Lost in a tainted-cannabis fever
My kids are really into watching an on-demand movie from either Netflix or Amazon every night, and I’m glad I just remembered one of my favorite all-time films, so I can show it to them when they come back from Woodstock summer camp in a few minutes. Movie time is now our nightly family ceremony and boy, are they into it. The first film I showed was John Huston’s The Man Who Would Be King, and I think that sold them on the idea there might be some amazing stuff not being promoted by the mainstream media.
Ever see The Tenant by Roman Polanksi? It concerns a highly sensitive man who moves into an apartment in Paris previously inhabited by an Eqyptologist who tried to commit suicide. Slowly, evil spirits of the room invade the mind of the new tenant until he too commits suicide, but not before dressing up as a woman and putting on makeup.
What triggered this memory was a short story I just read by my favorite artist, poet and bass player, Brian Spaeth, whose talents in all directions seem to know no mortal bounds. Brian just posted The Sun Temple on smashwords.com and reading it is one of the most spiritual adventures you’ll likely ever take, on the same level with that Polanski masterpiece I speak of.
Some people say enlightenment can be found in a cave in the mountains, others say by taking a visionary plant. But I think enlightenment is ordinary reality and expresses itself in tribal ceremonies. The people who are enlightened spread healing, loving energy and become the masters of their community ceremonies, at least the ones that heal. They produce sane families with no serious mental health issues and are more happy than sad. They also have an ability to manifest ceremonies at all times. You can do personal ceremonies, and those are certainly important, but if all your ceremonies are personal, eventually you are going off the rails.
It’s funny how I had to change my profession recently. I think I’m a good lesson for all the boomers in their sixties who have lost their primary incomes or been drastically downsized by the downturn of the economy. Instead of wasting any time looking for employment at my age, I just started home businesses, first selling ebooks and then selling ceremonial tools. I joined some shaman groups on facebook and instantly drew tremendous hostility for “talking too much about marijuana.” One of my trolls wanted to know what my skills were as far as astral voyaging. “I have no such skills,” I replied, “and even less interest in getting into an ego-driven discussion about who’s powers are greater, yours or mine.”
I didn’t go into any more detail than that, but I could have. You see, Stephen Gaskin taught me about an ancient law from the east called “Things That Are The Same.” It’s the same whether you can astral project in your dreams or not. It’s the same whether you can divine the future. It’s the same if you can read people’s auras. These powers are often illusions and will appear and disappear with use and abuse. They will not necessarily effect your ability to become an enlightened spirit, one free from hate and all negative energy. An enlightened spirit can be felt by anyone because they transmit a serene energy that touches all who come in contact with it. And it’s not like ringing a bell. They only transmit that energy on a good day and certainly can go into a rage like any other human on a bad day.
Which brings me to Brian’s masterpiece. In this story, the narrator has withdrawn too deeply into the cave and receives a message from the Sun God to come out of the cave and restore his spirit. This narrator makes ritual use of cannabis, which is clearly his primary sacrament and wisdom plant. He is drawn by the Sun God to a most ancient part of Manhattan, the Battery. This would have been the logical location for any ancient tribal people on the island to watch the sunset over the water and hold visionary ceremonies. After the city was inhabited by the Dutch and then the English, the Battery became the central fort for defending the city, once filled with cannon. It is a place rich in telepathic vibrations, and the narrator is slowly tuning up to receive them.
One day, however, he has a terrible fever, and mistakenly consumes some cannabis tainted with angel dust. His mind becomes flooded by a foreign energy, one that super-charges his telepathic abilities for a while. I don’t want to say more and spoil it. I really need to read the story a few more times myself, but I know it would make an amazing film along the lines of The Tenant.