Old School Arizona

We've gotten so used to hiding in sight, we've created our own parallel world.

Cut my hair, got me a number, and marched with flow... little did they know.

MadJag,

Just wanted to stop in and say keep it up!

I grew up in southern az, sounds like a generation apart from you, but your stories still inspire something in me.

I'm the son of a long time criminal defense atty, so the stories bring back many memories of my father, and the stories he would tell. I do have to say none of his though, can hold a candle to the story you're laying out for us here!

Anyway before I start really rambling, thanks again and don't leave us hanging here!!
HGL

certainly not news...

http://www.icmag.com/ic/showthread.php?t=55189&page=7

Experienced smokers enjoy listing the varieties of marijuana they have tried, or would like to try, and during the course of my research I heard mention of the following imported varieties: Acapulco Gold (Mexico), Amazonas (Colombia), Bermudian, Black Gungeon (India), Blue Sky Blond (Col.), Bolivian, Brazilian, Orange Colombian, Colombian Gold, Colombian Mona, Colombian Red, Colombian Red Gold, Colombian Chiba, Stickless Colombian, Colombian Multicolored, Culiacan (Mex.), Guadalajara Green, Guatemalan, Guerrero Gold (Mex.), Guerrero Green, Hawaiian Blue, Honduran, Jamaican Blue Mountain, Kali (Jamaica), Kauai (Hawaii), Kerala Grass (Ind.), Kona Gold (Haw.), Kona Green, Leper Grass (Haw.), Llanos Green (Col.), Machu Picchu (Peru), Mad Jag (Haw.), Malawian, Manizales Black (Col.), Maui (Haw.), Maui Wowie, Mauna Loa (Haw.), Michoacan (Mex.), Misawan Gold (Japan), Misawan Purple, Molokai Magic, Nayarit Yellow (Mex.), Nepalese, Nicaraguan, Nigerian Black, Oahu (Haw.), Oaxacan (Mex.), Oaxacan Red, Panama Red, Popo Oro (Mex.), Pueblo (Mex.), Puna Butter (Haw.), Punta Roja (Col.), Santa Marta Gold (Col.), Santa Marta Red, Sinaloan (Mex.), Sumatran, Thai, Torreon Violet (Mex.), Venezuelan, Vietnamese, Wacky Weed (Col.), Yucatan (Mex.), Zacatecas Purple (Mex.).

Click to expand...

Experiential Learning

Experiential Learning

Experiential learning, that’s the word and term I was searching for in my miind as I sat in the secret garden the other day. I just couldn’t snatch it just then. What we experience is so subjective, totally unique. Like Carlos Castenada’s teacher and Nagual instructed him….

“The most difficult part of a warrior’s world is
to discover that the world is a feeling.” - Don Juan Matus

or as Bob’s wife put it,

“Who feels it knows it.” – Rita Marley

So there is no objective reality, though it appears so, especially to our struggling minds. Our individual cultural environments and our parent/family/teacher upbringing, all intense types of domestication, really shape a huge portion our concept of reality as we transform from tiny tots to adults. The Illusion appears so real that we humans can actually kill one another over a viewpoint, ours of course, that is the correct, only one. Wouldn’t it be cool if a traditional adversary lobbied for its prey’s point of view for a change? Haha.

It reminds me of how many religious philosophers agree that the Devil’s greatest trick on humans was to convince a large percent of the population that he didn’t exist. Ironically those humans were always the easiest for the Devil to influence and manipulate.

In my world there is no Devil. I believe that there are devilish attitudes followed sometimes by devilish behavior, but no independent evil one who is manipulating me. That belief would require me to have a victim state of mind. If I am the primary energy that shapes my world then I cannot be a victim….of any person, place, or thing. And I choose to be the primary source of power in my Universe.

What a trip it was to awaken one day to an acknowledgment of this concept. I can be my own captain….in fact; I am the only one who can!

"If you don't drive your own bus, somebody else will."
- Richard Bandler quoting the original, unknown author

It may sound goofy however some awakenings take place in quite an innocent way, perhaps almost commonplace. Remember how a simple, little apple fell out of a tree and hit Isaac Newton on the head? His lightbulb went off and the concept of gravity followed, stony as it was. Laughter often accompanies such moments. Have you ever gotten so high in the right place and at the right time to just go bonkers with laughter….perhaps intensely enough to even cry with abandon? Of course you have. My sister peed her pants at age 16 when I turned her and her girlfriend onto herb for the first time. She came running out of her bedroom crying and laughing at the same time. Now she’s a therapist and has probably buried that memory! Nah, just kidding, she still has a puff now and then behind her husbands back…..and I’m still her connection.

