“Do it today, for tomorrow it may be forbidden.” — Finnish Proverb
A reminder from the old world that freedom — of thought, of speech, of spirit — is never
guaranteed.
Act while you still can. Question what you’re told. Build something that outlasts permission.
What I was taught in church about “moral substances” never aligned with what actually heals. My wife and I now recognize a simple truth: a natural plant was demonized, while a destructive, man-made poison was crowned legal and profitable. That contradiction alone demands a deeper look.
Many of us were raised under religious and social systems that pushed patriarchal control, minimized trauma, and turned real human suffering into a moral yardstick. Those doctrines never reflected the compassion or courage attributed to Christ. They reflected the fears and biases of men in power. And for many of us, that teaching shaped how we viewed our own pain—until something finally showed us a way out.
For us, that “something” was cannabis. Not as a recreational gimmick. Not as a stoner stereotype. But as a sacred agent of healing. It forced me to confront the trauma I carried from childhood—trauma that institutions reinforced rather than relieved. Cannabis didn’t numb me. It made me present. It made me accountable. And it helped my wife reclaim her laughter, her hope, and her voice, even if we keep our practices respectfully private to avoid misunderstanding.
This brings us to the real contradiction in our nation’s laws: alcohol — a substance that fuels violence, addiction, medical emergencies, and legal disasters — is fully legal, marketed openly, and culturally celebrated. Yet a plant with documented therapeutic value, industrial uses, and a historical role in Indigenous healing practices remains restricted, stigmatized, and criminalized.
Let’s be clear: I’m not demanding anyone embrace cannabis. Spiritual and personal choice must remain exactly that—a choice. My ministerial practice does not require cannabis, and never will. But criminalizing a natural healer while giving free rein to something that harms doesn’t just defy logic. It defies justice.
Legalization for adults is not a cultural free-for-all. It’s a commitment to public health, personal sovereignty, and common sense.
First, cannabis is not for children, nor should it ever be marketed toward them. Just as alcohol has age limits, cannabis must have stronger, more responsible guardrails. But adults deserve the freedom to choose what heals them, especially when that choice:
These are not fringe arguments. They are well-established, economically grounded, and morally sound. When people speak of cannabis only as a “party drug,” they’re missing the depth and breadth of its value. A respectful nod must be given to stoner culture—it has kept the movement alive. But healing requires a deeper perspective. A plant isn’t a prop for escapism. It’s a tool, and like all sacred tools, it requires intention.
Alcohol doesn’t heal. It numbs, inflames, destabilizes, and destroys families by the millions. Yet it enjoys full legal protection.
Meanwhile, cannabis—which has helped countless people face their trauma, regulate their emotions, relieve chronic conditions, and reclaim their peace—is treated as if it were a threat to society. It isn’t. But it is a threat to industries that depend on our suffering:
This isn’t conspiracy—it’s economics. And it’s time we stop pretending that prohibition is about “public safety.” If safety were the goal, alcohol would be regulated as tightly as cannabis. The double standard reveals where the money flows, not where the morality lies.
Cannabis is not a cure-all. It’s not magic. It’s not an excuse to avoid responsibility. Healing demands effort. But for many of us, cannabis opened the door to that work.
My wife and I do not practice publicly—not because we’re ashamed, but because we understand how misunderstood healing practices can be in communities conditioned by fear. Behind closed doors, cannabis has helped us regulate anxiety, confront old wounds, communicate more compassionately, and interrupt generational cycles of pain.
That’s not rebellion. That’s restoration. And restoration should never be criminal.
A society that legalizes what harms and criminalizes what heals is a society in denial. It’s time to face that contradiction with courage instead of fear.
My message is simple: healing is a human right. And no government, no industry, no lobby, and no outdated doctrine should stand between people and the natural tools that help them reclaim their lives. You don’t have to accept my path. You only have to acknowledge that adults deserve the freedom to choose theirs.
That’s not rebellion. That’s justice. And justice starts with telling the truth.
A Psychedelic Caution Spoken in the Voice of Old Midnight
In the deadman's hour, beneath a bruised and heavy moon,
I wandered toward the bottle—that lawful chalice of ruin.
Its amber glow beckoned like a carnival of lies,
Promising warmth, whispering comfort,
Masking the rot behind its civilized disguise.
Yet as I drank, the room grew long and shadow-thin.
The walls recoiled, and faces I had buried clawed their way in.
Spirits of my making—fermented, sanctioned—rose with a grin.
They chanted laws written by trembling hands,
Laws that praised the poison while shunning the plant
That dares to heal from within.
Then—from the corner where moonlight faltered—a green flame burned.
A presence stepped forth, neither demon nor angel,
But something older.
"I am the Root," it breathed,
"The ancient memory your ancestors revered.
You fear me because I unveil you,
For I strip illusion, reveal the fractures,
The wounds hidden behind laughter,
The truths you drown in distilled ghosts."
And I—with trembling spine—dared inhale its emerald breath.
The world split open like a cathedral of mirrors.
Each reflection showed the monster I had fed,
The pain I had inflicted upon myself,
The loneliness carved by a thousand thoughtless sips.
No escape.
"Face it," the Root commanded.
"Shadow work is the toll for healing.")
"Walk through what you fear—or die worshipping the bottle
That slowly steals your life, your mind,
And calls it legal."
I staggered forward—down a tunnel of smoke and starlight—
Where visions twisted like vines seeking water.
I saw futures where healing grew freely,
Where adults chose the sacred with respect,
Where children were kept safe by wisdom, not stigma,
And where the plant stood not as a toy or rebellion,
But as a guide.
When dawn broke, the Root dimmed with the mist,
Leaving only a final whisper:
"The door to healing stands open—but only
To those who stop gripping the poison
And dare to step through with clear and sacred intent."