Back about 6 years ago I moved into Alabama to help my buddys dad build a house on a piece of five hundred-acre-land. I lived in a van at the end of our mile long driveway into no where. The van was propped up on cinder blocks for it had no tires and the entire interior had been carpeted orange. There was no power to it so I had rigged a wind up radio to the interior cabin light so that when it was time for bed I would crank up the radio and as the tunes died out so did the light. There wasnt a whole lot to do out there except get high.
The guy whose land I was living on, well call him Richard, owne d a sawmill where he would wake up each morning, smoke a fatty, and then roll down to the mill to harvest some lumber from his five hundred acres. Cut some logs, smoke some weed was our daily regimen. Just him and I, every day. Eventually he revealed to me that he was growing his own pot amidst the trees in different concealed locations and would come to trust me and show me his harvest. I will never forget the day I stood up amongst the herb.
We had been walking along a well-beaten path that was initially hidden by some underbrush. The path wound its way along a steep grade that fell away into a Georgia clay canyon. Georgia clay wasnt scarce here, we were but a hop skip and a jump from the Georgia border. After daring the menacing drop, Richards strong right arm would tug me the remaining feet across the precipice to safe ground. I sat down on my haunches, mimicking his movements. He was aware of everything around him. A single barrel thrown over his right shoulder, he stared through an old pair of binoculars at a road just out of view, “Look here.” He said. I took the binoculars and followed his glance down along the canyons edge until the small piece of roadway came into view. Richard had been down the beaten path all his life, and he kinda reminded me of the gunslinger from some Stephen King novel. “You see there? The part in the brush just off the side of the highway?” I spotted it as he spoke, “Yeah. I see it.” He took the binoculars from me and began moving through some thick brush behind us, “Someones been stopping off the highway and helping themselves. I reckon theyve discovered one of my lesser plots. I knew thered been buds missing from some of my harvest.” I followed him through the thicket and just as I began wondering what would happen if Richard were to catch one of these so called thieves, a remarkable smell caught my attention. “I smell it.” I said under my breath. Richard and I had just managed our way through the thick undergrowth and were standing up when he said,“You oughta, its all around you.”
The marijuana was no less than six feet in height. I remember thinking of Christmas trees when I first noticed them. No where had I ever heard of pot growing this big! The trunks were astonishing. Five or six inches thick at the least. I couldnt believe that I had crawled into a grove of hemp, and didnt even know it! Richard walked around pointing out the buds and explaining to me how the wood burning stove produced the perfect ash to mix with the topsoil. He would tell me how the bigger hole you dig for the plant the bigger the plant will grow. “Its all about giving the roots room and nourishment. You want a six foot healthy plant, you had better dig a three foot deep by three foot wide hole and fill it with your potting soil and ash.” He would say.
Now, I was by no means blind of the fact when I got there, for his son had filled me in before I headed out there to help, but I kept it under wraps as to not get his boy in trouble. This guy had tons of broken down old cars scattered about his farm, which he used as drying tents for the fresh bud. Hell, he gave me a whole bag of keife (shake for those pot illiterates out there) when I arrived as a welcome gift. It was well over an ounce of pure crystal shake, for free! He was like, “Here you can have this, I cant sell that,” He says, “They wont buy nothin but buds around here.” I was astonished to say the least. “This would cost a fortune where I come from! No one wants to break it up anyhow.” I said and accepted it with a smile. The man knew it would blow my skirt up, and it did! He knew what he was doing. You dont send that stuff to the city or youd just be asking for trouble. Buds for country folks, and bulk customers only. In the real world, shake is nothing, not to mention the garbage bags full of leaves that went to waste! And so, I would roll me one before bed each night as I jammed out in the van. Sometimes I would have company, sometimes not.
Our official shower was a natural spring. It bubbled up on our lot and we had rigged it with a PVC pipe running out overhead. We would stand under it to bathe. Id just wake up, take the loader down to the spring, get showered, and truck it back down to the house for a smoke with the old timer, before cutting wood for the fire or doing any real timbering.
The downfalls in no way outnumbered the benefits. I had friends to hang out with, a job to do, and a place to stay. Besides that I had an awesome car that I had fixed up during my time in the Navy, and my friends and I were the talk of the town. My car looked like something off of the fast and furious. Needless to say that eventually we would blow the engine in it. But thats a different story. Everything took a turn when Richards wife decided that she would rather live closer to town. The kids needed to be in school, and they needed running water and electricity. In a matter of weeks, his wife and kids, along with my friend had moved out a few miles away. This left me to move into the living room and out of the van.
