll plant flowers on my balcony so you can stop by.  Basil flowers just for you!  I’ll tell my friends to make bee boxes and bee baths too!  We can co-exist.  We just need time.  I know we can adapt.  Bees … please don’t go!”

I’d tell them all of this and more.  Whatever more I could find.  I’d broadcast it in every country.  No Pollinator left behind.  No worker Bee forgotten.  No Queen without a team.

 Yet I know that some will survive and many will most definitely adapt.  Their sting will likely kill us and their honey will be like battery acid.  It’s a crazy thing what happens to nature when it’s pushed to the edge of existence.  Adaptation is not always pretty.  I fear this one will be no different.

You see, who done it … doesn’t matter.  We just need to act on it now.  Please stop using harmful pesticides on your lawns.  Get to know bee-friendly flowering weeds and plant them wherever you can.  

Canada’s own David Suzuki has some suggestions here in this link.

We can do this people.  I know we can.  Look him in the eye ... can the Pollinators count on you?

Your Past Mistakes Do Not Define You!

Life is such a conundrum sometimes.  We can all look back and see our own individual mistakes. They stand out to us more than they do to others.  Another example of 'the human condition'.  We'll fight for our own survival yes, but many won't defend themselves in the day to day.  We forgive others;  yet refuse to forgive ourselves.  Or refuse to accept forgiveness from others, holding on to some belief in penance. There's some blame that could be laid here.  Societal influence and all.  But we all just do the best we can, with the tools and faculties that are given to us.  Our individual life experiences are the hand that gives.

I've made mistakes.  I spent about a year lost.  Many years before that meandering.  But for one whole year, I put myself through several different stages of hell.  And they all seemed fun at the time.

So I sit here, talking to you.  Whoever the you are that read this.  I marvel at the countries my google stats show me.  Hello there you ... in Ukraine, Brazil, Romania, Bulgaria, Spain and oh so many more.  I hope you know we are all one love.  I myself, didn't used to know this.  It's not until I spent that year off the rails of reality that I learned this.  Unconnected and the only one to feel the way I felt ... struggling to see the point ... and being fooled at every turn.

I spoke for a while last night with my neighbor Alex.  He's the one that said he believes every religion to be VALID.  That immediately resonated with me.  As did many other things he said.  Alex is stuck in this puddle of re-living his past mistakes over and over.  Regret.  Who knew it could be avoided. I want Alex to know peace.  I want him and you to know that our mistakes are merely experiences.  We as a society put the labels of good or bad on those experiences.  But for the most part, in my opinion there really is no good or bad.  There just is.  'IS' being the reaction that we get when we experience life.

What I know is this:  words and memories hold power.  Memories affect our thoughts.  And our thoughts affect our reality.  When you're constantly regretting your past mistakes, you're gonna miss out on the ride. My friend Francis is all about correct thinking as therapy.  He sees this too.  He was the gateway to me learning about this.  All through Facebook --take that FB haters!  Peter McWilliams is another soul who knew the secret behind correct thinking.  His words live on here to inspire others like myself.

"Chronic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed is a most undesirable sentiment.  If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you can, and address yourself to the task of doing better next time. On no account brood over your wrong-doing.  Rolling in the muck is not the best way of getting clean."
~Aldous Huxley

Profound.  Found that two years ago.  After I read it, and let it sink in, it felt like a boulder was lifted off of my shoulders.  This quote is in the 'forward' of Huxley's newer versions of "A Brave New World".  I never read the 'forword' as a rule. I had read the entire book likely two years earlier and missed that little tidbit.  Makes ya wonder about timing ... and whether we even have control of that. I mean, what made me read the 'forward' this time?

Pretend we're liquid.  You and I and every everybody is liquid in a petri dish with several million compounds swirling around.  The compounds are our experiences.  How we were brought up.  What your family members said or did to you.  And how you yourself perceived those actions.  Because lets face it, it's not often the same.

You can't really change those compounds.  They are you.  I mean, I guess you could have a lobotomy, but that ain't legal yet.  Every single one of your past life experiences is in there--the ones you remember and the ones you don't.  Now imagine that yet another drip of liquid is dropped into the dish.  How will those compounds react? Will it bubble up and foam?  Will it create heat and choking smoke?  Quite often we have no control over how we react on a feeling basis to everyday life.  But we do have control over how, when, or if we physically, verbally, or even sometimes mentally react. Thought precedes action.  Always.  So learn how to make that thought count ... and make that thought correct.

It's odd how honest I can be now.  Like my tears, I spent years not being honest with myself or others, spent years never shedding a tear.  But now I know that what I feel; others feel too.  This is therapy. This has been one of the few therapies that has worked for me.  I am okay with me and the dumb ass shit I've done. Some of it is laughable now. Most of it has been forgiven.  Thank Goddess for family and unconditional love.

"Storms make trees take deeper roots", said Dolly Parton.

This is also profound to me.  I used to see my mistakes as disappointments for and to others.  I felt like our road together was so bumpy and crooked and full of holes, and it was all my fault. Those rocks and holes being my own poor judgments.  But now I see that a road must be torn up, to be re-paved. You have to break apart those old chunks of incorrect thinking in order to turn them into something stronger, more secure.  A road to survive the miles.

