Tuesday, April 27, 2010

* Something So Wrong

The laws against Cannabis are so wrong that there are millions of people engaged in 'criminal activity'. Prohibition laws are unenforceable - every prohibition failure in history is proof that you cannot legislate the 'morality' ordered by authority. The current prohibition has been going on since before I was born, and for heaven's sake, I'm old now.  There has been no reduction in the amount of marijuana available, no reduction in the number of users, nor children using it; no reduction in related crime. Corruption among law enforcers is at an all time high, despite the fact that our prisons are bulging and our school budgets are lacking.. So, you tell me - What's it all been for?  How much longer is such a terrible policy going to be applied in the land of the free?  Well, that's pretty much up to us.  End Prohibition Now! Enjoy the song.


Monday, April 12, 2010

* WHO AM I? by Kay Lee

My full name is Kay Lee, I have 5 grown children, another who died at age 13, 15 grandchildren, and three great-grandsons. I'm a southern lady but have been living in Wisconsin for the past few years. Gosh, it's cold up here and the summers are so short. 

In my earlier years I did little but bear and raise children. But when the last one left home, I was able to attend 3 years of college. The education I received opened my eyes. 

First I did an honors term paper on marijuana because I used to suffer severe depression until an Indian girl gave me a joint as I was grieving after my son died (I was 38 - he was 13). She said, "It won't hurt and it might help." Truer words were never spoken! 

So I knew it was medicine for me, but didn't know about others. My research for the paper (which turned into a small book) made me gasp at the level of political propaganda, which led to my wakening to all the other subjects they were lying about. When I became convinced that everyone was NOT doing their jobs properly and our quality of life was severely affected by it, I left college, sold everything I owned and hit the road. 

My first public effort was a film for Kentucky cable tv in which I admitted my need for cannabis. I was lucky enough to find an apartment across from the Kenton county courthouse in Ky. I used my windows to post messages of hope to the prisoners across the street. I used the sidewalk to set up a table urging citizens to write letters to Rep, Jim Bunning asking that he support Barnie Frank's marijuana bill. 

Some of those citizens asked me to write their sons in prison and thus my prison ministry, "Making The Walls Transparent" began. They told me stories that made me laugh, cry and work even harder to change the prohibition laws - and reform American's prisons. 

A quadriplegic on probation for pot use in Toledo Ohio asked me to come help him while he waited to get a county nurse. While I did the duties of nurse/housekeeper for him, he complained about Ohio governor's lack of compassion on the marijuana issue stating, "Boy, I wish I could ride my wheelchair right up to his office." I replied, "Well you should...I'll go with you!" - and there and then, the "Journey for Justice" was born. 

I barely got the first group of wheelchair patients to the Ohio capitol when I was called to Wisconsin to help another very sick lady organize another journey across that state. Then I was beckoned to the beautiful Florida Keys to help an AIDS patient who was dealing with a trial. I stayed a year and a half, attending his court appearances, keeping house, doing his computer work, helping him run the Key West Cannabis Club, and enjoying his company until he died. 
 
In the meantime, one of my Federal drug war prisoners was traded to Florida and began to tell me horror stories about the prisons there. When he got put in the hole at FSP with murderers for writing about the mess to the Miami Herald, we began the site, "Smuggler's Tales From Jails". When one of the condemned at that prison was brutally murdered by nine guards, I began vigiling FSP on a monthly basis, which led to my meeting with my next housemates. 
 
They were very interested in the journeys I had done so I did another through Florida to train them. They went on to organize a journey through Texas in which I got to just ride along and educate people. The last journey I was adviser for was the recent cross-country bicycle ride medical patient Ken Locke did. 

I was hosted by a prop 215 patient (I'm one myself), retired Berkeley professor and criminal justice man, Dick Korn for two years until his death. Then I moved into the Atlanta home of Fat Freddy and 'Marijuana Man' for four years, where we went to a lot of hempfests, did a lot of public speaking and in general, raised the roof about medical cannabis. 

