How to plan a 420 ceremony

Funny how many seem antagonistic to ceremonies. Just mention the word and a shiver goes up their back. They don’t realize ceremonies are a part of their life. Magic and spirituality move through us all naturally, and it doesn’t matter what names you put on anything, everything that ever happened keeps happening over and over.
Ceremonies have purposes, as well as flavors, and you can surf any vibration you want. Most family/tribal ceremonies unify the family/tribe and raise spirits. In order to unify, everyone needs to meditate on a single vibration for some brief instant. In a healthy family, the vibration being channeled is most often love.
Ever notice how the words “I love you” are magic? And how difficult to say sometimes. Sharing love energy is a ceremony. But then sharing anything is a ceremony.
Did you know there’s a love ceremony handed down for over 10,000 years intact, one that carries zero dogma and seeks only to harmonize participants? To outsiders, it may seem strange and can be mistaken for some cult brainwashing tool, but I guarantee this ancient ceremony works as well as any I’ve ever run across. It’s called the OM circle.
When your fight/flight response is activated, your emergency energy system turns on, and that jolt of energy has a tendency to overwhelm your brain, resulting in unproductive panic behavior. In that state you can easily freeze, or make the worst decision possible. Mental states are telepathic and create energy waves that can be felt and amplified, which is why panic spreads through a crowd fast as wind-whipped fire.
Fear is the basis of all mind control, and when a sorcerer wants to cast a spell, creating a panic and guiding that vibration wherever he wants is the primary device at his disposal. A scapegoat will be manufactured, tortured in public and then executed, followed by free grog for all. This is the way dark magic has worked for millennium.
Modern media has put most of the population on the edge of fight/flight mode through extreme levels of violence programming. And you won’t find much solace from this vibration in the conspiracy community, where fear levels are tweaked even higher.
Ten thousand years ago, the use of a certain sacramental plant spread like a wild-fire across most of the globe, from Europe to India to China. Enormous temples were built in the honor of this plant. But they weren’t just temples, they were the greatest hospitals and healing centers of their time. The plant was mixed with hot milk and spices and served to treat all afflictions, and became known as the king of healing plants, creator of magic and immortality, the tree of life.
It was the birth of a great age of enlightenment and coincided with the creation of most of our great religions. At the time this plant arrived, all things had long been considered to have spirit energies, and temples were built to countless gods and goddesses, but the message this plant conveyed concerned a Great Spirit that connected All Things.
But some dark sorcerer made the plant that caused the awakening a scapegoat. It was a clever campaign, executed in stages over a great expanse of time. The plant’s ceremonial powers virtually disappeared for 2,000 years, while the spiritual cultures it birthed were corrupted: false priests installed, new dogmas created. All trace of the plant was removed from all texts, a ploy not entirely successful, so deep was this plant woven into the fabric of these cultures.
In the 1880s, the plant’s magic ceremonial powers were rediscovered in New Orleans by African slaves owned by French planters who’d recently escaped the Haitian Revolution. These slaves invited Natives and others to join their ceremonies and soon created the most influential cultural movement of any time. However, no sooner did this movement appear, than governments moved to squash it, using persecution of the plant as the hammer to achieve their goal.
In the 1960s, surfers in California discovered the plant, and it led them on a sacred journey back to the plant’s original origins. When they returned from Afghanistan, they brought the ancient OM circle used at those original healing temples that once dotted the landscape from India to Iran. It is also the best method for dispelling panic and turning off fight/flight mode. And thus I believe it can also be an important tool to help deprogram the mind control memes being run today. It can also be an great tool to heal PTSD, which can create a near-constant fight/flight mode.
So when people ask me to prescribe 420 ceremonies, I must confess the OM is the greatest harmonization ritual I know, and I think it works through a triangulation of touch, sound and telepathy.
But wouldn’t it be a wonderful thing to see a hundred thousand voices erupt in an OM in Denver some day?

