Some Words On An Herb

You might see “herbs” listed as an interest on my blogger profile, with the comment, ‘not marijuana for me but it’s fine for others.’ I have not mentioned herbs much, mainly rose tea…and you may have had your fill with talk of Rumi (although this doesn’t mean he’s done here at all), and other ghost poets who’ve possibly made an appearance in my bedroom when I’ve gone to sleep, angels, and of course, the moon, its phase and sign, but tonight I will write an herb-centered post. 

My cat Peeko loves the scent of marijuana, and when a neighbor had begun smoking an insane amount of it, he’d sit by the kitchen sink and sniff, sniff the air coming up from the drain, as the air purifier was clearing the smoke out of the rest of the apartment and he wanted to breathe it in better.

We are both easily affected by it secondhand. It seems to have an apocalyptic effect on Peeko. The second time there’d been some intense smoking from neighbors and the scent was rising into the bedroom, he’d begun rustling the pocket rosary at my bedside awhile, which he’d never touched before. I got up and looked and saw he’d turned it so Jesus was facing up, Mary and her star crown down, and had with a crash, thrown the laughing buddha right off the nightstand so he fell down onto the floor with his face against the side of the bed and not looking so happy anymore. The next time, he’d sent my altar table and unlit candle toppled over onto the floor and I opened my eyes to him running.

The first time this neighbor had been smoking and my window was closed, I was talking to a friend and noticed I was starting to slur my words, I said good night, pushed open the window, turned back and intended to walk toward my bed but was more like falling into it, then did fall in, and fell asleep suddenly.

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