Our routine didnt change much. We still would wake up and smoke, and after getting motivated make our way down to the saw mill to harvest some lumber for sale or use on the house. Over the course of the next week we built the foundation for an extra room. My friend who had gotten me here, was busy doing drugs and partying with his friends, in some cases, I was invited, in some cases I was not. Either way it was but a short commute to his new house when I wasnt working with Richard. My visits to the new house became more frequent and, in turn, Richard was more often left alone. The climax was building in the twisted system and it wouldnt be long before things went haywire.
One night after sleeping at my friends house, I was awoken early by his mom, Richards wife. “Are you and Richard working this morning?” She asked me. I pulled myself up on the couch and patted around my pockets for my keys, “I dont know. We hardly ever work, hes probably still asleep.” I said. My buddy drove me up to the cabin and dropped me off. I let him take my car to school that day.
I remember it being morning time, the time when the dews still on the plants and the spider webs drip with condensation but are uninhabited because of the light creeping through the trees. I was making my way to the front door. I came upon the landing, and reaching out to pull on the handle you could hear tin begin to rub against wood as the door began to open. Then from out of the nearby bedroom Richards voice boomed, “How wuz the pussy?!” I stopped dead in my tracks. I knew he kept a handgun under his pillow and a shotgun on his bed stand. The past few nights were running through my mind like ex lax on an all bean diet.
I had figured to myself that someone left in a state of solitude and smoking marijuana could result in a more than paranoid situation, but never reasoned to myself that I may end up the victim of such a nervous disorder. Not knowing how to assure him that I had not been with his wife, I said the only thing I knew was true, “No offense Richard, but I wouldnt touch that.” I ventured slowly in to the living room knowing I had no ride out of there, and only hoping I had spoken the right words. He emerged shortly from his room and took roost on the couch. He is a good man, my mind finally settling, I looked over to him and lit the joint I had bought from someone else to smooth things over with him, “Not the presidential, but change is always good.” We smoked together and both internally knew that it was time to start a new chapter. I had been spending the night at his wifes house because that was where my friend was, nothing else, but I had been unaware of his marital problems with his wife at the time. Escaping a near deadly experience withparanoia, it didnt take long to muster up some money and catch the red eye home.
Grimoire VI.
BalanceXI. There is a forest in Russia that is 3,000 miles square. This forest contains enough lumber and building material to supply every family on the planet with a mansion the size of the White House to live in.
XII. Before the lumber industry lobbied Congress to make Pot illegal, Marijuana was the primary source of fiber for the production of paper.
XIII. The cost of manufacturing one atomic bomb (4 billion dollars) would wipe out hunger and homelessness in America forever.
XIV. There are vast stores of diamond, gold, silver, copper, tin, zinc, coal, and rubber to supply the world for centuries to come.
XV. The United States Constitution is printed on Pot.
XVI. The ocean will spew forth diamonds, gold, and oil for many generations to come.
XVII. The cost of the ships that were sunk at Pearl Harbor alone would have paid to irrigate the deserts of the west where we could have grown enough produce to abolish hunger worldwide.
XVIII. In our country alone we dump millions of pounds of edible material including produce, milk, and butter each year. This alone could easily feed the entire world.
XIX. With today's technologies Marijuana fiber can be processed into construction materials that would replace wood products saving our forests and lowering the costs of construction while producing byproducts useful in making fuels to run cars and generate electricity.
GRIMOIRE VI. CONVERSATION A.
Dad and I talked about smoking pot instead of drinking, if it were legal, of course. We agreed that it'd be healthier if we would just stop drinking and instead just take a couple of tokes after work to relax and then just play some tennis in your free time to keep your lungs healthy.
That's the truth! They need to legalize that stuff. As far as drinking_ have fun if that is your box of chocolates, but it is A WHOLE LOT HARDER, and takes ALOT MORE TIME, to lose the weight drinking puts on then to clear your lungs from a puff off a joint!
Ironic that there are so many more alcohol related incidents and it remains legal! Man, irony should be the definition of life in the dictionary.
Why, because without irony you wouldnt have much left?
Exactly, all the Irony in my life doesnt leave room for a whole lot of anything else! You know, this topic about marijuana gets me tons of questions monthly on my blogs.
I bet it does, but how can we relate that to irony in any way shape or form?
What is so ironic, is the fact that who put a slander on weed in the 30s by producing such movies as „Reefer Madness was the lumber industry that would suffer a huge loss in profitable margin if pot were to be harvested for paper products!