The Real King of Dabbing

When I got involved with cannabis legalization in 1987, I didn’t know much even though I’d been using cannabis off and on for over 15 years. The first big revelation came after I read an unpublished manuscript called The Emperor Wears No Clothes by Jack Herer.
Jack had been touting hemp as the answer to the world’s petrochemical problems for a long time, as he believed it was the only plant that could save the world from petrochemical collapse. Unfortunately, Jack was being treated like a quack by the cannabis community. Were his claims exaggerated? Yes, but the truths far out-weighed the exaggerations.
But after I began publishing Jack’s research and taking him seriously, Jack quickly became the poster boy of legalization, famous world-wide. Shortly before he passed away, Jack called me and asked if I would do a feature on Rick Simpson. I’d heard of Rick, although no one in the cannabis community (except Jack) was taking him seriously. So on Jack’s word it was an important story worth pursuing, I took a trip to Canada, interviewed Rick, and wrote the first national magazine article on his cancer cure. Everything about Rick reminded me about Jack when I first met him. They were both impassioned about spreading the word about the powers of cannabis. And both tended to exaggerate, but the exaggerations were far out-weighed by the truths they’d uncovered.
I expected Rick would soon be elevated to the same status as Jack, and even talked about that evolution at Jack’s funeral. But that still hasn’t happened. In fact, the second I published that article many years ago, a huge backlash appeared against Rick, coming from all directions. Instead of embracing the potential news of a powerful new medicine in the fight against cancer, Rick was attacked as being a fraud. While it’s true Rick is a barefoot doctor practicing medicine without a license, he also has a string of success stories to back up his claims. And Rick’s exaggerations about the healing powers of cannabis were never any more wild than similar statements Jack had made about hemp. If you want to concentrate on proving some claims are slightly exaggerated, that’s easy, but that ignores the revelations they were unveiling.
Meanwhile, people inside the cannabis community came after Rick with all guns blazing, some claiming the oil Rick was using was deadly and poisonous because it was made with petroleum products. Meanwhile, many of those same people were no doubt firing-up joints with butane lighters, ingesting far more petrochemicals¬† than could ever be found in any of Rick’s oil.
Rick exposed the Cancer-Industry-Complex, which includes not only the corporations and for-profit hospitals, but also the cancer charities that have collected billions to supposedly cure cancer, when, in fact, over the last fifty years cancer continues exploding. Aside from a few exceptions, death rates have improved little. If the Cancer Complex really wanted to find a cure, why is it not a single cancer charity put a dime into investigating Rick’s claims? And why is it not a single international cannabis magazine put Rick on its cover or gives him the respect he deserves as the father of this movement?
I have to believe one reason the cannabis community is so divided is because it’s penetrated by spooks who constantly pump out disinfo and seek to turn us against ourselves and divide our energies. Right now the biggest craze in cannabis is smoking oil. And the biggest political development is the rise of CBD oils that don’t get people high, which are quickly being legalized everywhere. But no where do I see anyone giving Rick Simpson credit for instigating this move to embrace cannabis oil. It was really a campaign he started, and obviously it’s been a huge success, even if no one wants to give him the credit for starting it.
Meanwhile, scientific verification of Rick’s protocol continues to gain steam, even if many of the patients using it are only days from death when they start his therapy. I was particularly struck by a paper published recently about a young girl who’d gone through intensive chemo and after it had zero impact on her cancer, she was sent home to die. As a last resort, her parents put her on oil. Testing showed the oil had an immediate impact on her cancer, something chemo did not. The problem, however, was there was no reliable source of oil, and no testing of the resin content. Some oils worked better than others, but if you don’t have proper testing, you don’t really know what you’re dealing with. She was already so weakened by standard therapies that she didn’t survive, but her charts show the benefits of oil are real.
If you’d like to examine the published paper, you can find it here:

The Rise of Bot Nation

People wonder why social networks are filled with people pushing rabbit holes like: Sandy Hook never happened, Chemtrails are everywhere, or We Never Landed on the Moon. And why does a river of disinfo instantly appear after every single tragic event? Real researchers avoid this gunk.

