Each step along our individual paths changes us. Some experiences grow body, mind, and soul. Other experiences cause those same parts of us to shrink and ache endlessly. The trick is to let each step teach you even if it pains you. When you dedicate yourself to a task with little hope of recognition or monetary gain, many steps on the path are painful. No matter how much you give or how many you touch, there are still more in need. We live in a harsh world. My hat/cancer bandana off to anyone on the path to healing themselves and/or helping a loved one get relief in the most natural way possible. It takes a lot of courage and resolve to reach the end of the modern medicine road and only be left with options you may be logically against (such as chemo). It’s just as difficult to dutifully stand by and genuinely unconditionally love someone whose body is in decline.
As difficult as those decisions are, being public about them makes those choices even harder, but the stories we tell and leave behind in this time when cannabis legality is in its infancy of revival are a testament to the plant, it healing and transformative powers, and the lives of those left searching for comfort when modern medicine can’t offer it. Each of us who has chosen to tell our tale in the public forum of our day (the internet, or public eye in general) is living history. My endless gratitude to all those out there playing nurse to a loved one so limited in physical ability. Watching the cannabis world work to change from prohibition to test markets for medical use to states defying the federal government to decriminalize for adult use has been a heart twisting journey every step of the road. Please don’t forget the chronically ill folks and their caregivers for each recreational bowl you enjoy or sell legally. We still have a long way to go to honor the people who put their entire lives and health on the line in order to create change. Let’s begin by more and more programs to help the low income patients among us.
After many years of dedication to the cause of cannabis education and healing, This is the greatest need I see in the movement today: Just too many folks with too little resources and too much pain while the price of cannabis remains a burden to their largely ssi/ssd funded existences while pounds of useable cannabis are grown in the name of someone suffering and sold elsewhere by their “caregiver” for a profit. We must do better by the low income legal cannabis patient if we ever hope to legalize cannabis for medicinal or recreational use across the board. But as an individual, I can only offer individual mercy. Lately I’ve been giving free oil to individuals legal in Colorado and to cannabis charities such as Greenfaith Ministries. We need to see more of this kind of mercy.
Feel free to wander around Kiefair.com, wish the site a happy anniversary, comment on and share your favorite articles from years past. Also feel free to comment on this post for any improvements or changes you would like to see to the site. Moving forward, I have a project to preserve samples of products I make and products available in the market for future research. I imagine a time when we are looking back at this period in our shared history as the dawn of cannabis legalization. I imagine scientists wanting to know exactly what we were using. To preserve this history, the best, the good, the bad, and the ugly, I have procured slides and lab vials to make samples to carry on after us.
My next article covers making your own massage oils. As a preview for those eagerly awaiting the write up on that article, Let us have a look at the history of extracting healing compounds or scent compounds from various plants. This history is essential to understanding the next article from kiefair.com
I invite you to come and visit the site through a sampling of the most read articles. Scroll below the photo for the top read articles according to my site’s stats, 2014 reading statistics. Let’s take a look at what people are reading.
The tale of one of many who has taken information they learned on kiefair.com and had the courage to use that knowledge to treat their own illnesses with it.
This post is not to debate with others about if J.R.R. Tolkien was a stoner or not. This post is for people who have already determined for themselves that he did like to suck on a weed pipe every now and again and who wonder about what is really in Lembas Bread.
Fat Freddy has had a sore on his back for about 3 years and it would not heal! We started putting Rick Simpson Oil on it on November 23, 2011 then the next day we checked it and then checked it every 3 days afterwards, changing the oil and bandage every 3 days as well! I documented the process as long as I was the live in maid/nurse for the patient. (WARNING THIS IS GRAPHIC!)
I do not look like I have a single drop of Mediterranean blood in me, so why do i care about this rare genetic disorder? Because the color of skin is only skin deep. Because despite the pale appearance of my exterior, I have the genetic ancestor from that part of the world who handed me this recessive trait. Because I have this disease and have to live with it…
A set of videos in Tribute to the writing of Hannah Hurnard, “Hind’s Feet on High Places” to Art of Breezy Kiefair i just put music and art to a book that has been a favorite since childhood… my mother used to read me that book…. call it a tribute to her and an introduction of the book to an audience that may otherwise remain unaware of it. I recommend it for anyone with anxiety or PTSD
Ronnie Lee Smith, aka Roland A Duby made much of Kiefair.com possible. In April 2014, he lost his battle with Leukemia after being falsely imprisoned by Yavapai county in Arizona. We got Ronnie out of jail, but only in time for him to die with a pipe in his hands. While Ronnie was alive, he tasked me to keep his oil making method alive. I have done my best to ensure I keep this task entrusted to me by making his method freely available to anyone willing to learn.
*****Note, I have not updated the review page in quite some time. Some of the dispensaries I have reviewed may no longer be in business. The quality at the locations I have reviewed may have changed due to a change in ownership, grower or extraction agreements. Nearly all of my reviews are of MEDICAL locations, so please check to see if they have a retail location before using any of these reviews for a vacation guide.
Do you use Kiefair.com? Do you support me giving out info on cannabis oil creation for free? Do you support my free oil program with the colorado cannabis charity known as Greenfaith Ministry? Well, you may be unaware that one little lady pays for all costs associated with KiefAir.com. The way the site stays afloat with its mini library of cannabis related reference information is through sales of art and books. Each year, I must make $300 in PROFITS from the art at my etsy store and my poetry book sales on amazon.com.