True. What is even more ironic is that the lumber companies are the ones growing all the pot to begin with! Just look back at Shangri La!
Go figure!
It had been years since I had read the book I had seemingly materialized. I had grown comfortable knowing the things that I had been shown. My life was again on an even keel and Ihad moved North to good ole Nashville, Tennessee. I was returning to my past. In Nashville I had real good friends to practice martial arts with, and I was sure to find work in my old hometown. I opted to stay with my best friend Carl, he had a top bunk bed in his room that he said I was welcome to. Carl is the kinda guy who really doesnt give a fuck. His favorite term is, „Fuck it. If I had ever met anyone more laid back than myself, this was it.
Carl and I had been practicing ninja from an early age. We first met one another in a jujitsu club in middle school. We hit it off instantly. I would show him a back roundhouse if hed show me a windmill kick. Eventually, we would begin working with weaponry and start going on missions late at night. The rain wouldnt stop us. We would train like the U.S. Postal service, whether rain, sleet, or snow. At an older age we would open up an on-line Ninja Clan called Ninja International. But for the time being we were living day to day with his Granny.
Granny was in her late eighties and easy enough to deal with. She would sit in her rocking chair dressed in the same nightgown night after night. We would come in late and tell Granny about what we had been doing and shed just say, “Well.” And smile to us while rocking. Day after day, month after month, night after night we always got the same old, “Well.” With her distinguished country drawl.
An old machine shop was out back of the house that drew in money for the family tree. Carl never showed much interest in it but his dad Dale was back there constantly during the day. We would see him on the rare occasion he would enter the house for a glass of water or tell Granny that he had finished up. We all spoke to Granny as if she knew exactly what we were saying, but just as she would say to us, she would say to him, “Well.” And assume that grin of hers that swallowed up her whole wrinkled face, cheek to cheek.
We were nearing our twenties now, but still went out a few nights a week in full Ninja gear. We would drive by a plot of land, or a local park to case the scenario, and then draw up our mission plans. More often than not we would separate from the beginning and meet hours later, completing the final stretch together. Now you may be asking yourself, “What do full grown men in ninja suits do on a so-called mission?” And the answer still eludes me to this day. It was just something that we felt we needed to do. Somewhere within each of us was this yearning to bring back this ancient archetype, and we knew that somehow, eventually, we would.
I had been working at an Arbys restraunt with all my friends when I met a girl I really liked. Chance had it that the manager of the place, one of my close friends, also had a crush on her. Despite the fact, I knew I should, at the least, hang out with her sometime. We had been talking a little more each day and I found out she loved doing outdoors things like hiking and swimming. I told her about how Carl and I went out nightly on missions, and Carl decided it would be a good idea if I invited her along. She agreed.
I went to Kungs Jewelry downtown where they had a ninja store hidden in the back behind beads and sheets. There I bought a ninja suit, shoes, and blue sash to surprise her with before that night came.
We all met at Grannys around seven. Carl and I were already dressed in our uniforms and we presented her with hers. We waited while she got into her suit and helped her adjust the mistakes. Complete with a half mask, blue waist wrapping, and blue ties in her hair. Carl and I were impressed, to say the least.
It took us approximately 20 minutes to reach the spot where Carl would take Jacqueline into the woods at the start. Me, on the other hand, had planned to start about a mile away where I would park the car.
I had left the keys to the car hidden and marked close-by and was now moving slowly and silently through some palm fronds toward our meeting destination. I was hoping Carl would be showing Jacqueline a good time. He had always stayed so focused while we were out alone. I could only guess that she was feeling herself immersed into our reality.
The moon, nearing full, was the only light that cast upon the field where we were to meet. I had blended well with a downed branch in the middle of the field where we were to meet. The field was open wide besides the tree and the limb from which it had loosed. Tall grasses swayed as the wind cut its way up the path from the old wooden water mill to the South. I could smell the river.
The plan had been made between Carl and I that we would put on a show for Jacqueline in the field as I asked him to deliver to me the Kunoichi (Female Ninja). The mission plans that he held would have revealed to him that his mission, was to keep the Kunoichi hidden at all costs, and to meet his contact here, in the field where I waited patiently.
A dark figure began to emerge along the tree line. It was Carl, and he was headed to the center of the field, which was the contact point. Little did Jacqueline know that his contact had been replaced with a sentry. I dove from behind the fallen branch rolling into a squatting position and placing my hand close to the tsuba of my sword, ready to draw! “Where is the Kunoichi?!” I demand in Japanese. “Never, monster!” He returns in the same dialect. I begin to rise slowly from my haunches as I speak, “Then.. You diiiiiiiee!” comes sickeningly, again in the same tongue as I draw my sword and race toward my opponent.
