Things are certainly different from when I was young. When I first encountered marijuana it was in small bits, skinny little joints rolled in secret with a lot of preparation. Yes, we wanted to get high, but back in the early sixties the whole scene had a lot of ritual. It was something new and special for middle class kids. It was very illegal, but most of the cops didn't know what it looked like or smelled like.
We went somewhere where we wouldn't be disturbed. We picked out great music. We only smoked with people we trusted. We lit candles and incense. We spread out on pillows on the floor. We passed the joint around, hardly whispering. We didn't drink booze. We wanted an experience and we had one.
We felt a wild kinship with the great rebels of the past and present. We read "Confessions of an English Opium Eater", Baudelaire, "The Tibetan Book of the Dead, Neil Cassidy. We felt a kinship with Lewis Carroll. We were "Alice in Wonderland". We were stoned.We talked about how famous people thought and wrote when they were stoned, like Freud and Arthur Conan Doyle. We were part of a great tradition. It was sacred business.
One of the comparisons I can make with today is the difference between a First People ceremony where sacred tobacco was ceremoniously smoked and someone today puffing away at two or three packs of Marlboros every day. A different ball of wax entirely.
From what I understand, the dope we smoked was incredibly mild compared with the stuff out there now. It was mellow. It was pretty harmless. It spread like wildfire. People started wandering away from fraternity parties at colleges to go "do their own thing", as it was called. Soon, the cutting edge started "turning on, tuning in, and dropping out." A sea change was coming and LSD was that tipping point. At least among people I knew.
Again, the new wave came with a lot of rituals. After all, we were going to see God, peel away all the layers of maya. You can tell we were East Coast people. This was the Timothy Leary people. On the other coast, Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters had the opposite scene going. We were drawn to the exuberance, the wildness, the Far Fucking Outness of the people who were painting the redwoods dayglow colors, and writing books like "Cuckoos Nest" and delivering Electric Cool Aid to thousands. Out West was where it was at.
I am sure that everyone has their romantic stories of their first toned experiences. But I am talking about a huge giant collective experience. Today, you can't walk down the street without smelling dope being smoked. It is growing everywhere. Huge drug cartels are killing for their piece of the fortune. Many people can't get through the day without it. I stopped almost as soon as I started. Fortunately for me the seeing God thing translated into the reality that I fell asleep every time I smoked. Lucky for me.
I just couldn't help remembering this today as Jane and I were walking up by the late, marveling at the autumn colors and looking down on green houses filled with giant plants. Brought back memories. Each joint had an exotic provenance. "This is from the Golden Triangle. This is from Afghanistan. Great Mexican shit." We had our myths and loved them for a time.
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