The "Correct Thinking Movement" is still in it's infancy but increasing in size like a snowball of the stickiest snow ... we're a force to be reckoned with.  My buddy Francis is writing a book.  I'll keep you posted on that.  Peter McWilliams is someone that we all would have benefited from knowing. We're people saying, "No worries ... it's all good".  We're the ones who know that life is too short to allow toxic memories affect your today.  What good can come of that?  Live in the now.  If someone is a grumpy prick, they likely have reason to be.  Even if it's their every day ... those are the ones most deserving of our understanding.  And it's difficult.  Holy shit do I ever know it's difficult.  Just let it slide.  Be water.  And be in the one love of the now.

“Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn, a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter.  If your mind isn't clouded by unnecessary things, this is the best season of your life.”

~Wu-men

Excommunicate Capitalism!

Pope Francis .... buddy .... you're killin' me here!!

Read or watch in this link where our great Patron Saint of the Poor, the figure we know as Pope Francis officially ex-communicates all Mobsters.  Holy shit bud, could you BE any more vague?

The Padre and I need to have a sit down chewin' of the fat:

Father ... please tell me you know that there are other places mobsters and criminals reside!  Yes good on ya for stickin' it to the mob.  They've been running things in your part of the world for far too long I hear.  But ... how effective are your words really?

So, you've excommunicated a nameless, faceless multitude.  What good is that?  I mean, isn't the Mob like Fight-club?  Except when you identify members of Fight-Club you get kicked out.  When you identify members of the Mob, you get whacked.  Does this mean that their souls will now be branded with an 'E' until the second coming of Christ?  Or does it simply mean that you're no longer going to let them imbibe on that pearly-white tasteless wafer or drink anymore of the wine?  Cuz I'm pretty sure there's other white stuff they're more interested in, and wine has never been an issue in your area of the world.

Empty.  Void.  Echo-inducing.  That's what these words are.  This melodramatic display of dogmatic machismo is just simply void of all effective content.  You've only increased fear and hate among your followers.  Was that ever Jesus' message?  The last time a man of the golden cloth did this, several Churches were bombed.  Are you inciting terrorism Francis?  Was JC's Christ-ness about shunning those who clearly need guidance?  If you believe ex-communication matters to these people, then surely you must believe that your words could hold power for them.  Power to change their ways.  Yes ... rose colored are my glasses.  But .... tis your story, not mine.

Exclusion was never Christ's way and it still isn't in 2014.  What in the hell does "excommunication" really entail anyways?  Are all Mobsters now locked out of the gates of heaven?  Because you are one egotistical man if you believe that's for you to judge.  I'm pretty sure there's a verse somewhere in your book that said you'd never do this.  Didn't I read something about forgiveness upon confession of sins?

Look bud, I'm just tryin' to help you out.  You have taken on an almost impossible task.  It seems to me that in order to excommunicate, blanket coverage cannot apply.  You must  identify each soul in order to cast it below don't you?  Well ... good luck with that one.  In the meantime, there are Mobsters on Wall Street and financial districts all over this planet.  They've made it really easy to find them too!  Most of them even have websites.

Show us you're awake Fran.  Show us you see what we see.  Excommunicate Capitalism.

Life is short .... we should ALL sample the Honey!

In the year 2014, I see so many changes.  Good ones, bad ones, and ones that couldn't be stopped.  I see respect given to some, trusting their intentions are good.  While others who's intentions breed compassion and selflessness go left unnoticed, unfunded, unheralded.  It seems the more grandiose the hooplah, the more respect is given.  But hooplah doesn't come cheap these days does it?

Sometime somewhere in our historical tickle-trunk, a man whose 'wiseness' is debatable said:  "Who controls the food supply, controls the people."  That was the very year I was born.  In a small hospital in Ontario my mom was trying to decide how many 'N's to put in my name;  while a few thousand miles away a man was trying to decide how to control the masses.  Intentions.  Mom wanted my name to be unique.  Kissinger wanted to rule the world.

So this all leads us to question who among us, controls the food source now?  Who controlled it then? Is it the same person?  Truth be known, it's a struggle that has been going on for many many years just below the surface.  Biotech companies are trying to control the food source so they can control the world.  I mean, it worked before!  What's to make it fail now?  The Roman Catholic church filled it's pews by feeding the poor Pagan Celts.  Allies and Truces were formed over the breaking of bread for years and years.  Offerings of food are perhaps still left for the Gods~new and old~ somewhere on this planet.  We know we will surely cease living without food.  Who controls the food;  indeed controls Fate.

Who do you think controls the food source right now at this very moment?  Is it a difficult job?  Does it take up all hours of this Being's time?  Even at the bottom furthest-reaching corner of my historical tickle-trunk, this same Being controlled it then too. Do they do it for Power? Do they do it for Pride? Will it gain them the power and glory forever and ever?  No.  They don't do it for any of that.  In fact, they don't even know they're doing it.  It's often a mistake.  A simple slip of the foot.  While these Beings collect food, they also Pollinate plants.  Several hundreds of plants and flowers every single day.  The very plants that give us food and keep us living.

