How Cannabis Cured My Chronic Christianity

I can sense your reaction to the title of this article before even having finished this first sentence. I can sense you reaction to the article as a whole as well. This is not because I am psychic. It's because you fit into one of two categories. Yes, that's right, two categories. Those who live their lives with good, old fashioned Christian faith and those who care not to. I have been both. I am currently the latter.

Let me make this clear. I also care not to smoke cannabis leaves anymore--I simply don't need them. Just as a schizophrenic simply does not need old time religion. Nor does a schizophrenic need this new-fangled, bury-your-head-in-the-sand, unless-you're-worrying-about-the-end-times, religion. In fact, skip the fact that I've been an impressionable schizophrenic for over eight years. Nobody needs a head full of armageddon. Thankfully, the cannabis flowers saved me from waiting for the afterlife to have a life.

I was, for close to a year, duped into believing a multitude of things. I invented some other things based on these new concepts that I had carried home from the sanctuary. I was told that it is normal to hear the voice of God speaking to you. Perhaps it is in this brave new world of ours. Or, maybe, just maybe--wait for it--this version of God is what parents refer to as an imaginary friend when it speaks to children. Despite the assurances of my pastor that this inner monologue was so ordinarily normal, I began to suspect things when my mind kicked in again.

This is not meant to be an assault on the Christian Tradition of Worship. Instead, take it as something to think about. Let me say this much to all of the Christians of the world: You may be right. The converse is that you may be wrong. I assume neither side. The mathematician Blaise Pascal came up with a logical proposition to support an otherwise unsupportable absolute belief. You've probably heard it.