Onkruid
New Member
Two heart attacks occurred for me while pretty heavily stoned. One, just the other day. Not inferring that weed had anything to do with it, just that I was high a couple of times when it happened.
That aside, I thought I'd share what might be considered a different experience. In that experience I've found different perspectives from being stoned and not.
Instantly sobering to the mind, heart attacks immediately raise both pain and fear in me. In a moment I'm thoroughly overwhelmed with the love that I could leave behind. That consuming thought is accompanied by a tightness, that in my best morphine-inspired thoughts has been compared to the center of my chest being the event horizon of a black hole, and its tightness being all the pulling in my universe. All into me, all at once. Crushing to the body and soul.
Whether reading or running, doesn't seem to matter. They occur unannounced. Perfectly upsetting and sometimes even ironic.
While certainly never viewed in any possible positive light, the 'process' seemed to be less scary while high and although similar to previous ones, somehow less remembered. Which gift is greater I don't know, but I'm grateful for both.
Writing is good for the soul. While writing these thoughts I'm particularly struck by one outstanding thing. How fortunate am I that my last thoughts will be of my loved ones?
Couldn't write a better end.
That aside, I thought I'd share what might be considered a different experience. In that experience I've found different perspectives from being stoned and not.
Instantly sobering to the mind, heart attacks immediately raise both pain and fear in me. In a moment I'm thoroughly overwhelmed with the love that I could leave behind. That consuming thought is accompanied by a tightness, that in my best morphine-inspired thoughts has been compared to the center of my chest being the event horizon of a black hole, and its tightness being all the pulling in my universe. All into me, all at once. Crushing to the body and soul.
Whether reading or running, doesn't seem to matter. They occur unannounced. Perfectly upsetting and sometimes even ironic.
While certainly never viewed in any possible positive light, the 'process' seemed to be less scary while high and although similar to previous ones, somehow less remembered. Which gift is greater I don't know, but I'm grateful for both.
Writing is good for the soul. While writing these thoughts I'm particularly struck by one outstanding thing. How fortunate am I that my last thoughts will be of my loved ones?
Couldn't write a better end.