Visions in a Park

At least eight states will have marijuana legalization laws on their ballots this November. California, Nevada, Arizona, Massachusetts, and Maine will be voting for or against legalizing weed for recreational use. And Missouri, Arkansas, and Florida will attempt to legalize pot for medical purposes. Way to try to go forward, Bible Belt!

I’m from Cali, and wasn’t sure which way to vote on this. And then my wife and I visited Capitol Reefer National Park. While at this enchanted park I saw several visions, and these revelations convinced me of the wisdom of legalizing Pakaloco.

Ganoobies Cliffs, Capital Reefer National Park.

Ganoobies Cliffs, Capital Reefer National Park.

In my first vision, a great white president rose before me. He was enwreathed in a mysterious, sweet-smelling smoke. Although he seemed happy in this smoke, he was holding his breath and refusing to inhale it. He introduced himself to me as the Great Clinton. In a raspy voice he proclaimed that in the capitol there are many reefers. He stated that this park was named in honor of all the great leaders of our nation who have secretly toked on the sacred herb of Mary Jane. And then he disappeared into a bush.

Indian Boy Valley, Capitol Reefer National Park.

Indian Boy Valley, Capitol Reefer National Park.

In my next vision, a great black president emerged from a bush, eating macaroni and cheese. Magic smoke swirled about his serene face, and he could be seen to breathe deeply of it. He fixed his gaze on me, then uttered, “There’s a reason why I am known as the Great No-Drama Obama. Reflect on it, man.” Then he sprinkled some salt and pepper on his macaroni and faded away.

Around 4:20 in the afternoon a third vision appeared. An older blonde lady in a pants suit was mowing the grass. She was working hard, and huffing and puffing like a dragon. Then she stopped and sparked up a conversation with me. She told me she was up against the stem, and asked if I belonged to the Tea Party. I told her no, and she said, “Well you win a gold star for that.” Then she pulled out a couple of pocket rockets and handed one to me. We torched up while she asked if I had ever seen the Northern Lights.

Alice B. Toklas rock, Capitol Reefer National Park.

Alice B. Toklas rock, Capitol Reefer National Park.

Yes I had, a few times, I revealed. “In fact, I belong to Triple A, so I have no problem driving up there.”

She got the wind of what I was saying, then got the good giggles. Finally she asked, “Do you know who I am?”

“Sweet Lucy!” I replied, “No, who?”

Zambi Mesa, Capitol Reefer National Park.

Zambi Mesa, Capitol Reefer National Park.

Her eyes drooped and got dewy and her face went solemn. “I have come from the Great Clinton,” she muttered in ghostly fashion. “And I shall be the new Great Clinton. I am going to leave the great Trump in a ditch, after he crashes the speedboat he’s on.

“And after I become the new Great Clinton, I shall make it possible for all Americans to visit this beautiful park.” She spread her arms out wide, gesturing to the desert hills all around her. “Yes, when I achieve my greatness, no one shall be denied entry. The leaders of our country shall no longer bogart this place for themselves. It shall be shared with everyone, and all people will be allowed to toke the sweet air, admire the red buds, and wake and bake beneath the trees.”

Sinsemilla Bluffs, Capitol Reefer National Park.

Sinsemilla Bluffs, Capitol Reefer National Park. If you look closely, you’ll see the contrail of a Jefferson airplane. Wow.

These words were as refreshing to me as a leaf salad. I recalled how so many people had to sneak into this park, and how some of them went to jail for a very long time, after being caught trespassing. I suddenly got very excited. She had won me over. I asked the aspiring new Great Clinton what I could do to help her.

She stared at me sternly and murmured, “Vote to legalize ganja.” And then a strong breeze lifted her up, with her sleeves and pant legs flapping enthusiastically, and she blew away in a vortex of golden leaves.

Kumba Overlook, Capitol Reefer National Park.

Kumba Overlook, Capitol Reefer National Park.

Categories: Humor

14 replies »

  1. like my comment on natchurel bridges — heh: weave both spent sum time under the influence in and amongst the red rox. many years ago (in the early 1990’s?) I, uh, got under the influence and ran the Moab half-marathon. the stuff slowed me down, but it was fun, and I still ran under 1:30. (THAT couldn’t happen any more!)

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’m imprest. If I had run that far, under the influence, I think I would have seen many visions, of all sorts. For instance, a vision of my lungs being puked out onto the pavement.


      • just weight … many (yes, many) years back we (yes, ‘we’) got to the point where being under-the-influence was … eh … almost ‘normal.’ now ~ the rare (yes, rare, maybe once a week?) times we’re under the influence it ISN’T ‘normal’. however : I’ve been under the influence three times and gone off to be an ice-hockey goalie. that experience is surreal anyway. the last time I did this I expected the game to be a casual low-key affair. unbeknownst to me, the local university team called the ice arena to arrange a ‘friendly’ game between them and the arena regulars … (of course I was terrified! in retrospect, fun though ~ )

        Liked by 1 person

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