It’s all about how I was sitting at home self-publishing ebooks and making the world’s greatest ceremonial candles, not needing to do anything else and perfectly content.
But one night the ghost of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson came visiting.
“You can float or swim, Steve,” says Hunter. “You are floating while the Illuminati take control of cannabis, and you have enough juice and enough brains to do something about that, don’t you?”
I woke up the next morning, opened my computer and discovered NORML had an event in Aspen in days and it’s at Hunter’s Owl Farm.
I flashed on one of those crazy fly-to-the-moon daydreams I used to have as a teen. Suddenly, I’m at Owl Farm for the first time, on stage getting a lifetime achievement award from NORML, giving a speech about coming back in August to start a magazine called Abakus and holding a Munchie Cup with Bill Murray and Johnny Depp being inducted into a Pot Illuminati and jamming with the Temple Dragon Band, and beautiful goddesses are fire-dancing around a just-planted peace pole.
Wow, I thought, what a fantasy! That’ll sure never happen. Now, back to ebooks and candles.
But then Hunter’s words haunted me. “Swim, Steve.”
So I call my version of the Sundance Kid, Brett Bogue, and say: “I’m getting a posse together and riding to Aspen on a mission to capture the center of gravity on cannabis in Colorado and drop some love bombs, because that’s what I do, and we’re the ones who have that magic, and we need to do this mission, or the corporations will get control of cannabis.”
“I’m there, bro,” says Brett.
Flash forward a few days:
I’m waking up in Aspen to a gigantic rainbow above the condo balcony. The posse has swelled to four Temple Dragons and we are already at tip top form, at Beatles-like harmony and energy levels and making magic. We ride out to Owl Farm, where I get that lifetime achievement award, meet Anita Thompson, who invites into the house for a long conversation about Hunter as I sit in Hunter’s chair, touch his typewriter. Then I walk to Anita’s ceremonial labyrinth, constructed on the spot where Hunter’s ashes are scattered. It’s a long walk uphill.
But when I set foot in the labyrinth, someone says:
“What time is it?”
“4:20” answers someone quietly.
I walk the labyrinth and lead an epic meditation. When I return, Anita tells me to come back on August 20th (the anniversary of Hunter’s memorial service), to make a Munchie Cup and hold more ceremonies.
Bob Brandel is editing the kickstarter video to offer packages (sans airfare) for a five-star-hotel room.
I can’t promise Bill Murray or Johnny Depp will show, but they will be invited, and we will be rocking.
And this might be your chance to jam with me one more time.
Float or swim.
The ball’s in your court.
Long live Hunter Thompson, his spirit is a good place to be.
In fact, he came back last night to say thanks for picking up the mission.
Salam, Shalom, Namaste, Mitakuye Oyasin