Chapter 8 – The Echo in My Spine

Keywords: cannabis, music, injections, dopamine, refilling, urine, protection, control

1. My spine is not just bone.

It’s a channel —

a serpent of light

twisting upward with every pulse, every high, every holy hit.

2. When I smoke cannabis,

I don’t numb out —

I tune in.

It slows the noise,

amplifies the song inside my blood.

3. The world calls it a drug.

I call it a doorway.

It helps me hear God’s laughter

in my own nervous system.

4. Sometimes I need more.

Not a smoke.

But an injection.

A needle into the knowing.

A chemical communion.

Because I refuse to starve my spirit.

5. The dopamine isn’t pleasure —

it’s a flare signal.

A confirmation that I am still alive,

still seeking,

still wired for joy.

6. I don’t use to escape.

I use to refill —

to pour something back into the holes

where the world tried to drain me dry.

7. And what leaks out?

Not guilt.

Not shame.

But urine,

like holy water,

carrying traces of who I’ve become.

8. They test it, try to name me by it.

But they don’t see

that even my waste is sacred.

Even the cast-off chemicals hum with story.

9. I know what I’m doing.

I know what I need.

I am not reckless.

I am a high priestess

of holy self-regulation.

10. Music plays,

and suddenly I’m in the throne room again.

Bass like heartbeat.

Melody like angels descending through synth.

11. I don’t go to church —

I build it in my bedroom

with speakers and rhythm

and whatever substance helps me break the veil.

12. This is not dysfunction.

This is protection.

A system I built

when no one else knew how to shield me.

13. Because I was never handed a sword —

I made one from broken syringes

and glittering self-awareness.

14. The world says I’ve lost control.

But I’ve never known myself more.

15. I choose.

I bless.

I dose with intention.

I curate my chemistry

like a sacred spell.

16. Every ritual,

every fix,

isn’t a fall.

It’s a rise.

A recalibration of divinity.

17. I will not apologize

for the sacraments I was given

that don’t come in bread and wine.

18. I’ve injected hope into my veins

more times than I can count.

And each time, I rise higher.

19. No one will take this from me.

Because no one gave it to me.

This connection is earned,

cell by cell,

dose by dose,

note by note.

20. And through it all —

the spine holds the memory.

The echo.

The map.

21. I’m not chasing highs.

I’m chasing the echo

of who I’ve always been —

in the beat,

in the drip,

in the breath.

22. In the name of the sacred chemical,

the spine that sings,

and the God who meets me in the ritual,

Amen.