Of course, the selfless Being of which I speak are the Bees; or more commonly referred to as the Pollinators. And they are by far the most loyal of Beings.  Some inherent, invisible, unending drive spurns them on day after day to light down on hundreds of flowers to gather Nectar.  And they do it all for their Queen.  Take that Queen Liz ... ain't none of your servants THIS loyal!!  They collect nectar for their fellow beings.  For their young to thrive another season.  Selflessness at it's most genuine and raw, these wee little insects live a mere season.  Life is short~I sure hope they get to sample the honey!  In my opinion, the Pollinating Bees and insects of all species are by far the hardest working Beings on this planet.  And by far the most deserving of being saved.

As I consider this, comparing intentions, I am choked.  What exactly did Kissinger expect if he indeed were the King-of-the-Castle controlling the worldwide food source?  Adoration no less.  A bowing down ceremony each and every day.  More money and respect than any Being has ever been given.  For as we've already ruled, who controls the food controls the Fate of the living right?

Laughable isn't it?  The utter hubris of man?  Kissinger, Monsanto, and all of the other Biotech companies are going after a job that is already filled.  And they expect to get rich doing it.  The dumbasses have not yet realized that the Pollinators have been doing this job for us for millennium and doing all for FREE!  Give them time, the capitalists have forgotten what that word means.  They can't get their materialistic minds around the fact that no Tender was given by the Pollinators.  They just do.  Although with the ongoing minimum wage debate, our future may see the homeless, jobless, uneducated running the fields with paintbrushes trying desperately to match the momentum of an insect.  They also forget the pollinators have wings.

My question is this:  Are the Capitalists killing the Pollinators simply to take over their job?
Hmmm ... does a Bear eat honey and shit in the woods?  While there's still honey he does!

There is comfort for me in the irony of the fact that Kissinger's flesh has been put to work to assist our righteous Pollinators.  He knew not what his role truly was.  He, you, I, and Monsanto are nothing more than fertilizer for the fruits and flowering trees.  Oh how I hope that the Nectar is sweet. True Honey lovers know that each flower brings a different shade, a different taste, a different look to the end product.  I wonder what color Irony makes?

The Evidence will be LIFE Hilary

The clip of Hilary's most recent interview and brief mention of 'marijuana' came to me on a day where little would amuse me.  She gave it one minute and nineteen seconds of her time.  Big of her eh?  When I'm depressed, I'm either sedate or writhing with venomous anger that comes out in cyclical mental chatter. My normally happy persona suddenly turns grey.  Therefore, I don't really know if my immediate reaction to this video was merely a side effect of my depression, or was it the video itself?  Perhaps it was one of the many ways that Clinton once again disrespected me, those like me, and this plant.

I am normally a cheery hopeful person with an easy smile.  I love a good laugh.  Laughter IS medicine!  But in its time and place.  I can't recall if I've ever heard any news anchor or DJ segue into the 'marijuana segment' without making some reference to the lazy stoner with the munchies-all for a cheap laugh.  Let's face it guys.... it's been done.  It's not funny anymore.  In fact, I've seen as many interviews WITH self labeled 'stoners' who don't giggle as much as most news anchors do when asked about Cannabis.  It's absolutely infuriating to me!  I mean, can someone please tell me what is funny about legalizing a plant that keeps a little girl from seizing a hundred times a day?  Or allowed a beloved Kitty to live nineteen years pain free?  Or allowed the thousands of us who have been able to get off of dangerous and unhealthy medications that damage our systems?  This is the face of Weed now. Not Cheech&Chong hot-boxing the car.  It's Chong curing his Prostate cancer with the help of concentrated Cannabis Oil.  Health is the face of weed in 2014.

Anger immediately rose when the video started.  To hear and see the laughing from not only the audience, but from the potential POTUS as well, just stirred a little more anger in the fire.  The fact that Hilary immediately joked about having the younger audience members help her out on this one, seethes ignorance and disbelief of what we already know.  Would you joke that way about some new pharmaceutical that saved lives yet had a pleasant side effect?  NO!  But Clinton does so because she has no clue what she's talking about!  She clearly hasn't done her research.  Or is she being purposely vague?  As I've said before:  money is being made off of prescriptions for pills, not off of prescriptions for plants.

Let's just say that what came next, made my already furrowed brow appear officially ready for planting.  As Hilary formulated her response, pausing thoughtfully as though really digging deep, I readied myself.  Would she surprise us? Would she prove me wrong and prove that she too has been doing her homework on the Cannabis plant and all of it's wonders?  Could her now sure future as a Grandmother have led her to watch Sanjay Gupta's documentary as so many of us did? Did Charlotte Figi pull on her heart strings? Is she now as hopeful as all who read this, at the potential life-saving properties of this plant?

