#solventlesssunday

I then compared this imperative to a hypothetical hash maker's drive to excel in producing hash; or a musician's drive to excel in creating music; or an architect's in intelligent design; or a dog's in bonding with humans; or aquatic life's in vision; or a worker bee's in honey; or a plant's in its terpenoids...

You see where this is heading.

These sorts of conceptual pivots demonstrate the utility of my associative tools, which broaden my perspective in real time. That allows me to "see" a thing from many angles, which sharpens both the resolution of what I "see" and creates as complete a picture as I can muster. It's kind of like starting in 2 bits and exponentiating. From there my brain synthesizes my percepts into a narrative I can explain in a story such as this. And from there, the information is available to you.

Thus, the cycle completes. Collect—process—share.

But my brain keeps going. I think of tesseracts and dimensions. I can imagine things up to 3 dimensions, but I cannot imagine leaving this third dimension for the second, like how I cannot imagine leaving it for a fourth. A fourth dimension would reflect the footprint of my third, but where it "lifts" from there is beyond my perception. Keep this in mind...

A cannabis plant does not know of life beyond itself. It arguably doesn't know of its own life. It certainly does not know of any life experienced by its cannabinoids outside its body. Could it be said that those chemicals, as a direct extension of their mother plant, experience a "second life" inside my own? The radical botanist who lives in my head says yes, emphatically and within this narrow context. Could such a "second life" be seen as a new dimension of being from the perspective of those chemicals, entirely beyond their original universe? The radical stoner philosopher answers similarly. Recall the mental note from above about a 3-dimensional being bound to the third dimension, and boom... my epiphany.

Just as I exist relative to whatever plants existed that ultimately filled my lungs, perhaps there exists a 4th dimensional being who could use mine for its own purposes. Whomever that would be, or whatever their purpose, is unknowable to me. Given that, what do I do? Do I stop caring? Do I keep going? Do I do anything differently?

I submit that I do not stop. I keep going, and I change whatever I need to in order to keep growing and expanding. Just as a trichome will eventually exhaust its resources and burst, I want to exhaust mine and burst. I'll die one day, and if that is how my life is characterized, I'll have been my best. Better than if I had presumed I knew that 4th dimensional being or their intentions and constrained myself prematurely. Better than if I had given up and died young. Better than if I let myself implode in any way.

Then, at my peak utility, I will not be some alien's mass-produced, domesticated mids. I'll be some unique landrace flourishing in the conceptual wild, waiting to inspire further evolution by my own example. If they ever find me. If they see me.

And, if a cannabis plant's gift to the cosmic potluck is its trichomes, and mine is my consciousness as an intelligent, sensory data processor/communicator, I will have shown up well enough on my own.