It’s sort of like the boy who cried wolf: by blanketing every tragic incident with complex disinfo campaigns, the perpetrators are better able to hide their manufactured incidents. And they greatly inflate their powers through hints that everything is a grand plot under their control. Meanwhile, by constantly amplifying tragedy and creating paranoia, they spin the dials of PTSD inside the minds of the entire nation.

Masters of mind control have been around for a long time, and so has hypnosis and robot zombies. Fear has always been the essential key to opening these doors. All apocalyptic religions are mind control, and anyone who believes the world is about to end is running a mind control script, which is like changing the software operating system inside your brain. And we are talking millions, if not billions, of people on apocalyptic mind control.

When the internet came along, it provided global peer-to-peer communication for the first time, without the intervention of the media portals run by the military-industrial complex. This provided a tool for citizens to share information and expose the hoodwinks of war for profit. And in response, there’s been a rush by the National Security State to create a Bot Nation to create a false consensus in social media. These bots could be multiplying faster than real human beings.

One thing about these operations: you can recognize agents of disinfo because they go ballistic if you question their posts, almost as if they are running a script. There’s never a hint of discussion or debate over facts or evidence, because that would just serve to educate others monitoring the thread. Just all-out war and vicious character assassination.

It’s the flip side of what the media does should anyone mention we need a new 9/11 investigation. You just won’t hear that on the national news. And yet, that’s the way a lot of people in Congress feel, they just know you can’t talk about it and survive in politics. Just like many reporters know you can’t talk about alternative 9/11 conspiracies if you want to survive in the corporate media. So the only ones that get to go there and survive are the fake whistleblowers who serve as lightning rods, gathering oppositional energy into the control of the National Security State. Both Snowden and Wikileaks fall into this category. Anytime a whistleblower ends up on Time magazine, rest assured you’re looking at an intelligence operation.

The social media conspiracy community is dominated by bots running false memes, while the mainstream media amplifies tragedies as much as possible by showing as much blood and tears as possible, and jolting Americans into hyper states of empathetic fear.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we didn’t have to worry about our National Security State staging terror incidents in order to keep us under mind control? Because that’s what we’re looking forward to. The internet provided a tool for turning the tables and installing a democracy in the future, but the bots will take over if we let them. So please stop passing around those crazy conspiracy stories they manufacture.

Of course, if you’ve got something credible about the JFK assassination or 9/11, go ahead and share it. Funny how I see so little of that stuff going around. Wonder why.