Have a look at some samples from my portfolio, all of these images may be purchased to support kiefair.com
Please remember I only make pennies per art print I sell, so I need to sell a lot of pieces each year. I was very worried about keeping the site open for 2015. The holiday season left me with not one sale. But People pulled together, and We are all set to keep the site open through February 2016!
This is the tale of how I kept the site open this time… previous years, the money had come from my medication budget. This year was different… this happened because a long time patron gifted me $100 to bring the hosting fee bar a little lower, but he was a special case, my first patron ever who seems to still want to pay more for some ceramic figures I did when I was about 14. He always sends me some cash during the winter holidays and on my birthday. In truth this anonymous donor has been more of a father to me than my own. One of the few positive male role models i have had in mu life. The rule is to spend it on something for myself. I misbehaved this year and give the gift to you. This year I’m put it towards continuing to give the gift of information via kiefair.com . Pebbles Trippet, a prominent writer for Skunk Magazine bought a clutch of 4×6 limited edition Maya Angelou memorial prints. Other patrons got posters or 8×10 prints and we made our goal to keep the site open! My thanks to all Patrons!
Each year, I allow you, the reader/viewer to decide if kiefair.com stays alive. If I get sales, all profit (save my usual tithe if 10% of all profits) will go to saving KiefAir.com. I hope we can do better on those sales and keep the site alive. Remember the power is yours to make it live or let the library die. Any image from my please bogart my art page is for sale except the maya portrait.
Portrait of Toni Fox by: Breezy Kiefiar Toni Commissioned me to turn one of her favorite digital images of herself into a canvas painting. Toni said she was so pleased with it that she has it displayed in her home office.
details: 1. Make your selection at the following link: https://www.facebook.com/kiefyart
2. Complete your transaction here and let the artist know what image you desire. Ms. Breezy will ship you a print in the size you desire right away!
If you buy a new print edition of this book (or purchased one in the past), you can buy the Kindle edition for only $0.99(Save 90%). Print edition purchase must be sold by Amazon.Learn more.
A poetry book centered on pot written by cannabis activist and artist under the influence, Breezy Kiefair. “Of Pain, poetry, and pot.” Is a collection of cannabis centered poetry in a neobeatnik style. It includes updated versions of Allen Allen Ginsberg – Howls “howl” and “america”, along with an update on “to whom it may concern” by Adrian Mitchell , a cannabis parody of Rifleman’s Creed and many other poems that are all my own.
This review is from: Of Pain, Poetry and Pot (Kindle Edition)
Would You Like To Pick Breezy’s Brain? This wonderful book is a chance to witness the creative process at work; author Breezy Kiefair (aka Breedheen O’Rilley) is the real deal, a gifted poet/journalist/activist on the forefront of the battle for medical marijuana patients’ rights and for truth in media. And speaking of truth, emotional truth is exactly what you’ll get here. Breezy isn’t afraid to take an open-eyed, unsparing look at society, at herself, at her illnesses, at the lies we tell ourselves and each other — and at the scintillating, breathtaking beauty which is more real and more powerful than all else. Highly recommended.
Help other customers find the most helpful reviews
This review is from: Of Pain, Poetry and Pot (Kindle Edition)
Written by someone very intimate with pain on many different levels. Beautiful and honest. I can’t wait to find out more about this amazing young woman. I originally borrowed this book. I have now read it twice and I have to own it. It must become a part of my permanent collection, along with anything else I can find which flows from this beautiful author.
Help other customers find the most helpful reviews
This review is from: Of Pain, Poetry and Pot (Kindle Edition)
The poems and rhythm that comes from the author’s feelings show you that she uses her medical cannabis passion and even frustrations to put her concerns into words we can understand. You can feel her pain – you can feel her pride. The transposed songs were a great touch.
Help other customers find the most helpful reviews
This multi-talented artist and writer amazed me with her insightful and sometimes heartbreaking poetry. Her artwork is not only beautiful, but different from any I have seen. I have actually ordered several individual prints off her website to give as gifts this Christmas. I highly recommend this book.
Help other customers find the most helpful reviews
This review is from: Of Pain, Poetry and Pot (Kindle Edition)
As an activist,a woman and a HUMAN BEING,, I could feel the pain in Ms. O’Rilley’s poetry. Yet I could also feel the triumph. A must for all “pot’ lovers, I got it for 2.99 for my Kindle and it was MORE than worth it. I’ve read these poems over and over, you will too.
Help other customers find the most helpful reviews
This review is from: Of Pain, Poetry and Pot (Kindle Edition)
This is an excellent book written by a very gifted, unique woman Breezy Keifair. I loved the whole book and have read it a couple of times so far. She is an artist that does her work under the influence of pot for the pain she is in and you can feel that pain with her words. I could really relate to that and a lot of other things in the book. I highly recommend this book. She is also a very gifted artist besides being a good poet and writer.