Like my old kitty working away at a deeply swallowed hair-ball, Hilary made a big show.  She worked it, adjusted her seating, then paused.  Poor 'ol Kitty.  Then she worked it again even harder ... only to produce a wee pile of old, outdated fur of times gone by.  She spit the same sadly soiled regurgitation that every other political Charlatan has used when asked about Cannabis.  Damn those hair-balls get stuck in the rug don't they?  Especially if they've been around for a while like this one has.

What are the contents of the hair-ball?  Hilary calls out for clarity on the benefits of marijuana use.  Ahem ... news flash Hil-baby ... I'm all-over-that-shit.  In fact, there are thousands in North America alone who are legally all-over-that-shit and they are very clear on the benefits of this plant.  And those are simply the LEGAL ones. Remember the truth about an Iceberg?  10% above; 90% below?  Well the same could be said for the users of this plant.  If there are say 2,000,000 legal cannabis patients in North America, how many illegal ones are there?  'Tis truly just the tip of the proverbial Iceberg people.

Have you ever noticed how 'ol kitties can spit up a hair ball and then look at you like they had nothing to do with it?  That's what else Hilary did, she spit out the 'there aren't enough studies' excuse.  Ah yes Hilary ... and over the last ten to twenty years of your life, you had no chance to address this did you.  Oh wait, there's more.  Because in cases of "extreme medical conditions" Hilary believes that our plant should be made available.  Hey, I gotta agree with that.  The problem is her wording and the dilemma of WHO gets to decide what an extreme medical condition is?

My wee bout of the blues yesterday seems nothing more than a bad day to some.  But to me it was hell.  No hope, no pride, no love for myself.  Only cyclical negative self-hating chatter that cannot be stopped.  Sleep perhaps being the only way to stop it, until my hunni lured me in to our smoking room for a doob.  Who judges 'extremes' in the year 2014?  In the same year that sees us allow cigarettes to be purchased though tobacco kills 15 million of us worldwide every year.  Who measures extreme?  And should they really be the one with the stick?

Finally, just when you're sure the gagging is done, the fibers in the carpet can simply hold no more, she continues.  Hil-baby is not alone in this final mindset when it comes to her statement regarding recreational use of this plant.  It's a common one with those who want to give the illusion that they are open to legalization, yet don't really understand what all the fuss is about.  She says, as she sidles up on the arm of her chair, she wants to wait and see what the evidence is with the legalization in Colorado and Washington state.  Evidence.  That's what she called it.  So much in a word.  And which word?  'Wait' or 'Evidence'? Too many children have already died waiting for legalization.  Too many parents too.

Recreational vs. Medicinal is such a big issue isn't it?  That's the thing about social issues.  There is no real and true democracy unless every single person's opinion is counted.  So how can we be so foolish as to believe that the lines between recreational use and medicinal use don't perpetually intermingle?  I will argue til I take my last puff that all use is medicinal.  As long as Gr@vol, S*minex, Aspir!n, or Z@ntac are categorized as medicine, so should Cannabis be.  In fact, in comparison to Cannabis, Gr@vol is deadly in the wrong hands. While too much Cannabis in any form will only put you to sleep for a spell.

So I'll tell you Hilary what the evidence will be, though 'tis unlikely you'll even notice.  It's crystal clear to me that you don't see, believe, or comprehend all of the lives that Cannabinoid therapies have changed and saved.  If Big Pharma came out with a Cancer killing drug, you'd speak to it for many minutes!  What a wonderful thing that would be.  Though personally, I think anything that saved even one child's life deserves more talk-time  than 1:19 mins from a future Presidential candidate.

The evidence will be life Hilary. Legalizing recreational use would allow people like my uncle to try Cannabis without worry of arrest. And why would he want to try it?  Because it's the only pain killer other than perhaps hypnosis that doesn't carry a death toll. To the general public, the fact that Cannabis has never killed anyone means something!  Legalizing recreational use allows people to make concentrates that help them to stop addictions, manage auto-immune disorders, and kill pain.  Legalizing recreational Cannabis can help the success of a cornucopia of different foundations, since from our Livers to our Brains, Cannabis is proving beneficial.  How is that not a good thing?  And you would know this~~ you should know this if you cared about what's important to your people.  Health is important to the people you want to lead.

Honestly though, Hilary's response to the last and final question as to whether she herself would ever try cannabis was the most telling response of all.  For if she had done her research, she would know that RSO concentrated Cannabis oil is killing all kinds of cancers.  A well-informed Presidential candidate would respond with:  "Never say never."

Take notice, the next time your news anchor or DJ reports on anything to do with Cannabis.  There will be a joke there.  A stupid, outdated, and likely factually inaccurate joke.  Let me know if it gets stuck in your craw the way it does mine.

#Legalizeit

"Pssst ... don't drink the milk ... it's spoiled" ~The Little Rascals

I see it everywhere.  Have seen it at most of my workplaces.  I notice it when I'm in public on my days off. We are a people who are obsessed with dairy.  We almost have as big a boner for anything Dairy as we do for anything Alcohol.  I even overheard a co-worker congratulating a young customer for choosing milk over pop.  She said, "Well aren't you the healthy one".  It was all I could do to bite hard on my tongue.  At the time, my co-worker didn't know the milk secret.  Now she does.