Please Remember Rainbow Farm on April 20th

On Labor Day week-end, 2001, President George Bush was attending a Teamster Rally in Michigan, the first President to attend such an event and in his usual jovial, cocky mood. He spoke about his wife being on the tour with him, which he thought was a great idea. It was typical G.W., all mom, flag and apple pie.
A photo from the rally hit the national news and was published everywhere, showing a Arab-looking child holding an American flag looking up at Bush. When I wrote about the importance of 420 being a ceremony for peace, Brian MucCullough reminded me to light some candles for Tom and Rollie of Rainbow Farm, who were just a few miles away that day about to be assassinated by American soldiers.
Tom and Rollie were gay biker dudes when I met them, and really into weed and throwing massive parties. They showed up at the Cannabis Cup and got pulled into the Temple Dragon Crew and fell in love with the ceremonies. It changed their lives.
Next thing I knew, they were throwing major ceremonies on their immense property in Michigan and invited me to come all-expenses-paid as a ceremonial chief and do 420 Peace Ceremonies, just like the one I’m doing in New Jersey at the Piscataway Hempfest on April 5th.
They called their property Rainbow Farm and licensed the WHEE! from High Times one year and spent a fortune bringing in the Cannabis Cup Band and other acts. But that was their last big event and it broke the bank. They could have survived, only their survival plan involved growing weed in the basement of their home, and once they got ratted-out and lost custody of Rollie’s son, they both went insane because they were loving and devoted parents who doted on the boy.
I was in Woodstock all that week and weekend, and didn’t return to New York City until the following Tuesday. I stopped off at B&H to pick up some video tape for my camera and the clerk told me: “A plane just flew into the World Trade Center.” Of course, I was thinking it must be some little prop plane. I continued to work on my motorcycle and by the time I got upstairs, the office was all abuzz and one tower was burning. I went to my office, where I discovered a string of voice messages on my phone.
I wish I’d taped those messages, because it’s the last time I heard Tom or Rollie’s voice. They called to let me know they were making a last stand, and wanted it to be a huge media event like Waco to draw attention to the War on Marijuana, and they needed me to be the spearhead in this attack. Only they didn’t have my Woodstock number, only my office. The messages got more and more frantic, and it pained me I was never able to contact them because I looked online and immediately discovered they were both already dead.
Tom was shot in the head by a sniper he never saw from a great distance. Rollie set the house on fire the next day and got shot in the neck as he exited the burning structure. Police or soldiers hand-cuffed him, then kicked the testicles out of his scrotum. When they delivered his corpse to the coroner, Rollie was still wearing their handcuffs.
But I didn’t know any of this yet, only that they were both dead, and that I might have had a chance to talk them out of this crazy idea that something good might happen for the cannabis legalization movement from them committing suicide by cop.
So that’s why I’ll be lighting candles for Tom and Rollie of Rainbow Farm on April 20th and I hope you do to.
And when I went to the roof after listening to those heartbreaking messages, I watched a giant pillar of smoke blowing towards Brooklyn, and the main thought in my mind was how this was going to obliterate all news of Tom and Rollie’s death. And that’s exactly what happened. You think maybe it was planned that way? I mean, there was no reason for the police and soldiers to storm the property so quick. They could have negotiated for days with no violence, especially since they had the son as a bargaining tool, and both men were desperate to have some contact. But then, that would have allowed Tom and Rollie to turn it into a giant media event, which is what they were wanting and expecting.
It sure felt like there was some angry rush to execute these two loving men who just wanted to devote their lives to cannabis legalization because it was the right thing to do and they loved the spirit of the plant. And somehow they knew if they got it done quick, something really big was coming down the pike to wash it all away.

Executions on the rise around the world….

Execution_of_Beatrice_Cenci_cph,3b31319Last year saw a 15% rise in executions around the world, although these stats from Amnesty International do not include China, which kills more people than all the other countries combined, so the figures are not really indicative of the total scope of violence.
Thirty-nine people were executed in the USA alone, putting us fifth on the list of barbaric states, of which only 22 are left on earth. All but one of our executions was done by lethal injection, which involves a sedative, followed by a paralyzing agent and then a heart stopper. (In recent history, the most executions occurred when Bill Clinton was President. Although remembered as somewhat compassionate, as Paul Krassner pointed out on Abakus the other day, Clinton stopped off to view the execution of a mentally damaged person on the way to his own own coronation, which is a really bizarre way to start a major ceremony unless, of course, it’s the dark side you’re worshipping.)
Here are the top five in order of kills: China (unknown); Iran (369); Iraq (160); Saudi Arabia (79); United States (39). Probably the most horrifying execution last year was Iranian peace poet Hashem Shaabani, hanged after five months of torture in which he was made to confess to many outrageous lies when his real crime was producing a peace festival and publishing poems critical of the ruling regime.
I believe 420 should be a ceremony of peace, simply because pot is the sacrament of peace culture and always has been, which is why you find spiritual cultures attached to it whenever you find the plant. If you make 420 about getting stoned, that leaves out all the people who no longer wish to get intoxicated, or who have a problem with intoxication. But if you make 420 about peace and respecting non-violence, then everyone is invited to attend.
JohnGriggsAltarViolence has been on the decline in most of the civilized world for centuries, but in the USA we have a problem with it. And we also have a lot of victims suffering from PTSD, most of whom do not have access to the best possible medicine for that disorder, which, of course, is cannabis. But when you hold ceremonies of peace, they help heal that PTSD. This is the spiritual-medicine connection Western science has been slow to pick up on. And you don’t have to be a victim of violent crime or even a soldier returning from the front to have PTSD. You can get it from playing violent video games and watching violent media content all day long for months, while popping ritalin and Prozac.
So when you think about your 420 ceremony this year, why not have a moment of silence for the thousands of people executed last year, and maybe put out a prayer the last 22 barbaric nations on earth will surrender the practice of murdering their own citizens? And maybe even another prayer that a future generation will emerge to turn against all the violence programming that’s been fed to our kids for the last fifty years.