Help other customers find the most helpful reviews
Rest in meter rest in rhyme rest poet laureate we are grateful for what time we were allowed to share with you words linger on inspiring and blue Breezy Kiefair, Of Poetry, Pain and Pot on the death of Maya Angelou
Revered author Maya Angelou, who was the first poet since Robert Frost to read a poem at a Presidential inauguration, writes about her experiences with marijuana in Gather Together, the second installment of her autobiography after the acclaimedI Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Angelou, who started life as Rita Johnson from Stamps, Arkansas, was raped at the age of 7, and had an illegitimate child in her teens. Working as a waitress to support her son in San Diego, 18-year-old Rita met two lesbian prostitutes who frequented the bar where she worked. One night, the women invited her to their house for dinner. Angelou recounts: “Let’s have a little grifa before dinner.” Johnnie Mae gave an order, not an invitation. She turned to me. “You like grifa?”“Yes. I smoke.” The truth was I had smoked cigarettes for over a year, but never marijuana….I was prepared to refuse anything else they offered me, so I didn’t feel I could very well refuse the pot….I inhaled the smoke as casually as if the small brown cigarette I held were the conventional commercial kind.“No. No. Don’t waste the grifa. Hand it here….try it like this…” I opened my throat and kept my tongue flat so that the smoke found no obstacle in its passage from my lips to my throat….The food was the best I’d ever tasted. Every morsel was an experience of sheer delight. I lost myself in a haze of sensual pleasure, enjoying not only the tastes but the feel of the food in my mouth, the smells, and the sound of my jaws chewing. “She’s got a buzz. That’s her third helping.” …I decided to dance for my hostesses. The music dipped and swayed, pulling and pushing. I let my body rest on the sound and turned and bowed in the tiny room. The shapes and forms melted until I felt I was in a charcoal sketch, or a sepia watercolor. (pp. 52-55) By the end of the evening Rita had arranged to rent the women’s house, putting them to work for her as prostitutes, with her barganing for their services with cab drivers and taking a cut. Meanwhile, she read Dostoevsky and studied dance. Soon the arrangement turned sour and she had to flee back to Stamps, where drinking Sloe gin “numbed my brain” and she had to make herself sick to get rid of the poison.
Rita went back to the West Coast and tried joining the Army in San Francisco, but was turned down because the The California Labor school, where she’d studied dance and drama, was deemed a Communist organization. So she started waitressing again, and smoking pot. Smoking grass eased the strain for me. I made a connection at a restaurant nearby. People called it Mary Jane, hash, grass, gauge, weed, pot, and I had absolutely no fear of using it. In the black ghetto of the forties, marijuana, cocaine, hop (opium) and heroin were only a little harder to obtain than rationed whiskey. Although my mother didn’t use anything but Scotch (Black & White), she often sang a song popular in the thirties that at its worst didn’t condemn grass, and at its best extolled its virtues.“Dream about a reefer five foot longVitamin [sic] but not too strongYou’ll be high but not for longIf you’re a viper…”From a natural stiffness I melted into a grinning tolerance. Walking on the streets became high adventure, eating my mother’s huge dinners an opulent entertainment, and playing with my son was side-cracking hilarity. For the first time, life amused me. …I disciplined myself. One joint on Sunday and one on the morning of my day off. The weed always had an intense and immediate effect. Before the cigarette was smoked down to roach length, I had to smother my giggles. Just to see the falling folds of the curtains or the sway of a chair was enough to bring me to audible laughter. After an hour the hysteria of the high would abate and I could trust myself in public. (p. 154). After a brief stint dancing professionally, she met a married man who told her her, “It’s gauge that’s breaking my marriage….My silly dilly wife stopped letting me have any and she goes around laughing and giggling all the time.” She flushed her pot for him and soon let him lead her into prostitution herself, where she was told if she was good she’d be given some “white girl” (cocaine) but, “They won’t let you smoke hemp, though. They say it makes a ‘ho too frisky. ‘Hos get their heads bad and forget about tending to business.” At the close of the book, another man named Troubador shows her how he shot heroin, and makes her promise to keep her innocence. He gives her his clothes to sell so that she can escape and head back to her Mother’s house. In the following autobiographical installment, Singin’ and Swingin’ and Gettin’ Merry Like Christmas, Rita is discovered while dancing at a strip club in San Francisco and develops a Calypso singing act, changing her name and eventually finding her way to activism with Martin Luther King andMalcolm X, as well as writing with the encouragement of James Baldwin and others. Angelou received over 50 honorary degrees and three Grammys. She was awarded the Presidential Medal of Arts in 2000 and the Lincoln Medal in 2008. PS: Angelou isn’t the only revered US poet to sing the praises of pot. In his book of Haiku She Was Just 17, former poet laureate (2001-2003) Billy Collins wrote: So many nicknames for you But none as lovely as marijuana
It Was a warm an humid Friday, the topic on everyone’s lips? What are you doing for this year’s 4/20 celebration? I was single minded in my concerns… I had a painting to drop off. Let us back up 6 weeks time. Michelle LaMay announced she would be opening Colorado’s first cannabis History Museum. She got with me (Breezy Kiefair) and asked if I would be interested in donating a painting to the museum. I was informed that my first book, Of Poetry, Pain, and Pot was already to be included among the museum’s exhibits and gift store offerings. I eagerly agreed and allowed Michelle to choose one of my images. I then had the image printed onto canvas and set about touching up that canvas with my own hand and brushes. I had worked many hours a day for many weeks and finally the beauty in my mind had begun to shine through. I called the piece complete and April 18 was the day to hang the canvas in the museum. It was opening day for the museum, so I was kind of expecting everything to be set up and ready to go, but when Michelle opened the trailer, and said, “Help me” there was no considering refusing. You see, an international film crew was on the way and would arrive within 2 hours time. The museum had not yet had the exhibits set up and there was a ton of work. Michelle had shown up with two willing gentlemen (Charlie Washington and Rick Wainwright) but an extra set of hands were both willing and necessary. The 4 of us were as industrious as bees. We did pause for the occasional bowl, but by the time the film crew showed up, nearly everything was picture perfect. It was heartwarming to see a group of individuals coming together to complete a task. Each of us had our own strengths and infirmities, but together we were whole and up to the task. The activity and the honor of having my painting shown was more than enough excitement for me for 4/20 this year.
