Karma and the Trade in Sleeping Medicine.


UNDACUVA JOURNAL
Karma and the Trade in Sleeping Medicine.
Why is the Dalai Lama always smiling and happy? What he told me changed my life forever. He convinced me Karma was for real. Cause and effect playing out to the enth degree, every hair on your head counted, the same hippy stuff I’ve been hearing for years as Nimbins longest serving Undacuva. As the Chief called me when he awarded the honors at the State Unda Ball. Embarrassing because everyone knows getting a bust in the ‘Bin is “shooting fish in a gunbarrel”, as he said, as drunk as.
Back on the beat suddenly it’s all different. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. My Karma was shocking the Lama said. He could read my aura and saw my conflict with the job. ‘You smoke with them then you betray them”, he looked at me incredulous.”Many are in jail because of you. This is shocking karma my sister, how do you sleep at night?” I admitted I needed the best weed to get to sleep because my conscience was screaming at me. “And so you keep doing the betrayels to get the ‘sleeping medicine’?” This was his name for pot all the time as it turned out. And I see many people in your community do this. I see many informers keeping themselves out of jail by dobbing on others. Oh dear, oh dear,” he got quite agitated. “There will be huge suffering for these people, terrible Karma.To be happy you must feel good about what you do. It doesn’t matter what others think, you cannot fool yourself, or your conscience. Gods finger,” he waved one at me. “The finger will tickle you at night, indeed all day. You cannot hide from it.”
It was as if he could see inside me and as his eyes glazed over he started muttering about the greed of the drug companies and the shocking Karma they had coming as well. Then he was back with us smiling and laughing again and it was all over. But not for me. He’d touched me so I couldn’t ignore it and I havn’t been able to shut it up in my head since that night. No matter how much Nepali yakfat hash I smoke!
It’s virtually impossible to leave the Force you know. We swear terrible loyalties and exchange blood, and stuff. Secret stuff I wouldn’t dare mention or I’d be dead tomorrow. Anyhow, I front the Boss confident as but fail miserably. He laughs at me. “I go to church Mary”, he flatly replies. I’m still with piggytails but an English art student now. “And do my weekly confessions. Maybe you should too?” I realized it was useless, as I had a million times before. I was alone, simple. My training took over and Mary responded in her squeaky posh voice.”I will sir. Next week, I promise I’ll go to confession.”
Back at work the Lama’s words have clouded my vision. Of course I know most of the informers and some of them I know well, we smoke together regularly. They’ve been collecting in Nimbin for years and happily inform on each other as well as everyone else because they don’t know who else has swopped sides. I find myself trying to convert them. “What? Go to Jail instead?” There is no option I see. Once a dog always a dog. They were as trapped as I was. I started crying during one conversation and had to make up some nonsense about my Grandpa tipping the boiling kettle over himself in London and will I ever see him again. Ah, the training, it’s extraordinary.
Almost half the people left on the Nimbin streets are informers or Undacuvas now. Even the youth workers are getting MOO’s ( move on orders). Of course the dealing never stops and anyway the Undas have fifty pounds to put in or out of the market whenever we like. We just have to sign bags out with the eighty year old bookkeeper who can’t tell the difference between leaf and skunk. Every few months we order a burning of “excess stash” and the leaf is incinerated. Slowly the stash grows again as we make a few new arrests. You get the picture I imagine. In this job the best weed is always available for Undas, of course, unlike the rabble on Cullen street over the holiday period.
The new figures coming out of California have got the Aussie Coppers Union (ACU) in a panic. Crime is plummitting in the now fifteen States with Medical Cannabis outlets. We all know everything runs on statistics and we all know Nimbin is the place to break records, but apparently the local hippies, no prizes for guessing who, have applied to be an authorised outlet for medical weed in the village and the Canberra Health Bureaucrats are all of a tizz and swayed by their arguements because it worked like a miracle on someones auntie. Of course the ACU is in there trying to maintain zero tolerance but I hear they are having trouble keeping up the arguement.
Within hours the undaground wireservice and the tunnel network had spread the word I wanted to resign and P I (Private Investigator) Love was on the phone headhunting me. I had no idea I’d be sought after but it’s, “the contacts” she said, “the inside knowledge, it’s priceless,” she said.
This led to an extraordinary bit of OW (Outside Work- very popular in the Force these days) I got this month, visiting the new Grafton experiment where they are growing medicinal weed. Apparently the new government forms were fooled entirely by the boys inside who found their environment fitted the official criteria list perfectly. Twelve foot fence surrounding the garden with 24 hour security, expertise in all areas of cannabis growing. If only they had inspected the site of the not so little green house in Grafton at some nondescript address which is growing more than 16 pounds a week now. Can you believe it! I was sent is as an Unda for a few days and it seems everyone is happy as. The jail is chilled like never before, if not giggling. In fact everyone is grinning and the medical research figures coming out of the “trial” are confounding all the experts. In my efforts to eradicate some bad Karma I reported back, in suitably vague terms which everyone is well used to, that nothing untoward was happenning. The Boss seemed happy but gave me a long sideways look. I slept like a baby for the first time in months.
Streetbeat UNDACUVA JOURNAL – February 2010
Why is the Dalai Lama always smiling and happy? What he told me changed my life forever. He convinced me Karma was for real. Cause and effect playing out to the enth degree, every hair on your head counted, the same hippy stuff I’ve been hearing for years as Nimbins longest serving Undacuva. As the Chief called me when he awarded the honors at the State Unda Ball. Embarrassing because everyone knows getting a bust in the ‘Bin is “shooting fish in a gunbarrel”, as he said, as drunk as.