Looking for the perfect strain?

FinalAltarPI14Spring_edited-1Would you like to know what the best weed in New York City?
The Grand Lodge of the Pot Illuminati (PI) held their opening ceremonies over the Spring Equinox and the Illuminated Masters spent several days searching for the best organic kind bud in the city, and came up with seven of A-plus quality, all of which were judged blind by the entire Lodge in order to award one “New York City’s Finest Spring Strain Award.”
PI is a secret society, so I can’t reveal the names of the celebrities who attended, but I can tell you the strains were presented in jars provided especially for the event by 420 Science.
In alphabetical order, the strains entered into the first ever PI Cup were:
Banana OG
Chemdawg I
Chemdawg II
Mango Haze
OG Kush
Sour Diesel
Strawberry Cough
(Note: shortly after this ceremony, the Grand Lodge of the Pot Illuminati moved to Colorado, and then on to San Rafael.)

The Truth About Sandy Hook

sandyhookactorsphelpsfromflordiaI’ve written about¬† Sandy Hook a couple times, mostly to complain about the rabbit holes that spooks dug around the event immediately after it happened.

All tragic events these days will immediately be turned into a giant government conspiracy, something done to sheep-dip conspiracy research as a tin-foil hat brigade. These rabbit holes are a maze constructed to shield real conspiracies like 9/11, and they are manufactured as chaff and flares tossed from a jet ducking a heat-seeking missile. And that’s sort of how I think about my blogs: heat-seeking missiles of truth headed for the cockpit of the Octopus manufacturing war for profit.

The other purpose of these rabbit holes is dividing the research community so it can be more easily defeated. Even though the mainstream media has never recognized the citizen research movement that appeared in the wake of the JFK assassination, it is this army of researchers that penetrated the wilderness of mirrors to find a cabal of Wall Street lawyers running a shadow government.

Martha Dean had a promising political career in Connecticut until she exposed some skepticism about the Sandy Hook shooting official story. She’s obviously a bright person, but somehow got sucked into the rabbit hole that Sandy Hook never happened, and a disturbed kid named Adam Lanza never existed.

Dean is correct in that the full story has not been told, and there’s a cloak of intense secrecy around the event now, but I also know people in the town, and therapists working with them, so real kids and adults died that day and the town may never completely heal from this immense tragedy, which is why there’s an immediate jihad in Connecticut on anyone who expresses any support for any Sandy Hook conspiracy story.

The big news on Sandy Hook is Peter Lanza broke his silence and did a seven-hour series of interviews with Andrew Solomon, whose father is a major player in Big Pharma. Solomon is a respected award-winning author of major books on psychology and distinguished member of the Council on Foreign Relations, the real seat of power since they write the wag the dog scripts before they arrive in Congress. Apparently, Lanza reached out to Solomon to tell his story? Excuse me if I suspect Big Pharma playing a role? And I wonder if the book/film deal is in the works, and may have been worked-out over those seven hour interviews?

