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The Magick of Marijuana

Though my childhood was a rough road, the road was paved in serene beauty. Many plants touched my heart but none my soul as Cannabis.

Our little green and white trailer house sat on a hill in a small clearing. The clearing was surrounded by a forest. Too many trees to name. My favorite, the beautiful Pacific Madrone. With their red trunks and bright green leaves. The Madrone twists and bends through the forest on its quest for light. Agile as a gymnast leaving low branches twisted in a beautiful, flawless design. The Scrub Oak with its black bark. Moss hanging off every branch as though it was growing hair. Mistletoe grew in the tops adding such a splendid splash of texture.

Pussy Willow grew behind the house where the mountainside gave it a break from the scorching sun that dried our well every summer. Behind it was a steep trail leading up to our gloomy barn where animals lived to become our food. The trail led up, straight across the hillside overlooking the backside of our home, then down the opposite side of the hillside to our woodshed. All around the woodshed grew moonflowers.

When the sun began to set my sister and I stopped what we were doing. We ran through the narrow path between the backside of the trailer and the hillside. Past the large windows that gave life to our indoor plants, to the maple tree that gave our rabbits shelter. The branches of this maple supported the animals that were hung to bleed before they were butchered. We stood still and quiet for probably the first moment of our day, to watch the moonflowers open as evening came and the blanket of the night covered the earth.

It was an evening much like this that my sleep was disturbed by a ringing telephone. At first, I thought I was dreaming. The sound eventually alerted my senses enough that I awoke. I walked down the narrow hallway, into the kitchen, where the obnoxious yellow telephone was ringing. I picked up the receiver and said “hello”.

A woman, clearly startled blurted out “OH MY GOD THERE IS A CHILD IN THE HOUSE”. I told her I was 11 years old. She asked me strange questions all of which I can not recall. When she asked me if there was anything near I could get underneath I became confused and concerned.

I then asked this strange woman who woke me from my sleep, called me a child, and asked me to describe the kitchen if I should get my little sister to sit underneath the table with me. The woman let out a horrified gasp and said something out loud as though she was speaking to others about a second child. I said “goodbye” as I attempted to put the phone back on the two little buttons that would separate her from myself. I could hear her yelling to stop. She ordered me to set the phone down, get my sister as quickly as possible, then I was to get back to the phone and get under the table. Now in a panic, I ran to my room where my sister slept soundly in my bed. Waking her, hushing questions I could not answer, we huddled under the kitchen table with the telephone.

My heartbeat so loud I feared the woman on the phone could hear it. Tears forced there way down my cheeks, the salty taste wetting my lips. Sirens and lights filled the thick air. I began to feel as though I was drowning, struggling to take a breath. As quickly as it all had begun, it stopped. The shrill voice of the woman, the sirens, the lights. Even the beating of my heart slowed.

Happiness and joy flooded my heart coming from a familiar smell. What was that smell? The “Tomato” plant living within the pot of my palm tree. It was sitting feet away from us in the big window facing the gloomy barn. The smell I smelled every morning when I wished her a happy day as I poured water over her leaves. Without any care, I started to sing “if I were a unicorn I would fly, high into the sky. With a golden horn that is always worn by the most beautiful unicorn....” As I sang I felt my sister relax. I sang until the police opened the front door and took the yellow phone from my sweaty ear.

The tomato plant was not a tomato plant. It was Cannabis. Who had planted it in my palm trees pot no longer matters to me. I cared for this Cannabis plant until the day she filled a child’s frightened heart with happiness and joy. The day she gave me words to sing that brought comfort to myself and my little sister. The day my mother had called 911 to protect her children from the man in the woodshed with dynamite threatening to blow us all up. This was the day the spirit of Cannabis spoke to my soul.

The use of Cannabis dates back to its place of origin, Asia. Where it grows today in its natural form on the steps of the Himalayan mountains. In early Chinese lore, Necromancers used cannabis to provoke premonitions, helping the practitioner see into the future.

Cannabis is the first documented cultivated plant. Archeologists have found remnants of Cannabis at dig sites dating as far back as 12,000 years ago. They have also been able to prove its cultivated use as far back as 6000 years ago

Researchers assume the use of this plant date back to Neolithic times, however, specific times are not known for sure. Over time Cannabis migrated through ancient China, the Middle East used by Scythian people. To Russia and Ukraine. Germanic tribes brought it into Germany from there to Britain and so on.

Cannabis has been used for millennia magically. It has been used in divination, visions, meditation, psychic abilities, protection, wisdom, transformation, endurance, and love. For psychic ability, some practitioners carry a cannabis leaf, wrapped in a willow leaf, bound in purple cordage. Seeds are carried in different pouches or bags. Though there may be controversy in this claim Witch covens used a potion containing cannabis called the honesty potion. Believing that disputes or conflict between witches could be settled with this potion. This was considered a sacred ritual.

Rastas are also known to pass the pipe in a reasoning ceremony. Before lighting the pipe the head of the Rastas would state their intention and reason for the meeting. The pipe was then passed clockwise. In a time of war, the Rastas would pass the pipe counterclockwise discussing how to obtain peace and balance while ensuring the survival of the community.

In my own spiritual experience, I find that cannabis helps one open the door to one's soul. I have read that this plant was one of the ingredients in the holy oil Jesus used to anoint his apostles and later to perform Miracle healing. According to Exodus the recipe for Holy Water includes Cannabis.

Cannabis has also been used for millennia to make rope, cloth, jewelry, paper, food, to heal, to intoxicate, to improve weapons in ancient times, in spiritual practices all around the world as well as religious practices.

When I look at her dried seed I feel as though I am gazing upon the silhouette of an eye. This doctrine of signatures tells me that cannabis heals ailments of the eye. Medicinally cannabis relieves the symptoms of nausea, vomiting, spasticity, movement disorders, pain, epilepsy, Asthma, withdrawal from dependency, depression, anxiety, nervousness, insomnia, and the common cold.

Keep in mind when the plant is not treated with respect or overused it will become angry and can cause serious consequences. Overuse of today’s man-made cannabis with its higher levels of THC can cause excessive daily nausea and vomiting. Lack of clarity, inability to focus, and even psychosis.

Respect this plant and it will respect you. Remember that through controversy this plant is legal in half the world and illegal in the other half. If you do have the ability to use Cannabis, care for her and she will care for you.

Chels Kohl


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