Stainless steel clashes in the moonlight as we move past one another with lightning speed. Before I know it, Carl has his blade pressed to mine and is overcoming me with strength so I turn and slide my blade down to his tsuba (handguard) before we kick one another away. The blades shine in the night and the lightning bugs have begun to glow amidst the wheat. I step back hoping to catch a glimpse of Jacqueline amongst the tree line. Nothing. “Dosta, shinobu sahn?” Comes his voice from across the field. Hes asking what is wrong and tossing his blade to the side.
I throw my blade away as well and, in moments I am bombarded with strikes and kicks, which I do my best to parry away in the fading light. I drop my posture as to see my opponent against the moon. Hes there. As I am lower than him, he is struggling to see. I watch him turn against the moonlight before I sweep his foot and drag his arm to take his back. Thats when I feel his other hand loose and glide with mine to my belt where my smoke powder lies. Before I know it he has set my bomb into action. Smoke fills the glade in night wind.
As the smoke clears, the two of us are at length from one another and both are resting upon a knee. We look at one another with a nod, and a shit eating grin hiding beneath dark masks. We pull our masks down, approach one another and shake hands. “Awesome, man.”
The Kunoichi is nowhere to be found.
Grimoire VII.
Knowledge from Nothing
The first time I actually listened to my feelings and left my work when I felt it was time, I went to a place that I knew would make me feel special. I had found this place in the woods atop a hard climb up a cliff and through a grove of young saplings that looked out over miles of land below. It felt sacred to me. It was here that I went to look within. I knew here that no one could judge me. That no one could see me. That no one could hear me. And in this moment I reached my arms high into the air and with all my heart I expelled my breath as I sang what I had read from the truest books I had ever known:
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
And bringing my arms down upon the final syllable I felt a release of pent-up
GRIMOIRE VII. CONVERSATION A.
This is the thing; there have been times in my life that I have felt a burning inside me, a fire welling up within, screaming to me, "You were made for something special! Get out of here! What are you doing mopping that floor in an Arby's?" And as intense as that desire can be, I may have never allowed myself to 'take the plunge' so to speak.
So you think that perhaps, if at the moment you became aware of that feeling, that desire within you to leave that Arby's, you acted upon it, then it may have actually happened?
I would say yes except…
Except what?
I did leave that Arby's; I dropped the mop and took off.
What was the feeling you had? What was so important you had to just up and
leave at that very moment and risk your job?
It will sound silly.
Don't make me go there with you again just tell us.
Okay, I felt a mixture of jealousy and destiny.
Jealous of what?
The girl I knew should be with me was talking to some other guy who thought she
should be with him, or something like that.
And destiny?
The feeling made me stop in my tracks and take a good long look at my life. Keep
in mind I was but 18 at the time.
So what did you see?
I told myself I was better than this and that I was never put on this earth to be
jealous. I was put on this earth to be something great! I believed at that moment, that somewhere I had taken a wrong turn. Without thinking I left and went straight to doing what it was I loved to do.
Masturbation?
No! Geeze!
Sorry, just couldn't pass that one up. I'll be good.
But no, martial arts and druidism. Strangely, the ninja's and the druid's had
striking similarities when it comes to the elements and training systems. That was, in fact, one of the first things during my studies that made me think that something more was going on in this world than met the eye.
So these areas of studies preoccupied your mind physically as well as spiritually huh?
Exactly, not that I ever considered myself a druid, but I did once or twice in my life, confidently call myself a Ninja. Indeed, I drove a ninja car, wore a ninja suit, and taught ninja classes.
I think you should point out that the druidism you speak of was of Welsh origin and in no way sacrificial or satanic.
Of course.
And whatever came of this druidism kick?
I played with a few concepts, and tried a few rituals (with surprising results), but the influence and open mindedness it brought was what was most beneficial. It made me start to look for examples in nature. Also, it really gave me a passion for learning. Druids would have to learn upwards of 25,000 axioms and aphorisms in a lifetime! So all in all, it opened me to learning ancient teachings and exploring other languages.
This coincidentally, was about the time you started losing interest in school.
I would say coincidentally yes. This also was happening about the same time as my first true experiences in teaching, when I began to teach the things that I knew of to my next door neighbors. My knowledge exploded!
And what sparked their interest in such things?
They would see me in my ninja suit next door after school climbing the telephone poles, leaping off of the carports, turning somersaults, playing with swords and doing all sorts of strange stuff!