Steps into the Wayback Machine:

I was back home from college for the summer, hanging out with my younger sister and brother, spending that time working for 3 months at a factory in the far outer circle of Chicago’s downtown. Harlem Avenue in fact and I worked the swing shift from 4pm-12 midnite in a neighborhood that was pretty tough for those days. The only area tougher was one in south Chicago where the Blackstone Rangers ruled the turf; think like the Jets and Sharks in West Side Story, except with guns, and a new phenomenon in late 1960’s.

One of the black guys I became friends with was Eddie. He and I worked together along with several of his companions and loaded boxes into train cars every night. We worked in 90% humidity with 90 degrees F during the height of rainy July and August. I know many of you can relate…..soaking wet from start to finish on my shift. Nightly thunderstorms like clockwork back then in the city.

I soon discovered that my men were tokers and we shared a bit of their herb one night on a break in the back lot. Honestly I must have freaked them out by looking totally surprised…and bummed. Their smoke was cut with tobacco! I had never smoked tobacco, let along seen anyone cut weed with it. Later I learned that this was how most Europeans did it, especially how the Germans I met in Jamaica mixed their hash. They loved to smoke tobacco so it was natural to cut it to make it go further, but these local brothers from the inner city rarely had seen the opposite. It was normal for them, too.

Thank you great Mystery, God, Pusha, Allah, or Rama for allowing me to be the bridge between their world and the hippies out west! You can imagine the fun that I was anticipating. I was going to fire them into outer space, yah boy.

Now that I was accepted into their club I took the opportunity to bring some Panama Red to work so that they could taste the real thing. In Colorado where I went to school at that time I was getting 4 finger deep baggies of good Panama Red, spacechild Oaxacan, or even the unusual appearance of some aged, spicy Santa Marta Gold for $15-20. Actually I hated telling them these prices and felt a bit sad for them because of it, but they inquired and wanted to know drug the scene out west. When I told them what I paid for good herb they all looked incredulous. It was as if I had told them that all hippie girls out west went topless or that you could drink Whiskey at age 15.

I was a brother from another planet to them, their first bona fide hippie contact, and better yet, I had herb. The look on their faces as they filed back in from our secret smokeout and into the dim light of the loading docks was great, I must admit. They began laughing and talking in quick remarks, walking with a definite swagger and enjoyment. They were blasted. I laughed in agreement though I knew that they had overcrowed and smoked way too much of that puro.

I kept my friends happy that summer from the small stash that I had brought home for the summer. It was enough for all of us to enjoy a few times a week and I always looked forward to those particular nights because I also entered their world as the good herb floated us into the night. I learned about what their reality looked and sounded like. We all loved MoTown music so we got along famously and had a great soundtrack behind our high from a small transistor radio that played Chicago’s famous WLS and WCFL through our work night. I’ll bet few of you even remember what a “transistor” radio is! Wow, ahahaha. So be it.

On one sultry night of constant light rain my friend Eddie pulled me aside and wanted to know about LSD. He wondered how it differed from a weed high. Again, I was put in an honorary role, this time that of Eddie’s psychedelic advisor. I was way too young to be fully aware of what that could mean, but I stumbled on and merely said, “You want some?”

Three words have never been spoken better that more perfectly describe humanity’s inner child. “You want some?”………

Well, again, I had learned well from my happy hippie brothers and sisters that as you did for weed one must also have a stash for all the other extremely essential tools for exploring inner space. True necessities like Mandrax, LSD, mushrooms, and black, opiated hash. Back then the head shops were crammed full of hand-carved wooden boxes from India and Pakistan so of course your stash was usually found to be in one of these patchouli embedded boxes. My box even had room for the little glass pipe that I had discovered was superior to my previous stone pipe. The LSD section was tiny, but so was microdot, Orange Sunshine, and blotter.

I guess I could feel responsible for what happened to Eddie, but I really didn’t. He was 15 years my senior and had lived through many hardships and surprising encounters with pain and police. He told how part of his doctor’s cure for his case of Gonorrhea, in addition to penicillin, was to distract his attention and swack his peter with a heavy book. No, this man could handle a nice dose of the Sunshine that I had brought home for my summer explorations and I didn’t have to feel no way.