Mmmmm ... I'm enjoying some right now.  Creamy white half & half.  Every single day I use it several times. I open the plastic carton I've purchased at the store.  It's so easy to pour into my coffee, I don't even have to get my hands dirty.  Thank Goddess someone else has done the work!  But who?  What work?

We as a society are obsessed and somewhat addicted to a product that comes from an animal to whom we give absolutely no rights or respect.  Oh there are still some farmers out there like the ones I grew up knowing. They're the ones who still let their eye fatten the cow, so-to-speak, watching the herd and knowing each member well.  But those farmers are few and far between nowadays.  Even most of the good 'ol farmers in my small town have sold out to Monsanto, spraying that toxic Roundup shit all over the fields.  And wondering why they get cancer so early.

But let's get back to that animal.  She is known as Cow from the family Bovidae.  Some may call her Bovine and still some may call her property, chattel, thing.  Yet ... we rely on this 'thing' to feed us.  Or at the very least the most innocent and fragile of us.  Do you know what lengths some breast feeding women will go to simply to produce the best, safest, cleanest breast milk for their young?  Sheer selflessness that's what lengths.  I've even read about women who fry up their own placenta and afterbirth to eat it. Talk about your organic eh?  I know a woman who gave up drinking anything but herbal tea and water for two years just to breast feed successfully. So much is done for the good of the child.

And yet next door a bottle is being filled to be warmed to be fed to that innocent little future Doctor or Scientist.  What lengths do we humans go to in order to ensure that the milk from that other udder is clean, safe, healthy, and plentiful?  That's where the shudder comes in.

We've made the Cow a factory in and of herself.  And every factory has policies and guidelines.  For instance, the right to daily exercise is no longer allowed for this living, breathing, profitable factory known as the Cow.  We cannot risk her harming her udder or spilling the milk.  Shameful you say, since the dairy cattle of our youth used to graze all day and then gladly line up to be milked when they knew the time of day was right.  Well, these are not your grandfather's udders we're talkin' about here.  These are udders whose capacity is made to increase.  The udders that used to hold a few gallons of raw milk, now must hold more.  According to my trusty google search engine, the average Cow in California produces eight gallons of the precious nectar every single day.  And she never bitches about getting a raise, or taking her breaks on time.  If only we were all cattle eh conservatives?  I mean, THAT is some work ethic I if ever saw it!

So here's the dirty little secret of the Dairy industry.  It's not enough that the Cattle produce the milk for free. Oh no ... we must make them produce MORE.  So stimulating and growth hormones are fed and injected. The udder filleth ... and then some.  What happens when you over fill a balloon with liquid?  If we could watch that process in slow motion, we'd see that the balloon itself would stretch even more.  Amazing stuff that latex, it can stretch like nobody's business up until the point where the fibers begin to rip and tear.  How can they not? The sheer volume of liquid inside itself is just too great.  And the internal structure of this furry, breathing factory's udder is precisely this way.  Rips and tears in the flesh simply welcome infection.  The body amazingly sends a team of white blood cells to fight off the infection, as would our own bodies.  Yet there's a problem with that team.  Like Hotel California, once they're in, they can never leave.  So the white blood cells, cellular debris, and necrotic tissue simply come out and into your milk.  The nectar of the Bovine that you feed your children and babies contains pus.  I've even read that the milk used to make the Chocolate and now the Strawberry (coincidence?) flavored varieties is the inferior milk that has been discolored by blood and leukocytes ... aka pus.

What happens next is simply laughable to some of us.  Like that chef who kept amalgamating soups each day of the week, by Friday he has no idea what to call it.  He only knows he has to boil the shit out of it to kill any potential for food-borne illness.  Once again, yum.  Ah yes ... because the polymorphonuclear leukocytes, necrotic tissues, microorganisms, and  tissue fluids can't kill you when the shits been boiled out of it.  Okay, not exactly boiled, the act of Pasteurizing milk occurs at 154.4 F for 30 minutes. And sure ... the thought of drinking dead and cooked pus cells is so much less grotesque. Yet for the factory herself, according to another online dictionary, pus in milk indicates complete destruction of the mammary secretory tissue.  But don't worry, it doesn't sting that much, and remember her great work ethic?  No stinging teat is gonna slow her down!  Besides, she's likely being fed appetite stimulants as well so that she just keeps on eating eating eating so she can keep producing producing producing.

Yet of course, the capitalist pig also known as the Factory Farmer knows about her work ethic.  He knows about udder stretching, tearing, and infection.  So he feeds or injects this money-making genius with antibiotics, pain killers, hormones, and stimulants every single day.  Injections who's remnants your innocent child or baby drinks.  And we all scratch our heads and wonder why we have antibiotic-resistant bacteria in 2014.  It is said that the average milk cow is slaughtered by the time she's four.  That's the first time I ever thought that maybe the factory farmed chickens are the lucky ones for only having to live through an average of 36 days of torturous life.