You may click on any of the below images to begin a slideshow of the day in pictures.
The museum arrives at its 4/20 weekend location eager to receive the cannabis history exhibits.
The museum arrives at its 4/20 weekend location eager to receive the cannabis history exhibits.
There’s a lot of work to be done and just a few hours before an international film crew arrives. Michelle delegates tasks, Rick and Charlie take care of the heavy lifting while Michelle and Breezy give the museum their artists touch.
Setup continues inside the museum and outside.
Michelle Lamay sets up the Bookshop
Jack Herer Exhibit in the museum
Exhibits in the museum
Exhibits in the museum
Exhibits in the museum
Rick W. Poses for a pic before he leaves
Rick W. and Breezy K. pose for a pic before Rick takes off.
Rick W. Looks over the guestbook
First signatures in the museum guestbook
Michelle invites you to take a selfie passin one with Willie Nelson
Charlie W and Michelle L. admire some exhibits in the museum
Exhibits in the museum
Jack Herer Exhibit in the museum
Exhibits in the museum
Westword cover Exhibit in the museum. Including Jenny Kush Memorial cover
Exhibits in the museum
Literature, Note cards, and amendment 20 guides available in the bookstore
A mobile cannabis museum — packed into a crowded fifth-wheel with artifacts, interactive displays, photos and media archives on the history of marijuana — that announces its pop-up locations via social media?
Only in Colorado.
“I intend to travel all around the state educating Coloradans about the history of hemp and cannabis,” said Michelle LaMay, the 67-year-old activist behind LaMay’s Cannabis Museum, which opens 4/20 weekend. “I’m parking this weekend in Aurora, and I’ll be posting my location like food trucks do.”
LaMay isn’t lacking passion. As you tour her museum on wheels, she’ll giddily teach you about the state’s laws for carrying, ingesting and growing marijuana — not to mention her own activist roots dating back to 1992 in Mesa County, where she helped collect 5,000 signatures in an attempt to legalize hemp.
Her museum won’t have regular hours or a steady location even, but she’ll announce her hours and location via social media and website. Admission to the museum is free.
“I’ll be at people’s parties and in dispensary parking lots,” LaMay said. “I’ve been booked for those occasions, and I’ll also be at the Pot Pavilion at the Denver County Fair, which I’m very excited about.”
As with LaMay’s five-year-old Cannabis University of Colorado, the museum’s primary goal is education.
“More education about hemp and cannabis can only help raise awareness and acceptance for cannabis and hemp — not just the products but we users also,” LaMay said. “I’m a 67-year-old, and just my mere presence lends credibility to the cause, I’ve been told.”
The audio has been reworked by Breezy Kiefair. The base audio was a live performance of “Tin Pan Alley” by Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble from the Blues at Sunrisealbum All images created by Breezy Kiefair. cameos in the art by; Steve Elliott of Toke Signals, Sonia Guerrero, and Pebbles Trippet all set to a breezy audio altered version of Stevie Ray Vaughan‘s “tin Pan alley” dedicated to the low income cannabis patient on the occasion of the first recreational cannabis commercial shops opening in Colorado. I will let each individual interpret the art themselves.
Dedicated to the low income cannabis patient left toking through tin pan Alley.
“Tin Pan Alley (aka Roughest Place in Town)” is track #23 on the album Essential Stevie Ray Vaughan. It was written by Bob Geddins.
Tin Pan Alley (aka Roughest Place in Town)
Went down to Tin Pan Alley
See what was goin’ on
Things was too hot down there
Couldn’t stay very long
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Alley’s the roughest place I’ve ever been
All the peoples down there
Lord, they are livin’ for their whisky, wine and gin
She get up in the mornin’
Before the break a day
Before she can wash her face and hand
You know she really did go away
Hey, hey, hey, you tell
What kinda place can this here Alley be?
Well now, every women I get here
Every women I get to know
This Alley takes her away from me
I heard a pistol shoot
Yeah, and it was a .44
Somebody killed a crap shooter
‘Cause he didn’t shake, rattle and roll
Hey, hey, hey, hey
What kinda place can a Alley be?
All those people down there
Lord, they are livin’ for their whisky, wine and gin
I heard a woman scream
Yeah, and I peeked through the door
Some cat was workin’ on Annie with a
Lord, Lord with a two by four
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Alley’s the roughest place, I’ve ever been
All the people down there
Lord, they are killin’ for their whisky, wine and gin
I saw a cop standing there
With hand on his gun
Said this is a raid boy now
Run, run, nobody run
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Alley’s the roughest place, I’ve ever been
Yeah, they took me away from Alley
Lord, they took me right back to the pen
Of Pain, Poetry and Pot is a poetry book centered on pot written by cannabis activist and artist under the influence of cannabis , Breezy Kiefair. “Of Pain, poetry, and pot.” Is a collection of cannabis centered poetry in a neobeatnik style. It includes updated versions of Allen Ginsberg – Howl and “america”, along with an update on “to whom it may concern” by Adrian Mitchell , a cannabis parody of Rifleman’s Creed and many other poems that are all my own.