Eddie didn't show up for work the Monday after I had given him a dose for his weekend. Finally that Wednesday Eddie walked into work with a smile that I have seldom ever seen, even to this day 40 years later. It was angelic and devious at the same time. Angel and Devil, black and white, good and evil, such duality I tell you. He slapped my hand with the particular hand-sign of approval noted for the time, and proceeded to tell me how he had become enlightened. He rambled on and on and finally came to the punch line where he detailed how he went over the edge.

Eddie had pushed well beyond blast off and was full into ascension toward apogee like a rocket in inner space. He was cruising his local hood and found that he could no longer walk so he sat down on a brownstone apartment staircase overlooking the sidewalk traffic. Viewed through his acid eyes the world was spinning, melting, and doing that special effects thing. He had to get a grip, take a breath, and find some real ground to stand on. The solid earth beneath his feet was rapidly disappearing and he was a gettin’ scared.

Just then, like a jubilee of angels from Heaven or perhaps a ragtime band at Mardi Gras, a procession of black citizens singing holy songs, all dressed in black, came trundling solemnly down the sidewalk. Eddie was caught off guard and burst out laughing as he saw them pass by carrying a large wooden box in the air. How bizarre, he thought. At that moment it might just as well have been the Pope in soccer shorts running out onto the field. It was terribly peculiar and totally hilarious. What can you say when you’re in orbit around Mars and have to relate to ants?

Some of the procession participants didn’t especially like seeing this big guy sitting and laughing as they passed by with their dearly departed so they stepped out and up to Eddie. “Danger Will Robinson, danger!” somehow made its way from his eyes to his brain and all of a sudden he launched off those steps like a missile. Without looking back, he ran down the block so fast that he passed himself twice.

He had reached a new place that day, he said, and could never go back to who he was before. For years later I wondered about what he had meant but let it go because I, too, had become awakened and had once actually found the Secret of Life on acid. I had even written it down and still have that dusty page in an old journal from that particular time and space. I understood what had happened. No words could give it justice.

Now, where was I anyway before I got sidetracked?

Oh yeah, experiential baby, experiential! Accept no substitutes!!

"when the foot touches the ground, the foot feels the foot" - buddha

all mechanisms of knowledge are part of the self and so can only produce self knowledge
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solipsism

Yes

Yes

waveguide said:

"when the foot touches the ground, the foot feels the foot" - buddha

all mechanisms of knowledge are part of the self and so can only produce self knowledge
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solipsism

Click to expand...

"We are what we think, having become what we thought"
- Buddha

"Everywhere I look I see only my own desires"
- Hari Dass Baba

"The same principle does not apply in every situation"
- Neeb Karori Baba

I got my awakening

I got my awakening

in a cave in Grand Canyon.

But that is another time and another place.

Can't wait for the book. When I see you have entered another episode I wait until I have an undisturbed quiet time to read. As my too learned pontificating friend would say. Does it resonate with you? Well yeah it does

Sooo....I think I'll trundle off and reflect on my first window pane voyage. A journey with no destination.

pipestone

Music, Massive, and Melancholy

Music, Massive, and Melancholy

Had a visit from melancholy the other day and as usual it showed up out of nowhere and didn’t stay for dinner either. I have a few ideas what gave it some life…..short days, the light is lower in the sky, and all our gardens, herb or otherwise, have been harvested and the winter crops haven’t yet been planted. There’s a distinct feeling of being in between.

I love music and it’s no surprise that I love to dance. 3 days of Sunsplash in Mo Bay, Jamaica, back in the early 1980s tested my metal for sure. The music began pumping up around 10pm and really hit the groove around 2am and beyond. By then many pounds of ganja had been smoked by the lovers of Ragga so the energy was loose and dreamy, mellow with a touch of late night burnout. Each night a different act seemed to rule the night and would swell up and take the crowd to another level. One night it was Burning Spear, another Sugar Minott. The stage had a killer sound system comparable to the giant outdoor spectacles in the US. The speakers were stacked 20 feet tall and 30 feet wide I’d guess. When I left at 5am one of the mornings and drove west across the bay toward Lucea I could hear it at my hotel a good 10 miles away. At that distance it sounded like a small boombox playing in the jungle next door.


