The Death Trip

I stopped using marijuana about a year ago.

Using is like diving. One is underwater and may perceive things that are not quite as apparent on the surface. I don't like to stay underwater long. I prefer to come up for air and breathe.

Urinalysis is marijuana's chief liability. Of course, it can be defeated. "Dilute and substitute" is folk wisdom. I've never bothered with subterfuge. I will purify in order to qualify. I went ten years clean at a job with urinalysis, although "clean" must be interpreted as "substituting alcohol for marijuana." Alcohol is a poor substitute. I saw what it did to my supervisor and others. I do not understand what businesses gain by prodding their employees away from marijuana and toward alcohol. I think they lose, if anything. Urinalysis is a strange artifact of modern America. Urinalysis targets marijuana to a much greater extent than anything else. Of course, marijuana equates to poor performance during the high, as laboratory tests verify. All right, but what about alcohol? There are many other substances, and new substances are getting invented all the time. Marijuana is the chief villain to be apprehended in a cup, while meth and coke can slide on by without too much difficulty, after a few days.

My last trip was a death trip. The herb accentuates whatever one's thoughts focus upon. My thoughts were shrouded deep in gloom. I imagined death. I perceived it. The body does not wish to die and rebels at the very suggestion. Death is not a difficult feat to accomplish. We are all hanging by a thread. There is no need to swing from side to side and see whether the thread will break. It might break. The thought of death is not as unpleasant as the thought of the consequences for the living, those that are dear to one, the cherished and beloved. Once dead, one is beyond all power to help and comfort them. One can do no more good, but is rendered useless and unimportant. I suppose that is why people who live alone, without friends or close relations, are more likely to give in to the siren call that sings to all living things.

A superstitious fancy amuses me. Perhaps it is all rot like religion. On the other hand, imagination is fun, and I don't take it very seriously. I like to imagine that usage is a two-way street. A human makes the decision to enter the altered state offered by the herb, but there is a gatekeeper. To my mind, she is a goddess, wise and knowing. Her sex is appropriate, because commercial marijuana derives from the female plant. Sometimes she offers insight on one little matter or another, advice and guidance. If she deems use acceptable at a particular place and time, she grants a good experience. Otherwise, she gives the opposite. In that context, the death trip was a warning, so I have followed the advice of the goddess.