According to USDA data from 2010 here the American milk supply from factory farms averages 224,000 white blood cells per ml.  Or about 5 million cells per cup.  Even Cheese Connoisseurs are up in arms because it seems pus in the milk changes the taste of the cheese when compared to that made to higher European standards. No doubt!  And finally, when raw factory farmed milk is compared with raw organic milk, the raw organic milk shows far fewer cells, pathogens, or blood.  Proving that the act of pasteurization has become less of a wee cleanse, and more of an absolute necessity for public safety measures.  It seems like it's become a fix-all band-aid to Big Dairy where anything goes because the end product will be almost completely sterilized before packaging and sale.  The reason Big Dairy is so against the sale of raw milk, is because if you were to drink raw factory farmed milk, you'd likely be a very sick puppy.  But Organic farms are held to a much higher and stricter standard which quite often looks a lot like what we used to do before capitalism ran the show.  Cow health is raised simply because she is allowed to graze on grass and exercise in the sun at her leisure rather than being kept inside and fed a grain that likely gives her chronic stomach pain.

Look around you for the next few days.  See just how dependent we are on this animal.  Don't you think she should be treated better for the short time she's alive?  I mean, when it's all shaken out, this animal was wet-nurse to a vast majority of the population.  We owe her a wee bit more respect in my opinion.

Musical Boxes

So I've hinted before at my having depression.  I speak often of those damnable pills and the lies that both they and their pusher- my family doctor -told me for years.  Yes I was diagnosed by two white coats at the hospital, but I refuse to label myself with any of their terms.  I refuse to be placed in a box.  Any box.  I refuse to be categorized for easy anything.  I am individual.  I have my own box.  And so do you.

I would love to be able to influence the world to see mental illness differently.  I'm not educated on it in any way, other than that one true form of education:  experience.  I've lived with mental illness my whole life.  I've lived around and with mental illness.  I've been related to it, married to it, and best friend to it.  And I, like every one of those I mention, and many of you, jump from box to box to box throughout our lifetimes, our days, our months.  Some days I'm bipolar.  Other days I find myself answering my own mental chatter.  Uh-oh, is that the schizophrenia box?  I think I have also been manic a few times.  Not often, but once or twice. And finally, I've been majorly depressive.  I can't write about it unless I'm in it.  Because when I'm not, simply thinking about it can pull it back in, making me feel it again.

So ... logic lets you the reader in on a little secret.  I'm in it right now.  Thank Goddess I'm on the other side of the worst of it.  Almost through.  I can now express myself again, the dark parasite's claws coming finally loose.  I have flare-ups like many other diseases.  I'm not constantly depressed, I know this now.

What my 'purest form of education' has taught me is these boxes and categories are just a way for our Health agencies to simplify their paperwork.  It's a way for schools to aid placement in the school, put like near like. It's a way for the Pharmaceutical companies to cement more thoroughly the idea that you need to be labeled to get help.  And that when you're labeled, you must take their remedies.  It's what is done.  You must do it. It's the only way.  In fact, the desire of some of us to not take their remedies has become it's own box ironically enough.

So why do I hate the boxes so much?  If it can get someone the help they need, then how can it be a bad thing?  By that very statement, it's a bad thing.  Why should any of us have to be labeled to get help? So what ... no time for those without a label?  The whole thing reminds me of Aldous Huxley's "Brave New World" wherein all of society knew what they were.  Everyone knew what their role was.  Everyone knew and accepted their place.  It's a magical concept really, and one that I'm sure the 1% admire as they rub their big ... wallets.  But that's not Earth 2014.  Here, they flash all the "you could be's" at us from all sides.  We see it.  We hear it.  We're sold it.  We're advertised to about it.

But many of those ads no longer apply to you when you're labeled and placed in a box.  Some are, but not all.  Some  boxes narrow at the top so you can't get out.  Or at least that's how it feels.  I remember after I was finally diagnosed in 2007.  I felt relieved.  They told me the meds I was on were at a sub-clinical level~ not really doing me any good.  They upped the doses, and added another to help me sleep.  But I remember after that appointment, I was with my sister and my niece.  I felt wrote right off but relieved to know what my issue was.  My niece did something adorable and we all giggled and clapped.  And mid-laugh I caught myself thinking, "you fraud ... you have NO RIGHT to laugh or feel joy or feel happiness.  You have Major Depressive Disorder.  You are mentally ill.  Two Doctors said so.  You must accept this.  You will never be truly happy again, that's not in the cards for someone with MDD.  This is your life now.  Maybe the pills will help though.  God bless those pills, they're my only hope."

Can you see how they changed me?  Can you see how different I am now, clean for almost four years?

What's worse in my opinion, is the combination of multiple pharmaceuticals and the labeling system we allow. Because life is such that we all have moments of inspiration.  We all have bouts of joy.  But for me, the meds made it so that whenever I jumped up in a bout of inspiration, I'd hit my head on the lid of the box.  It happened a lot at first.  Until I learned not to do it anymore.  I just stayed down, accepting my cage.  I stopped thinking about my tomorrows and everyone else's tomorrows.  I just was emotionless.  And lets face it, no emotion is better than too much.  Or so it felt.