I had seen the Cool Ruler on Negril’s west end in a concert at Bigga’s Central Park, a small outdoor venue stashed behind sturdy 8 foot tall cement walls and an iron entrance gate. Gregory was full swing into his infamous crack-smoking period and would dance across the stage every few songs and hook up with a big bong hit of the devil and then dance across the stage as the next song began. He’d usually spin and do his trademark shuffle as he exhaled a huge cloud of pure white smoke. His high-end coke connections and the quality of the freebase was quickly evident by the brightness of that crack cloud as well as the strong chemical odor that accompanied it…..not to mention the way the Cool Ruler would leap into his song and dance with renewed vigor. He was hooked.


The particular show that sticks in my head was this one: Gregory was doing local venue tours around the island promoting his new LP, Out Deh. It’s still one my favorite Gregory LP or at least several of the songs seem to be top hits in my aural database having been able to lodge in my head for decades and appear out of nowhere when I’m missing Reggae. During his beautiful prelude into “Love Me With Feeling”, as Gregory was whipping the crowd into a frenzy, several gunshots rang out from the barrel of a .45 just 20 feet from me and my German friends. It’s interesting how such sounds can viscerally move a body to duck (me), dodge (most dancers nearby), or dive to the ground (my German friends) without any interruption by one’s conscious mind. It reminds of the way my wife, and I too, instantly find ourselves 3-5 feet from where our hearing first heard the speedy rattle of a Western Diamondback that isn’t too pleased with our presence. Bodies do that so well…...

Well the Cool Ruler was so blasted and surrounded by multiple amplifiers belting out the bass rhythm and his high-pitched lyrics that I think he totally missed the connection. Maybe it sounded like a whistle or something unidentifiable to Gregory at first though he finally stopped dancing once the whole crowd froze and Gunman’s friends quickly grabbed the arm that was holding the smoking pistol above his head and shooting it into the sky in appreciation of the tune. With glances in all directions to see if any undercover detectives or security were about to pounce, his terrified friends literally picked Gunman up and charged him out of the yard.

I love that song. Must have been Gunman’s favorite too!


Here’s a link to Augustus Pablo playing at JapanSplash in 1986 . It will set you up with 15 minutes of killer jazzy-reggae sound. Pablo’s trademark melodica gives his music a haunting sound when dubbing and it adds a jazzy feel to his vocal reggae in subtle ways that I’ve not heard in the music of other roots musicians. A brilliant example is his classic “East of The River Nile” that came from his first LP, Rebel Rock Reggae (1974). The song has been updated in his video performance from JapanSplash, however it is still powerfully evocative and haunting as it’s performed in this more modern version.


Pablo spent a lot of time near Port Antonio and if you have ever explored the surrounding jungle and river canyons there in the Parish of Portland you’d totally flash on how this song portrays that area. Portanio is in the rainiest district of Jamaica, up to 200 inches per year, and has killer year-round rivers like the Rio Grande spilling out of the mountain ranges and winding down to the sea. The John Crow range and the Blue Mountains both rise quickly to altitude in Portland and offer some dense, dense jungle comparable to any tropical nation’s impassable areas. Bamboo grows hourly, just like in Colombia. The ganja fields are difficult to discover in such overgrown areas like this and I smelled herb wafting in most places around town.


Unlike the southeast end of the isle in the hills outside of Negril, Portland Parish has little disturbed or planted ground that stands out easily when seen from the air. Herbmen hustle here without scores of tourists to hassle so the police are more laid back. It’s not overrun with hipsters like in Negril or Ocho Rios though Erol Flynn and the Hollywood gang of the 1940’s and 1950’s loved the area and made a distinct impact upon its history. It doesn’t have the typical miles and miles of sandy beaches that the rest of the north coast features so it was homesteaded differently. It rains a lot more, too, so it imparts a more moody feel to the local atmosphere than in mostly sunny Negril.


The beauty of music that can evoke melancholy is that the feeling it brings out is ever-present in our psyche. Like all the primary feelings, happiness, joy, sorrow, suffering, it is one of the responses our hearts can supply. Melancholy seems to appear out of nowhere without warning whereas the other more familiar emotions have a distinct, noticeable way of announcing themselves.

I define melancholy to be like an invisible arm weighing on my shoulder, the feeling of incompleteness and a need that cannot quite be identified or quelled. Melancholy is not inherently sorrowful or painful but it’s a distant echo of perhaps a little of both. Something over the horizon evoking a strange feeling that can turn pleasant just as easily as it can turn unpleasant. It’s undecided yet very moving.