I just published a poetry book with amazon.com…..this is the book cover. It is called “Of Pain, Poetry and Pot”
Of Pin, Poetry and Pot cover
the electronic edition is still free for one more day folks! Please distribute the following link for people to get their free copy http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FGF8WUY
“Of Pain, poetry, and pot.” Is a collection of cannabis centered poetry in a neobeatnik style. It includes updated versions of Allen Allen Ginsberg – Howls “howl” and “america”, along with an update on “to whom it may concern” by Adrian Mitchell , a cannabis parody of Rifleman’s Creed and many other poems that are all my own. I hope ya grab your free download while it is available and be sure to lend it to your friends (I have enabled book lending on this piece). Yes, I am aware of the odd format in the table of contents. I assure you that is semi-intentional. and please! Share these links around so the pot poetry can be read easily.
another link for the paperback http://www.amazon.com/dp/1492830399/ref=cm_sw_r_fa_dp_47gssb1B996P0K2N
This review is from: Of Pain, Poetry and Pot (Paperback)
This multi-talented artist and writer amazed me with her insightful and sometimes heartbreaking poetry. Her artwork is not only beautiful, but different from any I have seen. I have actually ordered several individual prints off her website to give as gifts this Christmas. I highly recommend this book.
Help other customers find the most helpful reviews
Would You Like To Pick Breezy’s Brain? This wonderful book is a chance to witness the creative process at work; author Breezy Kiefair (aka Breedheen O’Rilley) is the real deal, a gifted poet/journalist/activist on the forefront of the battle for medical marijuana patients’ rights and for truth in media. And speaking of truth, emotional truth is exactly what you’ll get here. Breezy isn’t afraid to take an open-eyed, unsparing look at society, at herself, at her illnesses, at the lies we tell ourselves and each other — and at the scintillating, breathtaking beauty which is more real and more powerful than all else. Highly recommended.
Help other customers find the most helpful reviews
To Whom It May Concern I was run over by the truth one day. Ever since the diagnosis I have been this way So burn my body with radiation Tell me lies about cancer.
Heard the alarm clock screaming with pain, Couldn’t find myself so I went back to sleep again So fill my veins with Chemo burn my body with radiation Tell me lies about cancer. Every time I shut my eyes, all I see is pain. Made a little ribbon to remember all the names So empty out my bank account fill my veins with chemo burn my body with radiation Tell me lies about cancer. I hear they are thinking surgery, hope it’s not my brains. They’re only gutting fishes for their own personal gain. So numb my brain with Morphine empty out my bank account fill my veins with chemo burn my body with radiation Tell me lies about cancer. Where were you at the time of the crime? Ripping up the Hippocratic oath, just to make a dime? So chain my Life with hopelessness numb my brain with Morphine empty out my bank account fill my veins with chemo burn my body with radiation Tell me lies about cancer
You put your doctors in, they take their conscience out, They take the human being and they twist it all about So take my world away chain my Life with hopelessness numb my brain with Morphine empty out my bank account fill my veins with chemo burn my body with radiation Tell me lies about cancer–
I just published a poetry book with amazon.com…..this is the book cover. It is called “Of Pain, Poetry and Pot”
Of Pin, Poetry and Pot cover
the electronic edition is still free for one more day folks! Please distribute the following link for people to get their free copy http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FGF8WUY
“Of Pain, poetry, and pot.” Is a collection of cannabis centered poetry in a neobeatnik style. It includes updated versions of Allen Allen Ginsberg – Howls “howl” and “america”, along with an update on “to whom it may concern” by Adrian Mitchell , a cannabis parody of Rifleman’s Creed and many other poems that are all my own. I hope ya grab your free download while it is available and be sure to lend it to your friends (I have enabled book lending on this piece). Yes, I am aware of the odd format in the table of contents. I assure you that is semi-intentional. and please! Share these links around so the pot poetry can be read easily.
another link for the paperback http://www.amazon.com/dp/1492830399/ref=cm_sw_r_fa_dp_47gssb1B996P0K2N
excerpt:
A bit of Cancer poetry for thought…
To Whom It May Concern I was run over by the truth one day. Ever since the diagnosis I have been this way So burn my body with radiation Tell me lies about cancer.
Heard the alarm clock screaming with pain, Couldn’t find myself so I went back to sleep again So fill my veins with Chemo burn my body with radiation Tell me lies about cancer. Every time I shut my eyes, all I see is pain. Made a little ribbon to remember all the names So empty out my bank account fill my veins with chemo burn my body with radiation Tell me lies about cancer. I hear they are thinking surgery, hope it’s not my brains. They’re only gutting fishes for their own personal gain. So numb my brain with Morphine empty out my bank account fill my veins with chemo burn my body with radiation Tell me lies about cancer. Where were you at the time of the crime? Ripping up the Hippocratic oath, just to make a dime? So chain my Life with hopelessness numb my brain with Morphine empty out my bank account fill my veins with chemo burn my body with radiation Tell me lies about cancer
You put your doctors in, they take their conscience out, They take the human being and they twist it all about So take my world away chain my Life with hopelessness numb my brain with Morphine empty out my bank account fill my veins with chemo burn my body with radiation Tell me lies about cancer–
A set of videos in Tribute to the writing of Hannah Hurnard, “Hind’s Feet on High Places” to Art of Breezy Kiefair i just put music and art to a book that has been a favorite since childhood… my mother used to read me that book…. call it a tribute to her and an introduction of the book to an audience that may otherwise remain unaware of it. I recommend it for anyone with anxiety or PTSD
Hinds’ Feet on High Places is an allegoricalnovel by English author Hannah Hurnard. Hinds’ Feet was written in 1955 and has become a very successful work of Christian fiction, seeing new editions published as recently as July, 2005.
