This piece is part of our current High-Brr-Nation issue that’s on stands (and the Stranger site) now.
I usually don’t remember my dreams. Granted, I smoke a lot of weed. I’m not even sure I have dreams when I smoke weed. But last April, on a backpacking trip, I found myself sleeping underneath the rim of the Grand Canyon, without any weed, a thousand miles away from Washington’s recreational stores.
I will never forget falling asleep and having a vivid, colorful dream in which I was holding a million-dollar bong. It was a tiny little thing, no wider than my hand. I sat gazing into its glass walls. The pipe’s colors and three-dimensional depth started to make my head spin, and before I knew it, broken shards of the bong lay in a pile of red dirt and someone was screaming at me.
Luckily for me, the bong wasn’t real. But the vividness of the dream was. I’m far from the only stoner to report experiencing a burst of intense, memorable dreams after cutting back on pot. A friend of mine quit smoking weed for six months last year, and he reported waking up with a glow every morning from his amazing, weird, hilarious nighttime adventures. In one of his dreams, he met the inventor of the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.