When I feel melancholy I usually make a point to let my lady know. We both are explorers in this way. We truly enjoy mapping how we came to feel a certain way by examining the setting, the set, the personal motifs at play, and the emotional trend in our lives at that time. Playing Pablo’s melodica-rich tunes are a surefire way to amplify the feeling and stare into its face. Top female vocalists like Sade can gracefully dish out a full order of melancholy whenever they so desire, too. It seems that it’s one of the most powerful tools that they keep close at hand. Led Zeppelin’s “Rain Song” is a another, more classic rock tune that drips with melancholy. Smoke a few tokes of your top fire, play that song once or twice on a rainy afternoon, and I think you’ll agree. I’d add Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” as well though I think it actually moves quickly beyond melancholy and heads into a more tense, struggling mood. maybe even angry. Melancholy doesn’t really have tension or sadness at its center as much as it seems to be undecided and bounces me back and forth from peaceful to uneasy. It keeps me guessing at what’s next.

Usually, like yesterday, when I have a brush with melancholy, it disappears without notice as quickly as it seemed to appear. It reminds that I have work to do, a life to live, and time, like the waning days of Fall, is always ticking in the background. The clock of time tells me that I am sensible to live like a warrior, treating every day, each moment, like the true gift it is. I hope you’re awake and watchful for the miracle in every breathe, too, and give melancholy its due as a useful messenger.

thanks for the writings man.. i enoyed every bit of it.. maybe its cuz im from az but im sure its cuz growing in the middle of the desert like this is a very interesting thing.. very unique. i'd love to hear more about the small towns and the marijuana community in them.

i grew up in southern az but have been in socal for a while with plans to get land up north and do the outdoor thing.. but lately ive been very very interested in az after finding out about these higher elevated areas with cooler summer months. its gotta be a great place for marijuana to grow especially if youre making your own soil and not relying on whats in the ground. i never considered growing in az cuz of the harsh laws and conservative views on marijuana but with them getting the medical thing going, even though its not figured out yet but it was voted in so people should be allowed to grow for themselves.

plus northern california is played out, everyones growing there and even though they have relaxed laws its burnt. the feds are flying helicopters around and making busts... whether u get popped or not the governments all up in your kool aid... the laws might not be as lax in central az but at least you are super secluded with no feds crawling all over. so i believe if you keep it on the low you wont have any problems.. and its 10 times cheaper, norcal prices are so inflated cuz aeveryones running there to try to cash in on this medical thing..

im curious if these areas still have a growing community there or at least a heavy pot scene? i know that jerome is a hippy town so i assume that growing a few plants out there is the norm.. i cant see it as being frowned upon around there. reading this makes me want to visit and check it all out.

is the weather perfect or is there problems??? i know some parts the summer tempertures dont really go past the 90s and definitely dont get to the 100s.. and i'd imagine its pretty dry with a little rain?? do the monsoons make it difficult? othe then the monsoons it seems pretty damn perfect.

so ive been thinking heavily about renting land in the verde valley and doing an indoor and a small outdoor, maybe a greenhouse. is there ranch style homes outside of jerome? anything that would be for rent or sell outside of jerome? jerome seems like the town i would want to be a part of and closest to but the houses look too close together to do an outdoor grow so i figure i would have to be on the outskirts. is there any specific area you would reccommend?

thanks for any help and the inspiration in taking this area more seriously. i would love to spread my genetics to all the growers around there and make sure the people that really need it will have the best around. it could really be just like calis emerald triangle if arizona ever gets there medical marijuana shit in order.

i hope you drop more stories on us, im sure theres a lot of people following like i am.

Hey Gardens,

Thanks for your interest in my chronicles. I'm sure you have a bunch of tales yourself.....everyone has tales....I just decided to start writing mine after all these years.

Jerome is a great place to live and hang out if your not into anything that you don't want everyone knowing within a few months of moving there. The old saying for town is, "If someone had a fight with their spouse, everyone knows about it the next day".

Too many words travel too fast in such a small population (450 roughly). The only land for purchase or rent on the outside of town are the gulches. Both gulches have old-time folks probably growing a plant or two, however they hasve been there for years and stick to themselves. You won't find them at the Spirit Room or Paul and Jerrys talking with other locals or tourists.

