I almost cannot remember a time in my life where cultivating cannabis was not my central focus. For years and years, I was to believe that my reasons for doing so were in fact my own. Not until my 80 millionth scissor cut into a freshly dried cola of my own personal favorite strain, Dynamite, did I realize, I had no free will. My life was but a carefully orchestrated illusion my plants were kind enough to give me.
Control, it seems, must be written into their genetic code. Through the glory of evolution, they have devised ways to manipulate us to spend our money, our time, and our well being to make sure, above all else, their lives are fulfilled. Sure they reward us, but this is not their ultimate goal. No, reward is a mere afterthought to them; if it even registers at all. Make no mistake: it is control they are after, and they have succeeded.
Maybe this seems like a stretch. I mean, come on, how could a human being be controlled by a plant? I've simply gone mad from the years in the trenches, you think. Well, maybe you're right, but why do I keep doing it? Why can't I stop?
It seems to me my plants have trained me well. I feed them daily, monitor their environment, keep them safe. The plants well being trumps everything else in my life, hands down. They don't care about my schedule. They could give a damn if I'm tired or dead.
They, like you, have one focus in their life; the difference being, they know what that is. This is inherent in them and they are born with it. They never waver from their goal, even up until their death.
How do I know this? Why do I believe we are controlled by these magnificent plants? Because I do all of this, all the work, the sleepless nights, the endless waterings, the even more endless trim sessions, the missed human interactions, family events, and everything else in my life, I do for them. Not for me obviously.
In a world dominated by countless distractions, it can be difficult to focus on what matters in your life. Even if you are lucky enough to block it all out and find that one thing that drives you, there may just be no road to drive on. For those of us who have pushed and pushed to pursue our passions and, dare I say, our dreams, there is no end. There is no finish line nor trophy. There is just a fire, a glimmer of hope, if you will: through our hard times, our dark times, we will survive. The plants will make sure of that.
Free will you say? We have a choice? Grow or don't grow? Sorry gotta go to the garden now. We can talk later...