Rastafarianism: Culture, Crime, and Coping

Obeah, Revivalism, and Spiritual Health

Photo by Girl with red hat on Unsplash

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds!

Bob Marley

I’m not one of Bob’s twelve kids, but I doubt I’d have been born without him. His music was part of my creation; an eternal current flowing through my parents and our homes.

I also doubt I would have enjoyed weed early on. Sure, I’m from Canada, the coldest marijuana-obsessed country on Earth, but it’s Bob's music that sparked my interest.

Smoking weed reveals your own self.

The herb is the healing of a nation; alcohol is destruction.

As a sixteen-year-old TCK¹ with an identity crisis obsessed with sociopolitical content, Bob had to say no more.

The herb kept me away from alcohol when I was seventeen, increased my appetite when I was sick or depressed, helped me with altitude sickness, better connected me with music, and turned nine-hour red-eye flights into fluffy cloud rides. It never made me lazy; I’ve aced exams, power lifted, hiked 20 KM, and done a whole lot more I legally shouldn’t mention.

Yet, it was the only drug I ever felt addicted to. It became part of my evening routine as a way to relax, but what it really did was ruin my sleep quality and add to my anxiety.

Now that I only smoke every blue moon, I’m more myself (or at least the version I enjoy), aware of people’s energy and emotions, and connected. However, how marijuana or any medicine affects people depends on culture and belief.