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Man in the Mountain

The Rasta learns the power of the herb from the man in the mountain.

By Wendy WeedlerPublished 7 years ago 6 min read

The Rasta kissed his wife and children good-bye and started walking up the mountain path. After several hours, he came to a cavern and slid down the rope hanging over the side. About 30 feet down was the entrance to a cave. He swung in and walked toward a light about 100 feet ahead. Hearing the bubbling sound of a chalice, he followed the sound to its source and found the most ancient-looking Rasta he ever saw, drawing on a huge water pipe. The smell of the ganja was the strongest, sweetest aroma he had ever had the pleasure of inhaling.

"Come in, my brother. Smoke the herb, praise Jah, and feel good," said the old man with the long, pure white hair and beard.

The Rasta inhaled deeply and held the smoke in his lungs. It felt like a ton of fireworks had exploded in his head. Closing his eyes, he felt himself merging with the infinite light. After quite a time, he felt his body exhale and inhale as deeply as his lungs were able to expand. The ganja brought an immeasurable quantity of energy—energy of a very fine, subtle quality. As he sat within his heart and observed the atomic composition of the world, he heard the old one ask him if there were any questions he wanted to ask.

The Rasta joined his vocal cord and mind together and heard himself reply, “That's the finest herb I ever had. What is its potency due to? I'd also sike to know about you, my elder brother. It is said you are one of the Old Ones and have been in this cave since the time of Noah."

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Growing and Growing

The old man started drawing on the hose of the pipe. As the smoke enveloped him, he seemed to become young and radiant. The Rasta realized that if the old man would shave, he would look about 18 years old. His skin was as soft and pliant looking as a baby's. The Rasta noticed the smoke rising and looked up. It seemed that a hole was slowly appearing in the roof of the cave, and light shone down. It was then that the Rasta noticed the ganja plant. It stood more than 30 feet high and was over 30 feet wide at its base. The entire plant was covered with gold, red, purple, violet and black flower buds, dripping with resin.

The Rasta watched the old man go over to the plant and pull down one flower bud that was over one meter long. The old man thanked it and smiled. He then sat down and rolled many large, sweet-smelling spliffs. The Rasta accepted one and put it in his mouth. The old man stuck out the index finger on his right hand and touched the end of the spliff. The Rasta inhaled and felt the smoke fill his lungs. The old man pretended to blow out his finger and they both broke up laughing. The old man lit his own spliff with his finger and started to talk.

“This plant has always been in these mountains. Rastas have been smoking its holy fruit for thousands of years. Its seeds have been taken throughout the world, and it is the mother to Colombian gold, Hawaiian, Thai, Panama red, Jamaican lamb's bread and many more fine herbs. It is sustained by Jah's grace, the sun, the earth, the air and the rain. And, in these moments, it is allowing land I to get quite high.

“There is no personal history in my life— there is only now and the future. This body I have use of—is it old or young? It is very supple, excess-fat-free, responsive, in perfect working order, both senses and organs. But, it has been here a very long time, compared to most mens' bodies. So, you see, a body can be both young and old. Consciousness, though, is always one moment old. It takes a baby several weeks before it learns to use its environment well enough to keep its head erect. It may take a man many lifetimes to learn how to produce heat in his hands without rubbing them together. A man possessing this knowledge cannot only light spliffs, even in a heavy wind, but can also remain comfortably warm or cool, no matter how extremely hot or frigid the weather is. This is achievable by anyone who agrees to cooperate with nature. If a man asks purely and humbly, the air, water, earth, fire, sun, moon, planets, animals, plants, fish, all things will serve and protect that man.”

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A Circle of Energy

The old man sat cross-legged on the floor. He exhaled ganja smoke in a giant smoke ring. The ring remained suspended in midair. The inside of the circle seemed to be filled with crackling particles of energy. The old man signaled for the Rasta to exhale a toke through the smoke ring. He did and, as the smoke passed through the ring, it seemed to sparkle and then assemble into the most astonishingly powerful field of living energy the Rasta had ever been in the presence of. The old man told him to direct this “being" before it unleashed its power indiscriminately.

The Rasta asked with all his heart for the being to agree to cooperate with him. The old man yelled to him, “Stop being so polite—eat that creature if you must, but command it.” The Rasta screamed out, “Being, I order you to direct your energies towards fighting off all negativity directed toward me—be it emotional, mental, physical or spiritual. You are to convert this energy to honey, which will nourish I and I.”

A beam of energy seemed to emerge from the being that enveloped the Rasta. The Rasta felt like a sponge absorbing the true energy of life. As he filled with light, he felt his thoughts cease, and with them, all fear. His emotions felt clear, clean, and enveloped in a tidal wave of love. The Rasta filled his being with love and emanated it back into the unknowable void. Reborn now as an illuminated collection of loving, conscious energy, the Rasta praised Jah and melted away into the enveloping ocean of blissful consciousness. He understood that he, the energy being, the old man, the giant ganja plant and all things were expressions of Jah's love, and to experience Jah is to know and experience all things. Opening his eyes, the Rasta saw the old man quietly drawing on a spliff. -

Exhaling huge amounts of smoke, the old man spoke: "You have tamed the lion, and it will serve you as no other. You came here to check out a legend and will leave here creating your own. Take a few kilos of herb and distribute it and plant its seeds wherever you go. We will always be connected in the here and now, my brother. Praise Jah.”

The Rasta picked several large, beautiful buds and put them in his sack. He smiled at the old man and walked down the tunnel, climbed the rope, and slowly came down from the mountain.


About the Creator

Wendy Weedler

Lives in Washington D.C. Has been part of the legalization movement for decades.

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