The gulches are more densely wooded, especially the gulch at the bottom of the first switchback as you come up from Clarkdale. The Ailanthus trees (Paradise Trees) grow like weeds and hide many properties. Tourists don't drive through there either.

Personally I wouldn't try to grow in the Jerome area. I'd pick a wooded property in Cottonwood near the Verde with some acreage. This could cost a bit to buy or rent, but you'd have a lot of space to "lose" a greenhouse or encircle a grow site with fences, bamboo, etc.

Peace,
Madjag

Afropips Malawi 99 Update

Afropips Malawi 99 Update

It's October 25th , it's getting down to the 40's at night, 75-80 in the day. Looks like this tropical mix still needs time.

These shots are from 2 weeks ago and capture her fine essence:

Madjag said:

Hey Gardens,

Thanks for your interest in my chronicles. I'm sure you have a bunch of tales yourself.....everyone has tales....I just decided to start writing mine after all these years.

Jerome is a great place to live and hang out if your not into anything that you don't want everyone knowing within a few months of moving there. The old saying for town is, "If someone had a fight with their spouse, everyone knows about it the next day".

Too many words travel too fast in such a small population (450 roughly). The only land for purchase or rent on the outside of town are the gulches. Both gulches have old-time folks probably growing a plant or two, however they hasve been there for years and stick to themselves. You won't find them at the Spirit Room or Paul and Jerrys talking with other locals or tourists.

The gulches are more densely wooded, especially the gulch at the bottom of the first switchback as you come up from Clarkdale. The Ailanthus trees (Paradise Trees) grow like weeds and hide many properties. Tourists don't drive through there either.

Personally I wouldn't try to grow in the Jerome area. I'd pick a wooded property in Cottonwood near the Verde with some acreage. This could cost a bit to buy or rent, but you'd have a lot of space to "lose" a greenhouse or encircle a grow site with fences, bamboo, etc.

Peace,
Madjag

Click to expand...

thanks for the info. i appreciate it. i was pretty much thinking that jerome didnt have many private places to live with acreage, thats why i asked about outside of the town but everything you said makes complete sense.. ill look around cottonwood like you suggested. my family back in tucson would be happy to have me back around in the same state again. and im sick of big city LA.. one good thing is im doing a big indoor and also keep a greenhouse in my backyard right in the middle of the densely populated city and no one gets in your business. just a mexican community that keeps very much to themselves.

but i would much rather have some land to have fun on and do everything i want to do. and the area you describe sounds perfect.

thanks again madjag and hopefully you got some more stories for us.

Interesting resource by New York attorney Noah Potter concerning drug law, states rights, and DEA Schedules:

New Amsterdam Psychedelic Law Blog
http://newamsterdampsychedeliclaw.blogspot.com/2012_10_01_archive.html

Noah's bio:

I began studying drug control theory and policy formally as an undergraduate at Columbia University. I analyzed the social significance of the distinction between "hallucinogen" and "psychedelic." In my senior year I wrote a term paper proposing that substance abuse "prevention" had overthrown substance abuse "treatment." That research led to my first encounter with the federal Controlled Substances Act. I graduated from Columbia with a degree in political science. I chose law over public health and graduated from Cardozo School of Law; I currently practice law in New York City. I served for three years as the chair of a bar association's committee on drug law. In that capacity I organized an unprecedented public discussion of the Controlled Substances Act, the most critical statute in drug control, a field that implicates criminal justice, public health, mental health, and national security. During discussions of how the proposed "medical marijuana" law for New York will work, I received two pieces of sage advice: (1) write out the legal analysis and (2) create a blog. So I did. noahpotter@noahpotterlaw.com

A blog Noah follows by a retired Law professor from Texas, Buford C. Terrell:

http://terrellmarijuana.blogspot.com/

Both blogs look into the current fight over DEA sceduling and how the DEA tries, and has been mostly successful so far, in overpowering any arguments to the contrary of their position. Truly a case of Madmen power......

Fun – The Real Barometer of Your Life

Fun – The Real Barometer of Your Life

It was a friendly day in May when I hiked up House Mountain with my wife and new friend Gary. House Mountain is an ancient volcanic cone/dike that rises quickly above the surrounding terrain just outside of Sedona along lower Oak Creek. It’s an easy, slow climb up a rocky Jeep trail for 3-6 miles that has an intense 360 degree view once you summit the upper reaches of its dome: expansive views of the Sedona red rock canyons with big shots of the Colorado Plateau sitting on top of Sedona’s 20 mile stretch of the Mogollon Rim, the 200 mile wide southern edge of the Colorado plateau. You’re 800 feet higher than the surrounding terrain and feeling fine.


