Buying and Selling Ganja

The man was dressed from head to toe in Christian Dior and jewelry. Like Joe Namath, he used Brut hair spray, skin conditioner, cologne, deodorant, and powder. He knocked on the door and was asked to come in. The Rasta beckoned him to the candle-lit table and directed him to sit down. The man was very nervous; he had never met a Rastaman before.

The apartment in which he found himself was filled with plants and animals. There were birds, dogs, cats, mice—and even a skunk. There was a portrait of Haile Selassie on the wall, and the Rasta wore a pin with his picture on it. The man and all his friends, however, lived in places furnished with plastic and chrome. Although his current surroundings seemed foreign to him, he began to feel more and more at home.

The man told the Rasta that a mutual friend recommended the place for some good quality smoke. The Rasta left the room and returned with a beautifully carved wooden box. The box was in the form of a lion at rest with its tongue hanging out. The Rastaman opened the box and took out some buds of golden ganja.

It was the most beautiful herb the man had ever seen. He bent over and smelled the bud; its fragrance was that of a bouquet of flowers. The Rastaman threw him a pack of rolling papers and told him to roll a spliff. The herb felt very sticky and was completely seedless—it stuck to his fingers as he rolled the spliff. The Rasta lit a match, and the man inhaled very deeply. The taste was the sweetest the man had ever savored. It seemed to fill his lungs, travel up to his head, and explode.

The Exchange

"Wow, this is great—best I've ever had,” said the man.

“Smoke more and stop trying to compare. Just relax and listen as intently as you can to the sounds that are present.”

The man lay back and heard the sounds of the world. He drew on the spliff several times while more and more sounds filled his head. Suddenly, all the noises seemed to blend as one. The note vibrated through him and then stopped—as did all sound. For what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing at all. Then, a loud thud encouraged the man to experience an intense realization. What he was hearing was the beating of his heart, and between each beat he felt release from all of life. Giving praise and prayer to the Lord with each beat of his heart, the man simply sat and watched his life unfold.

The Rasta started singing a popular reggae song as the man turned toward him. Dancing lightly in time to the beat, the Rasta seemed to be becoming invisible. The faster he danced, the more he faded away. This alarmed the man, who yelled, "Rastaman, what are you doing? Are you all right?" The Rastaman slowly stopped dancing and gradually regained his solidity.

"What I am doing," said the Rasta, "is what your mind is always doing—distracting you with illusion. You fell for it, and now you no longer experience the here and now. Feel the sensations of your body. See what is within and without you. Hear the sounds that are vibrating with you. Taste your world. Now, surrender it all. Here, now—give up. No resistance. Let go with insistence. This moment is the last moment before you die. Experience as much life as you can."

Riding High

The Rasta took the spliff, relit it, and passed it to the man. The spliff felt damp and juicy. The resin was bubbling with fragrant odors and sizzling from burning drops of ganja oil. The man inhaled deeply and held the toke as long as he could. As he exhaled, the man felt as if he too was being released in a column of smoke. He floated to the ceiling of the room; looking down, he saw his own body. It looked like a plastic mannequin covered with fake jewelry. His hair seemed to be made of wax. His face was plucked clean like a de-feathered chicken. His manicured fingernails looked as if they were painted on wooden hands. Meanwhile, his body smelled like a chemical factory. His clothes were clown-like and highly uncomfortable.

The man saw these things and then observed the Rasta, who was lying on his back while looking up at him. The Rastaman seemed very natural and beautiful. The man looked into the Rasta's eyes and was dazzled by the brilliance, wisdom, compassion, and love emanating from the person in front of him. He felt himself drawn back into his own body.

After a long period of silence, the man spoke. "Thanks a lot for the turn-on, Rastaman. I really enjoyed it, and I would like to buy some of this herb from you.”

The Rasta smiled and said, “I thank you, but I did nothing. Thank Jah—it is His ganja and it was His grace that allowed you these experiences. It is He who creates and maintains life itself. He is present. Be here and now, and you will be in His presence. In His presence, all truth will be revealed.

The Rasta gave the man some ganja, and the man gave the Rasta some money. The man left while musing upon his strange encounter. The Rasta rolled a spliff, lit it, and dissolved into the universe.