Sneaky Leaf's Diary of a Weed Dealer: Zen and the art of weed dealing

Every tax-paying citizen has an armed militia protecting their private property. If someone steals or threatens that property, the police will jail or blow the head off of anyone resisting or threatening them. As a weed dealer, I don't have that protection.If I'm ripped off while selling weed, I have two choices: A) Play the tough guy and hire scary guys to scare the shit out of whoever is fucking with me, or B) I can just take my losses and get the fuck away from thieves and whoever introduced me to them. I always choose to just let it go. I don't carry a weapon, haven't been in a fight since sixth grade, and am supplied by unarmed, nice-guy weed brokers. Although, I have never spoken like this to anyone (even to a thief), here's what I feel like saying to rip-off artists but never can:

"You want to lie to my fucking face after you stole from me? You sack of dog shit! I'm going to cut your lying fuckhole of a mouth off and shove it down your shit-spewing throat using an ice pick. Then I'll slice your greasy shit-wad guts wide the fuck open, grab that mess of entrails, and stuff them down your sewer-hole throat. You stupid fuck! And I'll do all this to you while you're still alive! Then I'm going to spit in your fucking face and stab you in the brain right through your goddamn eyeballs! Then I will hack you to fucking pieces, stomp you into a mud hole, dig that mess up, and send that sack of fuck to your mother!"
I am risking my freedom and risking being beaten, raped, and maybe even killed to serve my clients. I treat them with the upmost respect, honour, and graciousness. So the level of rage I feel is unreal when someone rips me off and bullshits me to my face. But I never do! This job has taught me patience, restraint, and that any expression of hatred or violence will contaminate my own soul. Tibetan monks won't publicly utter a single word of condemnation towards their ruthless Chinese oppressors. Some Tibetan children were forced by Chinese adult military to hold a gun, shoot, and murder their own parents. And yet, still, the monks won't utter a single word of hatred toward their tormentors.

I stay small-time because I like being free, and I prefer a lifestyle that comes with a modest income over being rich, flashy, and eventually incarcerated. I genuinely love people, especially good-time people who love to live, laugh, and love. And the love I feel for most of my clients is real. I genuinely take immense pleasure in really satisfying a customer. I feel really torn up if I make a mistake – I'll give free weed to clients to compensate. I also give clients free weed when they do something extra awesome! If the vibe of their personality is super respectful, fun, and inviting, I sometimes give free weed to people simply because their soul is so lovely and they deserve an extra portion of love in the form of ganja!

In its best moments, that is really what the herb is all about – spreading love, laughter, friendship, respect, levity, healing, and just celebrating being alive together in harmony! This is the true core of the magic of all psychotropic and psychedelic plants. It is precisely why no system, organised government, or organised crime can threaten the existence of the magical herbs – they are from the same source that makes the oceans, mountains, and life itself! They are super-foods packed with more nutrition than many conventional alternatives. One quick example: marijuana, as hemp, has twice the omega oil content as flax. Canadian doctors have cured breast cancer using flax seed oil.

Sometimes I think thieves are, as long as it's nothing major, a blessing in disguise, because the shitty mess I feel after being jacked by thieves heightens my appreciation for the sweet people. And staying sweet is staying safe. Selling weed has shown what a hideously vulnerable emotion anger is. Any expression of it and anyone can reciprocate in a way that could cost me my freedom in just a matter of moments. So I always let it go when something gets taken from me. The struggle to win back what was stolen could cost me something far more priceless, like freedom or life itself.

I do other things to keep relaxed and lovely, like I give up about three to ten thousand dollars a year because I quietly disconnect from any person or location that might be problematic. Damn, now that I think about it, if I consider problematic locations as part of the equation, as I just did, I think I let go of more like 20 grand in business, cuz I also don't act greedy, and let go of tonnes of business in those pesky "red zones" I was describing in the last article. I give away another three to five grand worth of product annually to friends and sweet clients. I make just a little more than the average cab driver – seriously! I know that's hard to believe when a weed dealer shows up at a client's house with what looks like more weed than they could afford all year in a single box, but most of the money goes right back into more plants.

I do it to be free, glazed as I wanna be, in a portable Amsterdam all the time, you see? I am not the only one! Every weed dealer I ever bought from in NYC was unarmed and never got violent with thieves. Yes, this world, and these guys and girls really do exist. It's just a lot harder to demonise a drug in the public consciousness if people realise there are more unarmed, relatively nice people moving weed, instead of the ruthless gun-wielding maniacs portrayed in media. Also, the image of wealth portrayed in media and popular fables is a myth. Every weed dealer I ever knew was struggling financially – many were actually as deep in debt to their suppliers as most college grads are to their schools.

Most dealers I knew and know are very similar – we are total weed fiends and smoke constantly and we like being our own bosses and living and working as high as can be… every day, all day. SNEAKY LEAF