Who’s the counterculture messiah of today?

I was in a meeting with one of the coolest execs in the entertainment industry, talking about a possible history of the counterculture documentary (a project I would certainly love to work on), when she asked me, “Who is the grandmaster of counterculture today? The living Jack Kerouac of our time?”

I didn’t think much more about it until I got home, but after a few hours this question really began to bug me. Just who is the living Jedi Knight of the counterculture, the Temple Dragon who commands our greatest respect?

I gotta say, it’s a toss-up between Wavy Gravy and Ina May and Stephen Gaskin.

But when you jump down to the next generation, its sort of a ghost town, although Seattle Hempfest founder Vivian McPeak certainly comes to mind in a field of shadows.

I love this photo from the original Woodstock, btw: Wavy and Krassner, two Jedi’s of the counterculture meet on the ceremonial field and exchange zen-like epiphanies, no doubt. And though you might not recognize him at first (I know I didn’t), that’s Abbie Hoffman in the tie-dye standing between them.

The Coriolis Effect

Why do we pass joints to the left-hand side? Perhaps it has something to do with why hurricanes rotate counterclockwise in the Northern Hemisphere? All energies, including the telepathic ones, may, in fact, be subjected to similar forces. As above, so below. But sometimes, I wonder, if that is true, do stoners in Australia, Southern Africa and South America realize they’re likely supposed to pass joints in the opposite direction? And by the way, it’s a fantasy that water going down a drain flows in the same patterns as hurricanes. In fact, water down a drain is a micro event governed by much different forces.

http://www.amazon.com/Magic-Chakra-Candles/dp/B00BVMZ8U8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1414952468&sr=8-1&keywords=candles+steven+hager

Grind Your Buds

(To the tune of “Row Your Boat”)

Grind, grind, grind your buds

then pack ’em in your vape,

take a toke, there is no smoke,

life is really great.

 

Religion is just magic with a different name

The fantasy world created in Game of Thrones cannot compare with the real-world intrigue of the early days of the Catholic Church, the oldest reigning power structure on the planet as revealed in the Netflix series.

Does anyone else notice the theme that binds these two shows is opium? Opium became the world’s biggest profit center at one point in history (replacing sugar).  Now petroleum holds that position, I guess, but probably not for much longer.

Religion is just magic with a different name, and nothing makes this more clear than The Borgias, who engage in magic ceremonies against their adversaries at every opportunity. Notice these ceremonies often involve 12 Cardinals standing in a circle holding lit candles? Almost looks like something Aleister Crowley cooked up, doesn’t it?

Speaking of which, Crowley was a great mountain climber but his attempt to prove the science behind magic fell short and he lapsed into hoodwinks after his drug addictions made him vulnerable. Crowley surfed the dark side and paid the price. Those who live by the dark, die in the dark. Crowley was actually a faithful servant to the British crown, and frequently offered his services to MI6, but this partnership became somewhat comical at the end.

Many people vied for Crowley’s crown, none harder than Michael Aquino, but all have fallen short. The closest thing to Crowley today is David Icke, who holds his own ceremony to cast an evil magic spell during the Queen’s Jubilee. Only problem is Icke, like Crowley before him, is undoubtedly a tool of SIS.

But don’t get the impression I have a problem with the British. Hell no! They are certainly some of the brightest, most talented people in the world and they own the arts of secret societies and dark magic and easily conquered over a quarter of the world. And also produced some of the best music of the 1960s.

And speaking of spirituality, one of my biggest regrets in life is that around 1989, I was walking down Columbus Avenue around the Museum of Natural History when I passed within two feet of George Harrison, who was all alone and who had stared at me from a long way off as I approached him. I was wearing Beatle boots at the time, and faded jeans with psychedelic patches. Both Ken Kesey and Patti Astor had commented on how cool these customized jeans were and I could tell George was checking them out with a sense of appreciation. And even though George was the most spiritual of all the Beatles, and even though I felt a deep connection with his work, I respected his privacy and just walked on by instead of inviting him over to my nearby pad to check out the latest Cannabis Cup winner.

I’ll likely never forgive myself for this lapse in judgment and it’s just another instance of how my shyness worked against my better instincts.