It is the story of a young woman named Much Afraid, and her journey away from her Fearing family and into the High Places of the Shepherd, guided by her two companions Sorrow and Suffering. It is an allegory of a Christian devotional life from salvation through maturity. It aims to show how a Christian is transformed from unbeliever to immature believer to mature believer, who walks daily with God as easily on the High Places of Joy in the spirit as in the daily life of mundane and often humiliating tasks that may cause Christians to lose perspective.
The book takes its title from Habakkuk 3:19, “The Lord God is my strength, and he will make my feet like hinds’ feet, and he will make me to walk upon mine high places.”
The story begins in the Valley of Humiliation with Much Afraid, being beset by the unwanted advances of her cousin, Craven Fear, who wishes to marry her. The Family of Fearings seems to have some strong similarities to the Addams Family. Much Afraid is ugly from all outward appearances, walking on club feet, sporting gnarled, deformed hands, and speaking from a crooked mouth that seems to have been made so by a stroke or the like.
The Good Shepherd is tender and gentle with Much Afraid, especially in the beginning. However, His many sudden departures may strike the reader as bizarre, given the human penchant to expect kindly souls to never do everything that may be interpreted as rude or as hurtful in any way. Yet, though the Shepherd leaves in a moment, He returns the same way at the first furtive cry of the forlorn little protagonist. “Come, Shepherd, for I am much afraid!”
When Much Afraid intimates that she would love to be able to dance upon the high places as do the surefooted deer, the Shepherd commends her for this desire. In order to accomplish this, he offers to “plant the seed of love” into her heart. At first sight of the long, black hawthorne-looking seed, she shrieks in fear. Soon, she relents, and after the initial intense pain, she senses that something is indeed different in her, though she still looks the same, for now.
Just when the reader thinks that Much Afraid is about to reach the High Places, the path turns downward towards a seemingly endless desert. There is incident with an extremely high cliff that must be ascended by a steep, slippery and very narrow zig-zagging track, with the help of her two companions, Sorrow and Suffering. Then days are spent in a forest that is shrouded in a thick cloud of fog. During this time Much Afraid is sequestered with her two friends in a log cabin. The climax is an unexpected twist that comes as Much Afraid despairs of ever reaching the High Places.
The book bears some stylistic similarities to John Bunyan‘s The Pilgrim’s Progress. The name of the protagonist, Much-Afraid, also appears first in Bunyan’s work.
Bosman, Ellen. “Hind’s Feet on High Places” in Masterplots II: Christian Literature. Pasadena, CA: Salem Press, 2007: 779-782. Bezzina, Christopher Felix. ‘Journey to the High Places. Hannah Hurnard’s Spirituality and the Song of Songs.’http://www.amazon.com/Journey-High-Places-Hurnards-Spirituality/dp/1620320983
Its the bitter watches of the night and I wake. I ask myself what it is that has rousted me this day from my slumber. Its not near my body clock’s time of 4am…. There is a wailing in my mind and I must ask myself “whose pain is this?” for I know it is not mine. My body is aching with the storm on the peak, but I’d just found my center and there was no wail with in me like this to speak.
So trying not to wake the other in my bed, I sit quietly and listen to see what it is this wailing voice has come to seek. Its victims so many victims… victims of war, hungry ghosts of a corrupt system, victims of the human butchers and legal poison vendors, victims of industry and victims of hard work, being eaten alive by cancer and bodily disorder of so many shapes and forms it makes me shudder in vibration with this wail. And within me I hold an answer for so many a gift from above that I try to spread without regard to a patient station in life….. It is a wail of responsibility. It is a wail of the profiteer’s victims. It is the wail of prohibitions ugly head……
I light a candle to guard my heart from a wailing so deep in the thick of the night and I still listen to the voice in my mind reminding me of their plight. I sit a while with the lamb in my breath asking that higher than I to step in and take this wail up with my smoke to the sky. I ask for the means to bless those wailing with even a few grams of healing and hope cause I believe in doing what my creator said. And I know that this life and this path I have chosen for myself has never been easy but its not about self.
I give honor to the earth. I burn sacred sage of the earth and cleanse the darkness from my mind until light only remains. I light incense and honor the air. More candles glow and I honor the firey spirit of the soul and I soak in salted and perfumed waters and try to scrub away the victimization of these beautiful souls. Lambs breath fills my pipe and lungs and mind and I try to send a shining beacon of the creators light to these wailing in my mind and in the dark and in their own lives and pain… Dressed for the day I inhale organic tobacco and ponder quietly.
Then another presence comes upon my mind…. and I am taken back though the years and back in time. To a place and time where my body was not constantly sore…. Its boulder its Ginsberg its 1994. Its a little bookish Jewish dude who howled for his time and who brought me to his feet to sit for a time… You see he was my own personal poet willy wonka who saw a bit of my poetry and brought me on up to the Naropa factory to sit at his feet for the anniversary of his beloved school. It was Allen Ginsberg day in Boulder and I was with the master and yet a child myself….. I remember how he opened my eyes and smoked a blended herbal cigarette with me in an intermission…..
What dreams I have of you tonight Allen Ginsberg as you dreamed of Walt Whitman…. with sick people wailing in the night and my soul howling at the moon of my own inner madness.
I wonder where you are tonight while I feel so small and so responsible. I imagine you my zen master in your own nirvana or perhaps your here again in another body and another life… But from wherever you are I seem to hear your voice reminding me of the power of my pen and of the ideals to which you and I both try to keep. You wanted freedom of the plant and so do I. I’m trying to be a willy wonka for others where you were willy wonks for I… and so my musings and prayers and light intercessions complete I turn to what I can do for those wailing from where I am and put actions to the light that I keep.