Most of these shootings involve manic reactions to synthetic pills. And yet, every time a shooting happens now, a cloak of invisibility is put over the prescriptions given to the shooters. I have no doubt Big Pharma is running an op to keep this info quiet, because if everyone in America knew the connection between prescriptions and shootings, very few would willingly place their children on these medications. Over the past ten years, the use of mood medications has exploded by 700% according to some studies, although it’s virtually impossible to get a fully accurate picture on prescription drug use because patients records are shielded by law. Which is very fortunate for the pill companies.

In spook terminology, the “Sandy Hook didn’t happen” meme is a mirror spooks have constructed to hide the real story (and lawsuits), which is: kids are being medicated out of their minds.

Obama's comedic rise and future of the Presidency

obama-galifianakisAmerica has turned a new page. The President is officially a comedian, so expect the wag the dog movies to get a lot more entertaining. I predict this is the beginning of a trend, in fact. Pretty soon, getting to the White House might depend on your ability to deliver a punch line.
I don’t know how much of Zach/Barack skit was scripted (I assume all of it), but there’s no denying the sitting President has a future in stand-up should he desire to pursue that path after the Presidency.
This moment reminds me when Entertainment Tonight first debuted on television. I was working on a script that would become the film Beat Street, so I was all caught up in entertainment media and thought Entertainment Tonight was the greatest show on television. But after it ate television, I began to despise this trend of putting celebrities at the forefront of news.
But I realize if comedians are going to become politicians soon, and that sure seems likely based on what’s happening, this might be a great time to elect Bill Murray as President. And how cool would that be?

In Praise of Migrant Workers

Bugsy and Phil Mayall first clued me into the money that could be made planting trees at Wandell’s Nursery in the early 1970s outside Urbana, Illinois. We’d been working as cab drivers and clearing a few hundred dollars a week but they’d discovered that could made in a couple of days at Wandell’s, where you were paid a couple dollars for each tree planted.
First day I worked with Bugsy and Phil as a three-man team. The Wandell’s supervisor organized everyone in teams of three. We were supposed to take turns holding the tree completely straight while the other two filled in the hole from each side.
Unfortunately, there’d been a raging rainstorm the night before and all the pre-dug holes were mostly filled with water. Phil was a maniac about making money and quickly devised a technique for dropping a single shovel in the water in such a way the tree would stay upright. It was important our trees stood straight, otherwise we’d not be paid.
We were a happy crew that wet, muddy day and planted twice as many trees as any other crew, although we saw out supervisor a few days later having to go out a refill a lot of holes and straighten our trees after a windstorm blew them all down, which made me feel bad, because he was being paid by the hour.
The next spring came around and I went straight to Wandell’s as soon as planting season came around. Bugsy and Phil were gone, but some friends of my sister were there, and I actually was put on another three-man crew with her old boyfriend and his buddy. He was a righteous dude in every way, just extremely laid-back and shared none of Phil and Bugsy’s passion to clock dollars, so after a half day’s work, I asked the supervisor if I could work alone. He was shocked. You see, this standard technique they’d devised was based on one man taking turns holding the tree upright while the other two filled the hole from opposing sides.
Fortunately, he was nice enough to allow me to break out as the first single tree planter in Wandell’s history, probably thinking I was going to produce some lowly number of planted trees. At the end of the day, I’d planted a hundred more trees than any three-man crew in Wandell’s history.
I became the king of Wandell’s and people stood back in wonder to watch me work. Driving home in my grandfather’s ancient Chevy with the huge fins and the radio blasting Hank Williams and me sitting there with a fat wad of cash in my pocket (all hard earned pay) while the equally fat red sun glowed on the horizon remains one of the happiest moments of my life, and I’ve had some happy ones.
Well, that next Spring came around and nobody was hired by Wandell’s… except me. …And one other dude. He was Mexican and didn’t talk much. Maybe you know the end of this story? He kicked my ego ass as bad as I did my sister’s friends and planted several more rows a day than ever could, and I gave it everything I had working side by side. But I still had my wad of cash every night and happy sunset ride home, only with a much less inflated ego.
And that is why I respect our Mexican brothers and sisters.