How do you practice self-care?

These Sunday sermons are some of your authors favorite posts.

Dear Congregation of the Chronically Contemplative,

Gather ’round and lend me your ears—those very same ears that have been relentlessly subjected to the philosophical ramblings born from an overactive mind and an overly generous acquaintance with cannabis. Yes, we are here to discuss the sacred trifecta: smoking too much weed, walking the dog, and thinking entirely too deeply about almost everything.

First, let us praise the verdant plant, the blessed herb that, in all its glory, transforms the mundane into the inexplicably profound. It’s no longer just a houseplant, it’s a living testament to life’s mysteries. But beware, dear friends, for with great highs come great ruminations. The brain becomes a hamster wheel, spinning incessantly as you ponder the existential significance of your cereal choices.

Then, there’s the dog. Our loyal companion, our furry philosopher. With leash in hand and THC coursing through our veins, we embark on those walks that are meant to be simple but end up being odysseys of introspection. Every bark, every tail wag, every sniff becomes a symbolic act worthy of Shakespearean analysis. The dog poops—ah, a metaphor for the futility of human endeavor, surely.

And finally, let us not forget the rabbit hole of thoughts, a vast labyrinth where you, the pensive stoner, are both lost and found. You see, in the quiet of the night, under the influence, every thought feels like it carries the weight of the universe. “What is the meaning of life?” you ask, only to be sidetracked by wondering if the dog really understands you on a spiritual level.

But fear not, for all is not lost. In the haze of smoke and overthinking, there lies a certain charm. After all, who else can spend hours contemplating the sociopolitical implications of a squirrel’s behavior? Who else can find cosmic connections in a single strand of fur?

So, let us embrace our quirks, our canine companions, and our endless thoughts. For in this peculiar trifecta lies a unique form of wisdom, one that only the smoke-enshrouded, dog-walking philosophers among us can truly appreciate.