And so I begin to wail for these folks online saying with my writers voice and my mighty pen:
I begin with this blessing: Virtual early Sunday morning tokes to all of the Rastafarian sacramental strain lambs breath. For me this strain quiets fears and calms my mind. It clears my mind and puts me in a space where i can enter my creators holy throne room with gratitude and peace instead of chaos and turmoil. It makes me still enough to hear the still small voice of my soul. It points me to currents and springs of strength and reminds me of the good i do. All of this i have for me i extend to you virtually and in energy and prayer.
Note***** There are two sacramental strains to the Rastafarian religion. One is called Lamb’s bread (I have never had the pleasure of smoking this strain) and it is said to have cola’s so large that the buds are sliced up like slices of bread. This is said to be more for dancing and rejoicing before the Lamb. Lamb’s breath is characterized by smaller dense highly resinous buds that are mellow, mind clearing and good for quiet contemplation.
I am still looking for new raw material sources to meet demand. I will pay $100 a pound for quality trim. I know a lot of you usually process your own trim but who cant use an extra few dollars around the holidays that the transaction goes to save lives? Call 719 480 0238. you must be in Colorado. I need bulk i need it quick.
I will travel anywhere in the state and negotiate on price for the right weight of the right stuff. I need trim that bad. I am trying to get people served as quickly as possible while longer term sources Relationships are in the works. Call 719 480 0238. A portion of any and all trim purchased goes to provide free phoenix tears to those in need that is why i need good prices. To put goodies into financially challenged cancer and severe illness folks hands. Lets get those free folks their Christmas presents and the paid folks what they deserve. It will make you feel good to give some people tears of joy.
The rest of you who cannot help with actions you may offer you energy to the task. Never underestimate the power of prayer in intercession for someone else. If we focus good vibes on those free peeps and paid peeps their lives can improve exponentially by far more than me just getting Their oil delivered to them. I invite you to join me in that intention…. No, i challenge you to.
Where is the heart that used to beat in this state for the less fortunate? Have you all gone mad with greed? I am willing to pay a fair price so i can give meds away for free. Will no one support me in that cause? Are you all so rich you can laugh at thousands of dollars? Are you all so unmoved by the plight of the less fortunate? Is there no one who believes in me filling hands where mine once needed filled? No one thinks its good to repay kindness by paying it forward to others?
I just gotta get these people taken care of. For some it means hope to try for another year. There is a couple who lives on the street. One partner has bone cancer and has all but given up. When my oil is there they live as good as they can and enjoy what life they have. Without the oil bone cancer boy gives up. They cant pay and i don’t care. I wanna give them both some hope and quality of life.
There is a writer whom many respect respect within our community whose belly aches him to no end and he cant sleep among other serious issues that are more private. He works hard for our cause but cant afford oil. He is the very picture of a starving writer and artist with a good soul and I wanna get him some rest and comfort so he can continue to serve us all so well.
There is an awesome bud-tend who works for far less than he is worth. The shop he works for sells oil yet it is out of his price range. A grain of rice a day would stop him from needing a diabetic needle yet his pancreas is far overworked. I wanna be sure he can keep giving patients the strains they need with the brain in his head. I have never left his shop with anything other than a strain to treat exactly the conditions I am concerned about that day mostly due to his knowledge that keeps a wide variety of strains for a wide variety of ailments on the shelves and getting into the right hands.
There are Numerous ladies and gents with tumors praying to avoid chemo and folks hoping not to need their noses scraped off their faces Who cant pay and need mercy. How can anyone deny the value of what i”m trying to accomplish? will no one sell me the raw materials i need to enrich these lives. I have shared but the tip of the iceberg.
Someone calls these folks I’m trying to help jewels in my crown. I bristle at the suggestion. I don’t care about jewels in my crown. If the creator blesses me as such that is incidental. I give because i know need better than most and to repay the kindnesses done for me by good people when i had nothing.
I do it because someone needs to and far too many are far too concerned with profit. I do it because these are victims of a corrupt system each and everyone in one way or another.
And i do it because it is in my nature to do it. And to make my murdered son proud of me from where he sits waiting on me in the afterlife and to make his wait have meaning. Help me make these sick people’s wait have meaning too.
So if you have some trim and a heart call me at 719 480 0238 And lets bless some people together. If you have a heart and no trim please just keep these good folks in your thoughts and prayers or however you communicate with the universe offer some strength in the direction of one or more of these people. Don’t direct it at me please. The sick need your love and light far more than i do.
I ask again! Where is the heart that used to beat in this state for the less fortunate? Have you all gone mad with greed? I am willing to pay a fair price so i can give meds away for free. Will no one support me in that cause? Are you all so rich you can laugh at thousands of dollars? Are you all so unmoved by the plight of the less fortunate? Is there no one who believes in me filling hands where mine once needed filled? No one thinks its good to repay kindness by paying it forward to others?
And so I move from being woke in the night, to prayer, to action trying to get some help to those who need it most. Won’t you please help me? I want to buy raw materials to make them medicine. That’s all.
Some Raw Materials images purchased after this post:
This is some sugar out of one of our big bags of trim
virtual tokes from my bag to your bowl….. some bud from an oil making bag of raw materials that came from an awesome friend — in Denver, CO.
You Can’t see my pain with your eyes. The only thing that relieves my pain is Cannabis! You could never imagine the pain I suffer, yet you deny me my freedom.
It has been 12 years today since your light was snuffed out… I am still here on earth, lingering in a mother’s nowhere-land somewhere between life and death… I am still asking why. I am still lamenting the miscarriage of justice. I have already written extensively on this topic. I have provided my readers with “catch up” links. I don’t have the heart to say much more. I love you Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts. I will never forget you or stop holding the memory of your life in my heart.
