By Cynthia Johnson | Excerpt from her blog, My Way is the High Way
A year ago today, it was a very different world.
Pain isn’t the only thing that’s hard to remember once it’s gone. So is joy.
You can remember that it was there, but it’s hard to call up as an image, a tangible reality you need only describe.
What I had last year was a sense of long-awaited freedom. I felt that I had finally embarked upon a greatly anticipated journey.
I was, at long last, engaged in the true pursuit of happiness.
It wasn’t just that I was legal.
It wasn’t just that I had stepped out of the shadows and into the mainstream of society as a medical marijuana patient, having come out of the cabinet to my neighbors down the block, as well as to the world at large, through the internet.
It wasn’t just that I suddenly had an astonishing array of marijuana strains to choose from, although, let’s face it, that was a huge part of it.
It wasn’t just that I was infused with a heady sense of possibility.
It was all these things, of course.
But back then, peace was at hand.
Today, we are at war. It’s that simple.
Last year, it felt like the bus was coming ‘round again and the so-called Love Generation was going to have a last blast. One last Merry go-round. We were happening again.
This year, battle lines are being drawn.
This is what they have done. The Feds. The DA. The local cops.
Over and over.
I see it everywhere, all across the country:
They have re-ignited the very fight this country is all about.
A well regulated militia being necessary to the preservation of a Free State, the right of the people to bear arms shall not be infringed.
It’s also about fighting tyranny with whatever we’ve got. And We the People have no chance against an oppressive government, using guns. Besides, we are not about guns and violence. That’s the whole point.
We have something better. We the have internet.