Soul High: Weed, Stone, and the River’s Flow

Sometimes, after a deep drag of that sweet smoke, the world shifts—subtle at first, like a whisper at the back of your mind. Then, suddenly, everything warps. You’re still here, sitting on the same ground, surrounded by the same world, but it’s like you’ve been handed a key to a parallel universe. Reality itself starts bending, peeling back the surface layers, revealing the rawness underneath. It’s as if you’re seeing everything for the first time, but with eyes that have been opened wide—too wide—by the touch of something otherworldly.

I’m sitting by the river, stones scattered all around me, just another forgotten patch of earth, but right now, it’s more than that. Right now, it feels like the center of the universe. The stones under my feet aren’t just stones anymore—they’re relics, ancient pieces of something far greater than I could ever grasp. I pick one up and roll it between my fingers. It feels cool, solid, yet heavy with untold stories, as if it carries the memory of the earth itself. This stone, this little piece of rock, it’s been here longer than I’ve existed, longer than anyone I know has existed. Hell, it’s probably been around since before there was even anyone to notice it. And now here I am, holding it, feeling the weight of all that time and all those stories pressing against my skin.

The river nearby hums its endless tune, a soft murmur that seems to speak directly to me, telling me secrets I’m not sure I understand yet. But that’s the thing about moments like this—you don’t need to understand them. You just feel them. That’s where the truth is, in the feeling. Not in the thinking, not in the explaining, but in the pure, raw experience of it all. I look at the river, at the way it just keeps moving, without hesitation, without care for where it’s going or what obstacles might lie ahead. It flows because that’s what it does. It doesn’t question its purpose, doesn’t hesitate or doubt itself. It just moves. And in that flow, I see something that feels both terrifying and liberating.

We spend so much of our lives trying to control things. We plan, we strategize, we worry, constantly trying to shape our futures, to carve out some kind of certainty in a world that doesn’t offer any. But here’s the truth: life doesn’t work that way. It’s not something you can control, not really. Life is like that river—it flows, no matter what. It moves forward, carrying everything with it, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You can try to fight the current, try to hold on to the banks, but in the end, the river always wins. It’s going to take you wherever it’s going to take you, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll find peace in the chaos.

As I sit here, the world around me starts to shift even more. The lines between me and everything else blur until I’m not sure where I end and the world begins. My breath becomes the wind, my heartbeat syncs with the flow of the river, and the stones under my feet feel like they’re part of me. Or maybe I’m part of them. I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is the feeling—the sensation of being completely and utterly connected to everything around me. I’m not separate from the earth, from the river, from the stones. I am the earth. I am the river. I am the stones.

And in that connection, there’s a kind of peace. A peace that comes not from understanding, but from letting go. Letting go of the need to understand, of the need to control. In this state, I can finally see the truth—the raw, unfiltered truth that life isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about feeling the questions, about sitting with the uncertainty, and realizing that it’s okay not to know. It’s okay to just be.

I look at the stones scattered around me and feel a strange urge to start stacking them, one on top of the other. It’s a simple act, one I’ve done countless times before, but right now, it feels like something more. It feels like I’m trying to make sense of something bigger, something deeper. As I balance each stone carefully, my hands steady but my mind racing, I realize that this is life. This is what we do. We try to find balance, try to stack the pieces of our lives in some kind of order, knowing full well that it could all come crashing down at any moment. And yet, we keep doing it. We keep building, keep balancing, keep trying, even though we know it’s all temporary.

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe the beauty of life isn’t in the permanence of things but in their impermanence. In the fact that nothing lasts forever, and that’s okay. The stones will fall. The river will keep flowing. Life will keep moving, whether we’re ready for it or not. And in the end, all we can do is let go, let ourselves be carried by the current, and trust that wherever we end up is where we’re meant to be.

As I sit back and look at the stack of stones I’ve created, I feel a strange sense of accomplishment, but also a sense of acceptance. I know it won’t last. The wind might knock it over, or maybe the river will rise and wash it away. But for now, it stands. And for now, that’s enough. Life is like that—fleeting, fragile, but beautiful in its impermanence.

The smoke lingers in my lungs, in my thoughts, and everything around me feels both heavier and lighter at the same time. Heavier with the weight of understanding, lighter with the freedom of release. This space, this moment, it’s all there is. Nothing else matters. The future doesn’t exist. The past is gone. All that’s left is right now, this breath, this heartbeat, this fleeting moment of connection with everything around me.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here. Time doesn’t seem to work the same way when I’m like this. Minutes, hours, they all blur together, losing their meaning. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not in a hurry to go anywhere. There’s nowhere to go. Nothing to chase. For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not running from anything. I’m not trying to escape. I’m just here, present, in this moment, and it’s enough.

The world around me is still moving—people going about their lives, cars passing in the distance, the river flowing steadily beside me—but I feel detached from it all, like I’m watching it from the outside. Not in a bad way, though. It’s not like I don’t care. It’s just that, right now, none of that matters. What matters is this. This feeling, this connection, this raw, unfiltered sense of existence that I’ve tapped into.

It’s strange how something as simple as a few drags of smoke can open up a whole new world. How it can strip away all the layers of bullshit we build up around ourselves, all the walls we hide behind, and expose the truth underneath. The truth that life is messy, unpredictable, uncontrollable, and utterly beautiful because of it. We spend so much time trying to make sense of things, trying to find meaning in the chaos, but maybe the meaning isn’t something we need to find. Maybe it’s something we need to feel. To experience. To let wash over us like the river’s current, and just trust that it will carry us where we need to go.

As the high begins to fade, the world slowly starts to settle back into its usual shape. The edges of reality sharpen again, the lines between me and everything else become clearer, and the stones at my feet return to being just stones. But something lingers. Not the high itself, but the feeling. The understanding that, even when the world seems to make sense again, there’s always more beneath the surface. There’s always that raw, untamed truth waiting to be discovered, if we’re brave enough to look for it.

I stand up, stretch, and take one last look at the stack of stones I’ve built. It’s still standing, for now, but I know it won’t last forever. And that’s okay. Life isn’t about holding on to things. It’s about letting them go, about flowing with the river, about finding peace in the chaos. With that thought, I turn and walk away, leaving the stones behind, but carrying the feeling with me. A feeling of rawness, of connection, of truth.

Life moves on. The river flows. The stones fall. But in the end, it’s all part of the same thing. And for now, that’s enough.