This is all just how I felt.  And how I feel sometimes still.  One person.  But what I see daily through my social media, is that WHAT I FEEL ... OTHERS FEEL TOO.  Life is not only a box of chocolates as Mama Gump taught us, but it's a freakin' roller coaster ride people!!  I sit now on my balcony writing, and I look over at the swanky building.  The one with the two-balcony units.  In my eyes, the more balconies, the more swank.  Truth is, every unit is filled with every day people who are just livin' the ride.  We all have drama.  We all have ups and downs.  We all have blue days and we all have up days.  Some of us even have manic days because let's face it, life requires 'manic days' sometimes!  For me, it's about managing every single day.  Trying to stop negative chatter when I notice it.  Trying to feel the one love and be grateful for the All.

I'm not medically trained at all so this is not in any way a suggestion that anyone change their medications.  But I think we'd all do well to realize that sedating us so that we don't feel the ups and downs makes for a boring life.  Boring lives are in my opinion, a dangerous thing on Earth 2014.  Maybe this is why the video games and horror movies are getting increasingly more gruesome, the amusement park rides ever more treacherous.  Because we're all just dying to feel SOMETHING!!!

A friend last week told me how sad she was feeling, and the only advice I gave her was to let herself feel it. I told her to let herself feel the sadness, cry the tears, until that aching urge stops.  And it will.  But if you don't let yourself FEEL, then your brain will bring it back on you ten fold like a boomerang.  When you're least prepared for it, you'll cry about it.  Anymore, I accept life and that it's the UPS that make the DOWNS livable.  It's knowing the sun will soon rise, that makes the darkness of the night bearable.

Change is our friend, and that's a welcoming thought for me.

The Gateway Theory Revisited & Proven Plausible?

The Gateway Theory, such a bogus term.  I mean what WERE they smokin' when they came up with that? Someone was watching too much Star Trek if you ask me!

So ... as if anyone doesn't know this, the Gateway theory states that when kids use cannabis, it makes them want to try other harder drugs.  Do you remember the first few times you ingested weed?  It wasn't great for me.  I spent most of the time wishing I could stop coughing, but giggling so much that it didn't matter.  I think I peed my pants those first few times for sure.  I can most definitely say, that it didn't make me wanna snort anything, or inject my self with a needle that's for sure!

But if we must go along with the Gateway Theory, and state that using Cannabis makes me want to do something else, well then I most definitely agree.  Here is a list of things that Cannabis is a Gateway to, for me.

Cannabis is a gateway to the take out menu or the kitchen for me.  Now that I'm a bit older, I often feel hunger but have no appetite.  Yet within fifteen minutes of partaking in our plant, I'm lookin' for something to nosh on.  I'll go ahead and say it:  Cannabis is an h'or d'oeuvre in that it gets you ready to eat.  It gives you the munchies.  Remember endocannabinoids?  The cannabinoid-like compounds that our bodies make? Yes, well breastmilk is filled with them.  Makes sense when you see how ravenous a newborn can be when he's had his first suckle.

Cannabis is a gateway to my pillow.  This is the fact with almost any strain if enough is imbibed, but the most sleepy-time efficient strains are always higher in THC.  Even a high-THC sativa will eventually sedate.  There is nothing like the feeling of falling asleep the moment your head hits the pillow.

Cannabis is a gateway to the publishing of my own children's book, "Three Amiga's".  Once again, almost any strain can inspire great writing and great ideas, but the more cerebral stimulating of the strains are much much better.  These are Sativa dominant strains.  These are the hard to come by jewels that promote clear focus and the ability to concentrate.  When I write, a Sativa is like the ink in my pen.

Cannabis is the a gateway to my orgasm.  Being high on cannabis can pull me out of my negative thoughts, but it can also let me close my eyes and totally immerse myself in the experience at hand. Cannabis relaxes me, makes me feel comfortable in my own skin, and allows me to shut down outside thoughts and influences to just concentrate on my hunni and our bodies.  There are other drugs that people rave about more than weed as an aphrodisiac, but that's a whole lot too much salivating and tongue chewing for this gal.

Cannabis is a gateway to a Literary award for me.  Since much of what I write involves me putting myself in someone else's shoes, I find Cannabis urges me to do just that.  Cannabis promotes compassion.  It seems like we productive potheads and couch activists feel the connected one love. When I write, I feel the one love.  I write in a way that will hopefully show the general public how this lowly and much misunderstood plant helps me and many people I know.

Cannabis is a gateway to my winning Masterchef some day.  Except it would have to be the version where you can have your vaporizer on the counter beside the fryer.  And the version that doesn't include timing me.  I'm a great cook when I'm medicated.  You just had better not be in a hurry! Once again, any strain works.  But a strain that is 50/50 Indica Sativa is going to treat the best for daytime use.  An even ratio of cannabinoids offers incredible clarity for me.  Sharp knives require a sharp mind after all.