This is a video of art I have created between March of 2009 and September 2010. It is set to a song written by a friend of mine in real life from High School after the murder of my only child, Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts (Westley Keaton means ~man from the field where the Hawks go in Gaelic)
Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts
born 10/24/1998
murdered 05/06/2000
Justice miscarried (murderer acquitted on a technicality Jan 2001)
They should be able to direct you to the cemetery. Just inside the gate by the fair grounds is a big pine tree. Seek out the gravestone of a murdered infant with a puppy on the stone. The name on the stone is Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts. Please clear away the leaves from his stone. Please tell him his mother still loves him and is still crying. If you can, please lay some red flowers there or release red balloons with seeds attached, so that love may grow at random for his memory. October 24, 1998 – May 6, 2000 gone far too soon, but my son, I feel your presence still. http://stanthonypadua.catholicweb.com/
Ken Burke #10021-091
Federal Correctional Complex
FCI Victorville #1
P.O. Box 5300 Adelanto, CA 92301
Would be cool if it were someone in California because then there would be the possibility of a visit too!! I think he has about 5 years left…not sure why he’s in there but he’s definitely on the weed team.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Darlene Spears #131779
P.O. Box 392005, Denver, CO 80239
Breezy’s bio-sister says this about Darlene:
She was my cell mate when I was doing my time. She’s doing life without parole…She’s accused of murder…She told me she’s innocent. She’s accused of murdering her husband she claims that her husband told on some people down south and that they were the ones who murdered him I liked her a lot..Sad they gave her life without parole
It was the Winter of 1981. We lived in Grand Junction, Colorado. My child’s mind seems to remember that it was Christmas time, but isn’t any winter Christmas time to any child’s mind? My mother had gone out shopping. I’d been left with my father, my uncle, and his wife while ma was away. I remember that I had been sent to my room and told not to come out. After hours of playing alone, as I was often prone to do anyway, I fell asleep. I was jarred awake by the sound of my mother screaming. I cracked the door of my room to listen. She was angry because the quilt she had made by hand was ruined. I understood that there was blood on it. The rest I didn’t understand at all. I knew she was furious, and if she was furious, then my father soon would be too. I had heard enough to know that it was probably best for me to close my door and wait for the violence to pass.
I heard blows land, both verbal and physical. I cried and looked at my picture book wishing that I knew how to read. I just wanted to escape. In time, my mother came into my room. She was red in her face, and red on several parts of her body. She grabbed my little red jacket, picked me up, and put me on her hip. My two elder half brothers and full blood sister and ma with me on her hip headed out to the car and piled into it. My eldest brother was in the front seat with mom. I sat between my middle brother and sister in the back seat. As we pulled out of the driveway, a few snowflakes began to fall.
“Please Almighty, don’t let it snow too much. Don’t let them close the passes.” My mom muttered under her breath as she dried her tears.
“Where are we going mama?” my two and three quarters year old voice said.
“To Grandma’s, and I don’t think we are coming back here.”
I was puzzled. I saw that my brothers and sister didn’t even have a jacket on. My mom hadn’t brought anything with her like she usually did when we went over the mountains to visit grandma. We drove for what seemed like forever. The snowflakes got larger and more frequent. My brothers and sister fell fast asleep. Only my mother and I were awake in the car.
Finally, my mother got to the mouth of the lower pass. There was a road block set up. The snow had closed the pass. The officer smiled at my mother. “If you hurry, you might make it to Wolfcreek pass before it closes. Its a lot steeper and more dangerous, but if you have to get over the mountain with those kids, it may be your only chance.
My mother turned back to head for the higher, more difficult and dangerous pass. My adult mind remembering the event knows she must have been terrified and doubtful of her chances that the pass would still be open by the time we got there. The snow increased, it was a proper blizzard by the time we got to the entrance of Wolfcreek pass.
There were officers posted there too. My mom got out and checked her snow-chains as she was required. As we pulled to the entrance, the officer explained that we were to be the last car let over the pass. They were closing it behind us. He advised that she stay near the 18 wheelers, but don’t follow too closely.
So we made our way up the pass. The blizzard increased to a white-out. I remember the massive flakes flying at the windshield and my mothers wipers trying madly to keep up.
“Put angels around the car baby” my mom looked back and said.
So I did. I put my tiny little two year old hand in the air. Fingers extended and moved it in a circle.
“I’m putting angels all around the car. They are going to fly us over the pass.” I repeated over and over.
My mother’s face looked no less worried. The wind was howling, as it had been for hours. She was tired. I could see it on her face. Then, suddenly, all was silent. The car seemed warmer. We could see nothing out any window but white.
The silence hung in the air for a few minutes. And then I blurted out, “Mama, can’t you see the angel’s feathers?”
My mom looked at me like I was insane for a moment, then she really looked.
To this day, she swears she doesn’t remember making it to the climax of the pass, or making her way down, or much of anything before she got to the city limits of Canon City. But she does remember the warmth, the silence, and the feathers of those angels who came to carry us over the mountain safely.
This is one of my earliest and clearest memories. Believe it or not, that is your choice. I was there. Just thought I’d share.
Kiefair.com DIY cannabis and more 
1 comment:
Breezy KiefAir said…
normelle <ellen@canorml.org>
rest poet laureate
we are grateful for what time
we were allowed to share with you
words linger on inspiring and blue
Legendary author Maya Angelou dies at age 86