At this point did you feel you were experienced enough to take on such a task of teaching?
Experienced yes; knowledgeable enough, no.
Why not?
Because I had never completed any formal class, I had only taken bits of martial arts from many different classes until I got bored with the repetition. Then I would add the knowledge of what some friends would help out with, what I would see in movies, what I knew from my past experiences, and what I had read in books. Let me add, not just martial arts self-help books either, but philosophy books, physics books, magick books, etc. They all helped me create lessons.
Interesting.
Let me ask you something.
Sure.
Why is it I feel that I learned so much more TEACHING martial arts then I did when learning martial arts?
What is it you are trying to get at here?
I mean, I could teach things that I knew absolutely NOTHING about, and by the end of the lesson I KNEW I was right. There were some things I had only a concept about, maybe had seen once or twice, and after teaching them, it was like I perfected it.
Not only does the drive for honesty help you in these situations, but also the creativity of experiencing whom it was you choose to be. I will tell you something now, if you have ears to hear: THE FIRST TEACHER BEGAN WITH NO KNOWLEDGE
Then where do the lessons come from?
Memory acts like a wave, dipping into the bank of universal memory with each time you try and access it. Trying to do something, or learn, is kind of like trying to unlock a door with a key of soft metal, and over time, the key will shape itself to the tumblers. It only takes so many turns of that key in the lock, so many dips of your ladle in the ocean of memories, for them to finally set. I will put a diagram on the adjacent page to further explain for those of you who are more visual learners. You ask about magic, I tell you now, anything is possible if you set your mind to it.
Carl and I had planned everything perfect. The mission was thus far a success, we had gotten her out there with us, put on a show, and had her feeling like we were the shit! Okay, so maybe the mission was not all that much about being ninja and more about impressing the girl, but come on now, were men. You asked earlier what do full grown men in ninja suits do? Well, this was it. Its all about the hunt.
Carl waves in the direction of the tree line. Slowly another dark figure emerges and approaches us astonished, “I cant believe you guys! You two do this all the time?” We told the truth, “Yeah.”
The next few minutes were spent laughing about how she was trying to be quiet but couldnt and I knew Carl had performed perfectly. What a ninja this guy was! But the mission wasnt over, from here we still had to make it along the South side of the mill and across a stream and up to an interstate bridge where I had left the car.
We all pulled our masks back on tight and moved quickly from the open field and into the underbrush. Pushing aside a frond I revealed where the ground had been weathered away from years of water run-off. This is where we would move down to the concrete wall of the abandoned water mill. Impressions of six feet were left in the mud that would be covered by tonights run-off, they would never know we were here.
The three of us slid into the water slowly, and made our way a chilly 30 feet across to the other embankment before slipping out of the water just slow enough to let the water drain from our clothes as not to make a drip. It wouldnt be long until we had scaled the wall to the interstate and were back in the car.
After stopping at a local Waffle House, covered in mud, and having a bite to eat, we would drop Carl off at his house to get changed and he would tell us that he would meet us at my place after awhile.
Jacqueline and I drove the 30 minutes to my place together. It was beyond midnight and she had told her mom that she wouldnt be in tonight, instead she would be staying at a friends.
As we pulled to a stop light I turned to her and talked to her of the feelings that I knew our manager had for her, and the bad relationship that she had just gotten out of. She told me that she wasnt interested in him at all, and with that I pulled the note I had written from my glove box. “Here.” I said. “For you. I wrote it last week but never came to the courage of giving it to you.” She opened the letter and began to read. I turned up the radio a bit and pulled forward to the next light. We were getting close to home now and I knew if I didnt make my move quick the moment might pass. She turns to me as the song that would become our own began on cue. The light turns red. I stop.
“Kiss me, out of the bearded barly
nightly
beside the green green grass
swing swing (swing swing)
swing the spinning step
you wear those shoes and
i will wear that dress.
ohhhh......
I know she feels the same thing I do. We kiss. Nothing else matters. HONK!! HONK!!!
The car horns break us apart as we realize the light has turned green ages ago, and
I hit the gas, we are off to home.
It was that night as we lay together in the bedroom wrapped in each others arms
that I came upon the lesson of guilt which would sting me in the end. I lay there with her
in my embrace and knowing what we were to do. She looks me in the eyes and tells me,
“Please tell me this wont be a one night thing.” I looked back at her and wondered how
she had been hurt, and what could possibly make her say something like that and nodded
assuredly, “I promise.” We would sneak out into the living room that night and curl