We topped out and began taking photos of the views. A few glances at the surrounding patches of exposed dirt and numerous native artifacts began showing up, potsherds and debitage, the stone flakes left over from fashioning tools, projectile points, and scrapers. We meandered around the stunted Juniper-Pinyon forest that covered the top and then sat down on a few larger boulders to have a snack. Soon we heard the sound of an ATV coming up the trail. The driver, an older rancher from the area, pulled over and started up a conversation.

At some point rancher Bob began a diatribe against mountain lions after we simply asked if he had seen any deer that afternoon. His whole demeanor changed as he intensified his angry rant. In his view the reason he had not seen any for a long, long time was because the lions had killed them all off. He felt that we should be hunting lions instead of deer…..they were the real problem. When we mentioned the 12+ years of drought in Arizona that had taken a huge toll on wildlife numbers he seemed totally unimpressed and started off on the “damn lions” once again. We asked no more questions.

Bob said goodbye and drove off. After a minute or two Gary commented on the experience with a simple sentence that has made a huge difference in my life. He said, “What difference does it make even if he’s right if having that belief makes him miserable?”


Don’t let that slip by you now. It’s profound enough that I began a conversation with Gary that lasted the rest of our hike back to my 69 Westfalia poptop VW van. Those words, like a precisely aimed Karateka’s blow, wiped out loads of conflicting philosophical thoughts and concepts that I had been carrying around for years. It made something I intuitively knew become totally clear: a person can change their beliefs, especially if the belief does not support their personal happiness, success, joy, and FUN.

It’s just a belief….

Think about it. What good is a belief if it makes you miserable? Why not change it? Many of my friends when questioned about the idea have responded with, “You can’t change what’s true” or “beliefs represent what’s real for me and I have them for a reason”. Well…….our beliefs came from somewhere, be it parents, school, peers, bullies, job history, books, church, experiences in life, and even good old social brainwashing. Maybe even a comic book.

Why not pick and choose your own beliefs? Yes, you can. In with the good, out with the bad…..breathe and feel it become truth.

Armed with this simple concept and the inspiration from that experience up on House Mountain, my wife and I make our fun jobs to catch one or the other complaining about something in our lives and respond with, “Is that a belief you want to support?” We don’t expect to change the other or that they will pull it off instantly, however we do love the reminder and use it as grist for the mill. Practice makes the master.

I know someone who when young said "I want to be RICH and Famous". Well she never did become rich. She is famous. Only on a local scale, mostly gossiped about...
If you're not happy lower your standards

Back in 1979 I met a well-known perfumier that had a small shop in Scottsdale, Erne. He had photos of movie stars and queens who had ordered custom blends, one-of-a-kind perfumes, from his atelier.

I had a dark amber quart bottle (still have it...Malawi 99 is curing in it now) that had Skunk#1 curing in it for some months. The scent was magnificent. I wanted him to have the joy of smelling fresh or cured sinsemilla, but I knew it would be too big of a leap to just walk in and pull out some buds. A nose like his could just as easily get it from a curing bottle's invisible residue.

Man, he barely opened that quart bottle, perhaps a centimeter or two, wiffed it, and shut it tight. He held his breath, exhaled, and smiled. We had some friendly talks after that. He declined to scent it again - he said it was too strong in that form.

Erne had purchased a Himalyan Musk Deer gland many years earlier when they were not on the endangered species list. Apparently when I met him it was only available, sad that it was at all, on the black market. He paid somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 grand for it in the 1960's and kept it in his safe. He pulled it out one day a showed me how he would take the tiniest sliver from it, put it in a big liter some sort of base oil solution (alcohol solution?), and it would sit for a period of time that I do not remember so that it infused the base solution with it.