Back on the beat suddenly it’s all different. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. My Karma was shocking the Lama said. He could read my aura and saw my conflict with the job. ‘You smoke with them then you betray them”, he looked at me incredulous.”Many are in jail because of you. This is shocking karma my sister, how do you sleep at night?” I admitted I needed the best weed to get to sleep because my conscience was screaming at me. “And so you keep doing the betrayels to get the ‘sleeping medicine’?” This was his name for pot all the time as it turned out. And I see many people in your community do this. I see many informers keeping themselves out of jail by dobbing on others. Oh dear, oh dear,” he got quite agitated. “There will be huge suffering for these people, terrible Karma.To be happy you must feel good about what you do. It doesn’t matter what others think, you cannot fool yourself, or your conscience. Gods finger,” he waved one at me. “The finger will tickle you at night, indeed all day. You cannot hide from it.”
plate-of-drugs
It was as if he could see inside me and as his eyes glazed over he started muttering about the greed of the drug companies and the shocking Karma they had coming as well. Then he was back with us smiling and laughing again and it was all over. But not for me. He’d touched me so I couldn’t ignore it and I havn’t been able to shut it up in my head since that night. No matter how much Nepali yakfat hash I smoke!
It’s virtually impossible to leave the Force you know. We swear terrible loyalties and exchange blood, and stuff. Secret stuff I wouldn’t dare mention or I’d be dead tomorrow. Anyhow, I front the Boss confident as but fail miserably. He laughs at me. “I go to church Mary”, he flatly replies. I’m still with piggytails but an English art student now. “And do my weekly confessions. Maybe you should too?” I realized it was useless, as I had a million times before. I was alone, simple. My training took over and Mary responded in her squeaky posh voice.”I will sir. Next week, I promise I’ll go to confession.”

Back at work the Lama’s words have clouded my vision. Of course I know most of the informers and some of them I know well, we smoke together regularly. They’ve been collecting in Nimbin for years and happily inform on each other as well as everyone else because they don’t know who else has swopped sides. I find myself trying to convert them. “What? Go to Jail instead?” There is no option I see. Once a dog always a dog. They were as trapped as I was. I started crying during one conversation and had to make up some nonsense about my Grandpa tipping the boiling kettle over himself in London and will I ever see him again. Ah, the training, it’s extraordinary.
Almost half the people left on the Nimbin streets are informers or Undacuvas now. Even the youth workers are getting MOO’s ( move on orders). Of course the dealing never stops and anyway the Undas have fifty pounds to put in or out of the market whenever we like. We just have to sign bags out with the eighty year old bookkeeper who can’t tell the difference between leaf and skunk. Every few months we order a burning of “excess stash” and the leaf is incinerated. Slowly the stash grows again as we make a few new arrests. You get the picture I imagine. In this job the best weed is always available for Undas, of course, unlike the rabble on Cullen street over the holiday period.

The new figures coming out of California have got the Aussie Coppers Union (ACU) in a panic. Crime is plummitting in the now fifteen States with Medical Cannabis outlets. We all know everything runs on statistics and we all know Nimbin is the place to break records, but apparently the local hippies, no prizes for guessing who, have applied to be an authorised outlet for medical weed in the village and the Canberra Health Bureaucrats are all of a tizz and swayed by their arguements because it worked like a miracle on someones auntie. Of course the ACU is in there trying to maintain zero tolerance but I hear they are having trouble keeping up the arguement.
2004-ayagoddess-1w
Within hours the undaground wireservice and the tunnel network had spread the word I wanted to resign and P I (Private Investigator) Love was on the phone headhunting me. I had no idea I’d be sought after but it’s, “the contacts” she said, “the inside knowledge, it’s priceless,” she said.
This led to an extraordinary bit of OW (Outside Work- very popular in the Force these days) I got this month, visiting the new Grafton experiment where they are growing medicinal weed. Apparently the new government forms were fooled entirely by the boys inside who found their environment fitted the official criteria list perfectly. Twelve foot fence surrounding the garden with 24 hour security, expertise in all areas of cannabis growing.

If only they had inspected the site of the not so little green house in Grafton at some nondescript address which is growing more than 16 pounds a week now. Can you believe it! I was sent is as an Unda for a few days and it seems everyone is happy as. The jail is chilled like never before, if not giggling. In fact everyone is grinning and the medical research figures coming out of the “trial” are confounding all the experts. In my efforts to eradicate some bad Karma I reported back, in suitably vague terms which everyone is well used to, that nothing untoward was happenning. The Boss seemed happy but gave me a long sideways look. I slept like a baby for the first time in months.


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