A journal of weed strain reviews
In March, my wife and I drove through New Mexico en route to Tucson. I went into the R Greenleaf in Ruidoso and purchased single grams of seven different strains of cannabis. These are their stories...
It's getting a bit late for first smoke of the day but there it is. About to take a dip in the pool. Hesitant to puff first but yolo.
What's it gonna be, though? Mason jar with joints upon opening stanks real good. Gonna burn a The Fizz. Sativa. Could make me cold in the pool but should give me ride.
The Fizz. Whew. Head rush. Menthol, fruity taste. Sharp. A spitter. It's early on. There is a bite, I'm phishing my own brain. Acceptable only in small doses. Notice how Buddhist meditation is not about self-searching, or soul-searching. It's the opposite. There is no self, there is no soul. We will return to the nothingness from whence we came. Somehow that still doesn't do it for me. Buddhism offers never-ending life as long as you are willing not to be you. The Fizz!
Soul spelunking, trippy high, face in the mirror, wide-arc. Or maybe it's just the circumstances. Reset-ing...
To clarify what I mean by "the bite."
It's true of marijuana, and probably true of a lot of drugs. Mushrooms come to mind. Even alcohol. You start to feel the effects of the drug but then your mind starts skimming off the worries and angst bubbling up there at the surface of your consciousness. If you've made a mistake, done something stupid, or just had something lousy happen in your life, the high will sometimes make its first stop in this territory, on these front-and-center topics. Even if you didn't think you really wanted to think about them. After all, isn't that the point of the drug, to escape, to avoid, to detach, for a little while?
My experience with marijuana is that I often encounter this "bite" phase of the high first. Sometimes it isn't negative at all but yields a "head rush" replete with wacky ideas, the highs and "high-deas" of my younger days. Pure wild-minded bliss. But if there's something I've been kicking myself over, or some nonsense I cannot get out of my head, the high will make me encounter this reality. It's the opposite of escapism. It can be therapeutic, facing what worries me. Or it can send me spinning down the bitten wormhole—if I fight it, if I allow myself to dwell there. I let the bite take its hold for a few minutes then I tell myself I smoked up to relax and enjoy myself, not to wallow...
Weeds of Grass 