One drop from a foundational solution like that would be enough to make a pint of perfumes....maybe more. I was young and didn't take notes that afternoon. I usually do, but he was all excited and was moving in high gear during our talk that day. Anyway, a true tiny little musk gland yields such a potent note that it is the ultimate base note used by professional perfumiers for building upon. Just a miniscule amount will provide the low bass note that will carry anything on top of it for much longer than those higher notes would last on their own. In fact some high floral notes just disappear after the perfume is applied to skin and thus heated to body temperature. A great perfumier can engineer a blend to do all kinds of hide-and-seek, cover-overs, deep subconscious manuevers, and other strategic olfactory games. The wearer has their own experience just as everyone they hang with close enough to get that contact exposure, be it a hug or just standing and talking or sitting nearby in a coffeeshop. The designer perfumier has their own experience, too, and has one more reference in their body's olfactory database.

Cheap musk, is artificially created as an oil industry by-product, much like Vaseline's petrolatum or petroleum jelly.

It's all so primal isn't it? Our flowers have that spell over us and a few 100 million folks out there as well. The cannabis terpinoids seem so familiar because they have been in our lives, to one degree or another, since we were born.

MMMMMM.....talcum powder and lavender baby oil.....coca leaf in a sweet Coca Cola soda fountain drink.....freshly-washed hair on a lover that exudes their pheromones mixed with floral notes.....a warm dog laying in the sun.....and sharing a fresh Mango/Papaya drink while sitting on the beach in Negril JA with a friend.

gees Mad you can lay it out.

Ever do a motorcycle ride in the dessert after a rain?

No....but I've hiked in the wilderness, alone, after a Monsoon and felt the earth open its pores as the sun bakes eggs.

CBD Extracts

CBD Extracts

I work for a wonderful genius who is a nutritional supplement designer. He's one of perhaps only 15 men or women in the USA who formulate their own vitamins, minerals, and superfoods from start to finish, choosing every single ingredient by manufacturer and quality level as well as citing abstracts from Medline and a dozen other industry sources indicating why he has included each ingredient in his synergistic formula. My job with his small, family-owned and operated company came about in a very serendipitous way, definitely a move that the Universe wanted for me and for him in some Karmic way.

I got into health foods and organic back in 1969 when I first tasted real "natural" food at Qassim Albuaynain's Organic Kitchen restaurant in downtown Denver. Since then I've always been interested in the organic world, vitamins, beekeeping, growing my own veggies, and even landscaping with fruit trees and grapevines. The Sacred Herb was always right in there, too, just a little less noticeable to those around me, always kept a bit hidden though hinted at.

We're always testing new concoctions and products on ourselves and family members in order to decide the efficacy of each new possible product. 85% of the products we carry were designed by my mentor/boss, however we carry another 15% of other company's products just because they are so excellent and don't compete with our own. Lately we were testing raw Haritaki powder, an Ayurvedic herb that is supposed to be good for just about everything. Another winner is Cordyceps, a mushroom originally from the high Himalayas known for its ability to improve vitality and stamina, both in bed and out of bed! And it does work for both.

Last week we received our latest new test subject - CBD extract. A company in Denver, Dixie X, has spent millions of dollars as well as many years of working with the FDA in order to bring this to market. They have three products in their CBD line so far, Dew Drops that are subligual drops to be taken orally, capsules, and a skin cream. We bought two bottles of the liquid extract to test.

http://<b><font color="Blue">http://www.dixiex.com/index.php/dixie-x-dew-drops</font></b>[FONT=&quot]http://www.dixiex.com/index.php/dixie-x-dew-drops[/FONT]

Dixie X Dew Drops ingredients: pure glycerin, Hemp oil from seed and stalk, cinnamon extract, and purified water

According to the company, they have FDA approval to import non-psychoactive hemp as a food and then use their state-of-the-art facility to extract CBD and make their products. CBD you might remember is supposed to be primarily a pain-reliever and anti-inflammatory agent.

From the Phoenix Tears website:
http://www.phoenixtearsfoundation.com/cannabis-chart/






I'll have an update and more feedback when we have summarized the feedback from the various folks who will be testing it. One is a fellow who recently had his shoulder socket replaced and has significant inflammation and pain. For myself, I just don't have any inflammation that would be useful for testing. I have tried 5 and 10 drop amounts anyway just to check it out and found that I got a little "lift" that centered around my forehead. It certainly couldn't be noted as a "high", but it was similar to the light rush Ginseng gives. Could merely be the cinnamon and the CBD is working subtly elsewhere, un-noticed because of my current lack of pain or inflammation. I guess I'll use a hammer on my pinky..........

Not.

Madjag,

One question: When is the book coming out? I know I'd buy one.

HB.