Cannabis is a gateway to perpetual physical youth.  I've begun eating some canna infused olive oil every night in caplets.  It really helps me sleep through the night.  And on the nights where I forget, or fall asleep too soon, I wake up aching and yearning to find that comfy position again.  Remember that Disney character that would suck the youth right out of kids?  Well I do that to my doobies with every puff.  I'm more gentle than that Disney bitch though, cuz Cannabis wakes up my compassion remember?  That would have been a whole other Disney movie had the bitch been partaking in the herb!

Cannabis is a gateway to my enlightenment.  And this is a broad term with a timeline spanning from now til I take my last puff.  I know not if it is the lack of pharmaceuticals, or the quantity of cannabinoids, but my brain is bringing memories back like it's its job!  Good ones, odd ones.  Once again, I don't know if they were purposely repressed or just friendly fire from other memories that stuck.  But either way, I feel more clear and aware of my own place and purpose now.  I feel one with the universe and one with every body ... every single every body ... even the ones who aren't ready.  It matters not what the real meaning of enlightenment is, because to me it's total self love and radical acceptance of all.

So ... ya ... maybe they're right.  Maybe MaryJane is a gateway drug.  But it's a gateway to all things good in my opinion.  At least all things good when used in the right time and place.  But such is life eh?  We spend so much time trying to dispel a myth, sometimes it's been fun to deconstruct that myth once and for all.

I'd love to know what Cannabis is a gateway to for YOU!

The Odor Complaint 2.0

So ... this time the entire eighth floor got the warning.  It came in the form of a 8.5x11 sheet carefully rolled up ~ironic no?~ and placed behind every one's door knob.  They looked like great-big-doobies tucked precariously behind the knobs all the way down the hallway.  Even on my neighbor Maria's door ... though Maria barely leaves her apartment.  Of the fifteen occupied apartments on this floor, I believe as many as ten of us partake in the herb.  Funny, they seemed so surprised the first time they called me to the office, I now wonder if they put us up here for a reason!

I refuse to bore you with the details of this rhetorical notice.  It had something about a "Marijuana" odor in the hallways and there being a complaint.  The fukkers refuse to call it what it is:  Cannabis.  The word "Illegal" was in there somewhere with the direction to take it off-site if needed.  Ya ... I'll get right on that.

I expect to find all of our future notices to be rolled up like that.  You see, they tried to push that notice and several others before it, under our door.  But we have the seams lined with so much edging, that it's a core friggin work-out every time you open the door.  This is what a person does, when they don't want what they do, to be smelled in the hallway of their tenement.  I don't give a shit if you are perming your hair, frying onions, smoking cigarettes, or ingesting Cannabis ... I don't wanna smell it in the hallway!

So ... this is a take two on my previous blog post wherein I talk about that first odor complaint that happened a mere week after we moved in here.  I'll explain that, for the previous six years of my hunni and I being together we had to ingest our plant outside ... rain, snow, wind, or moonlight ... we went out. So some of you can imagine how relieved and thrilled we were to be able to partake INSIDE when we finally moved into our new sanctuary-like home.  It was nothing less than heaven to be able to enjoy a nice vape bag or doobie on the couch.  I am the friggin' Couch Activist after all!  But, at some point I think we both knew, we were going to have to put our big boy and big girl pants on and move our stinky habit to a segregated room.

They can make us hide;  but they can never take away our Pride!

I am a Cannabis user, lover, preacher, and legalizer.  But I'll be the first to tell you that it kinda stinks at times.  And I'll also be the first to tell you that Cannabis is NOT for everyone.  This recent complaint I believe came from a young girl and her mother who moved in here two months ago.  The young girl is in some form of the Canadian Military.  Would trace amounts of Cannabis smoke in the hallway show up on a young Cadet's piss-test?  I don't know, but if I were here mother, I wouldn't take the chance.  I get it ... totally.

So this post is also here to serve as a wee reminder to all of my fellow Cannabis users.  Our medicine and recreation smells. Ya ... not as grossly as McDicks, filterless cigarette filled hallways, or the downtown sewers.  But it does smell.  Yes, I like you LOVE it.  It's like Pot-Pourrie to me. But until Justin Trudeau legalizes our Plant, we are the poster children for legalization and worldwide acceptance.  When I do my 3-in-1 Therapy of Champions where I exercise while ingesting cannabis in the sun, I don't wanna have to hide or put my doobie out whenever someone walks by me!

So I feel it is up to us, to gently educate those you come in contact with.  Respect mutual areas like hallways by keeping what you do in your apartment, IN your apartment.  Dedicate one old towel or blanket to stay under your door crack.  This one thing will keep most odors inside where they belong.  Remember that when you are partaking in anything that smells, you lose the ability to smell the strength and distance that it carries.  Don't trust that if you don't smell it, your neighbor won't either.

I can hear some of you ... bitchin' and grumblin' about having to change your routine for the man. That's not what this is about.  This is about getting your neighbors to see that your using Cannabis as medicine or safe recreation is no different than you using Tobacco or Alcohol as such.  It's about acceptance with the end goal of full worldwide LEGALIZATION.

Education and communication are power.  Use it or lose it eh?  Oh ya ...  Peace, Pot, and Prosperity!