humanity
The real-life lives of pot advocates, influences, growers, users, advocacy and more.
Everywhere Is The Park
I’ve come a long way from where I was a year ago and I know I’m nowhere near where I’m going to be, but I can’t help but feel like I’ve made it. I hadn’t had a car in almost a year and I was okay with that. It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford one as much as it was a matter of not really thinking I needed one. I came and went as I pleased and found myself wherever the winds of change happened to take me. This was odd for me because from early on in life I had had this fantastic fascination with cars and always kept one or two in my driveway. If I’m being honest, this was the first time since I was 16 that I hadn’t owned a car. In January of last year my current partner and I went to Puerto Rico for two weeks to meditate. We spent 14 amazing days on the luscious beaches with our feet in the sand and our heads in the clouds. 14 days engulfed in pure peace in paradise, free from the chaos of everyday life. It wasn’t too long after our return home, that I found myself longing to be back on Puerto Rico’s magical beaches. One warm summer night we sat beneath the stars in the parking lot of our favorite park, laid back in his Tahoe smoking some really potent reefer, talking about life, when I voiced my desire to return to our blissful spot in the sand. This was the night he introduced me to the idea that “everywhere was the park”. He quieted my anxious mind and explained how we didn’t have to go back there because we had already been and we would always have those beautiful memories, therefor we could be there anytime we wanted. He passed the perfectly pearled blunt to me and calmly directed me to just breathe. We meditated together in silence for the next several minutes. He coached me to remember the way the air smelled, how the salt from the ocean revived my sun-kissed skin, the way I felt and the way the city looked from the roof top of our hotel. I inhaled a few times before feeling my body relax. When I breathed in again and closed my eyes I could see the city and the beach. I could see him standing next to me as we looked out over the water from our favorite spot. I could feel the warmth of the Puerto Rican air on my skin. I could smell the salt in the air and I was once again intoxicated by the energy of it all. It was as exhilarating as it was on our first night there. The night we found our spot. I drank the memory all the way in imagining that I could be there forever. When my conscious mind came back down to Earth some part of me braced for disappointment but it didn’t come. I remember feeling so content in that moment. I said “I like this place pretty well too”, to which he replied “everywhere is the park dear.” I have revisited that night many times in my mind. Able to view it almost as an inception movie. I can feel the love and energies of both places as if they were one and It always gives me peace of mind.
By Nevaeh Rhodes (Emily Murff)5 years ago in Potent
Mindset Editing for Stoners
I have these old habits of thought that keep me from moving forward and progressing toward the life I want. They upset and piss me off, sometimes I cry over ancient history just to, you know, freshen them up. I've created some pretty big belief systems that are just too heavy to carry around anymore but the accompanying habits are far too easy to lean on. Depression and addiction during a pandemic, now there's a combo from hell. It's like perpetually dusting the trophy cabinet of fuckery instead of creating my best life in the lab.
By Augra de Melrose5 years ago in Potent
Copied Eyes
As I gaze into the mirror a thought that had never existed before permeates inside my awakened consciousness. If I am just space for the world as practitioners of an abstract philosophy would suggest then wouldn’t the warehouse manager who treats me like a dangerously fragile thing be made of the same empty space as I am? The same true form as I am? But even if that were true what does it matter?
By Werner Andrews5 years ago in Potent
Good Times At West Ed
So back when I was 17 my friends and I used to like to do drugs at the West Ed. We used to plan these extravagant trips usually hippie flippin or some other combination trip. When we had sourced out a secure source for acid one day we decided to pick up 80 hits, that was 10 each and 50 for sale, only 2 of us wound up tripping at the mall that day- myself and a friend who'll remain nameless. We picked up at Bonniedoon and dropped 8 each and bussed it to West Ed. We were retarded by the time we arrived.
By Lucas Veres5 years ago in Potent
Into the Abyss:
Have you ever heard of Ayahuasca? I hadn’t until 2011/2012 when I came across a lecture by Terrence McKenna (An author specializing in reporting his adventures with Ayahuasca and Magic Mushrooms in 1970s South America). After this I became somewhat obsessed with learning more about this mysterious brew composed of two plants: The banisteriopsis caapi vine, and the Psychotria viridis shrub. There are many variations on the second ingredient, as that is the one that contains the main hallucinogen; Dimethyltryptamine (DMT) while the first ingredient contains several alkaloids that act as monoamine oxidase inhibitors (MAOIs). It is the vine that is actually referred to as the Ayahuasca vine or known locally as “The vine of souls, or the vine of the dead”. It is native to the Amazon Rainforest and has been used by indigenous peoples there for millennia. Since it contains DMT, it is known to produce visionary states that can heal, be used to “cast spells” intended to cause harm, or to enhance learning about the self/universe.
By Baba Jatin5 years ago in Potent
The Time I Thought I Was Satan
This story is about drugs. Of course, as an aspiring lawyer, I would never incriminate myself by publicly admitting to illegal drug use! For the purposes of this story, lets say I was using aspirin. I promise this will make sense, but first let me set the scene.
By Venus Jean5 years ago in Potent
Firehouse
It was the summer before my first year of college that I began to frequent a dispensary, off Main Street, Chula Vista. This dispensary was a temple of divine energy in my eyes. The bright green neon numbers encompassing the outside wall. The roasted smell of cannabis that filled both outside and inside. The weird white dude that stood in-front, (probably high as fuck), waving an affirmation sign that read, “You’re Here”. As if I was too high to recognize my own temple. Bitch, I knew where I was. I got stoned quite a ton this summer. One can almost argue that I smoked a literal ton of weed, and the best part of it all was that I was actually getting all my marihuana goodies at an establishment rather than some shady dude named Jerry who sold out of his shitty Honda civic. I want weed sir, not Hepatitis C.
By Carlo Herrera5 years ago in Potent
Mystic Arts: The Brothers Hood.
I idolized my oldest brother Ron, and whenever he was around, I begged him to let me hang out with him. He was always smiling, with his characteristic “cat that ate the canary" grin under his blond wavy hair. I could be persistent, and I succeeded in talking my way into rides in his blue Volkswagen van. Ron would stick a Paul Butterfield Blues Band eight-track tape into the player and I was in seventh heaven. I loved the sound of the blues. I would tag along, following him to places like the Mystic Arts World, a metaphysical bookstore, hippie boutique, and head shop on Pacific Coast Highway in Laguna Beach. It was the epicenter of the psychedelic world and one of the first head shops in existence.
By Scott Adlai Stevenson5 years ago in Potent