Now, life is a bit quieter - sometimes a little too quiet, because I miss the road. I still go once a year to house/pet set for a couple of old farmers in the northeast, but because I can no longer be trusted behind the wheel, I do little of anything else for the movement except slowly build on the Cannabis Research site. But I get to hang with my granddaughter a lot and I like that. 

I had quadruple bypass two years ago, an emergency situation that happened while I was visiting my second oldest daughter in Wisconsin. That was probably the beginning of my move up here. Also got arrested for the first time in my life because a cop lied his way into my daughter's home and smelled my pot. I was glad I was arrested for my cause and not for anything immoral. Charges were reduced to a city ticket. 

After surgery I took Karate, wore the orange belt before I gave it up and I think that helped my recovery time some. Now, other than losing my breath too easily, weak back and terrible eyesight, I'm doing okay. 


My ex-husband, father of all those children, had triple bypass surgery last year in the Houston VA hospital.  I don't know if my use of pot and the fact that he didn't had anything to do with it and I'm sure his care wasn't as good as mine but either way, he never got out of the hospital again - he developed MRSA in his lungs and after six months, died, still in intensive care. 


I went to Houston and hung with him while he was on the ventilator and we became fast friends after not seeing each other for the last 15 years. I'm glad we got that opportunity. 


Looking Forward,
Grandma Kay Lee
Eau Claire Wisconsin

* POT THOUGHT #1 by Kay Lee

I loudly proclaim PEACE, but my solitary voice cannot survive the clamor for war.

 I cup my hands and yell, REMEMBER THE CONSTITUTION, but my words fall, softly unheard, on the shreds of our founding documents.

 I call out, FREEDOM FOR ALL, but my weary voice echoes in the empty halls of justice, dies in the crowded courtrooms, and is buried in the bulging prisons.

 I request JUSTICE, but my voice is muffled by the dirty hands of Congress.

 I demand TRUTH; I passionately denounce the lies, but my fellowman covers his collective ears.

 I beg for SANITY, but my lonely voice is lost in the chaos and confusion.

 I cry for COMPASSION, but my weeping is drowned out by the painful mockery and cries of despair.

 I know silence is certain destruction and eventual slavery. I cannot go into that dark place quietly, and so I use my eternal voice to PRAY, Father forgive us. We know not what we do.

Kay Lee
  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
 Freedom has a thousand charms to show, That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.

* WHAT'S A NICE GIRL LIKE ME Doing In a Place Like This? by Kay Lee

I died two years ago - heart attack during an angio-whatchamacallit. Code-blue-dead until they got the old ticker going again. So what do you reckon I was brought back for?

Before my death I was prolific: Building websites, helping hundreds of people, bringing down criminal authorities, standing up for my beliefs, and being arrested for my cause (which is the only good reason for being arrested).

Since my death, I have done nothing much except hang out with my two year old granddaughter. We play silly games, sing funny songs and dance to whatever music is emanating from whatever electronic device is turned on. We laugh together at the most absurd things, like racing through the house on my 'scooter' or playing her "Amy-Rissa-Amy-Rissa" game... (She calls me 'Amy' because she didn't learn to say, "Grandma Lee".) I am, to Rissa, her very favorite toy.

So I keep thinking, what am I supposed to be doing? Should I be writing my memoirs or trying to save the world? Whatever I'm here for must certainly be important to have me die twice to do it, but for the life of me I haven't been able to get properly inspired to do anything but play with Rissa.

Whatever I'm doing, I like to do well, so you know what? I'm just going to put my heart and soul into Loving my grandbaby and being the best toy I can be until the final Code Blue is deemed permanent. 

Who knows, maybe I'm already fulfilling my mission. I really hope so. I’m rather enjoying this.


Grandma Kay Lee

Sunday, April 11, 2010

* THE WORLD'S HER PLAYGROUND by Kay Lee

"Yuck, 'Amy'", two-year-old Rissa calls urgently. "A bug." I squat down because my old eyes need to be near the source. "It's a ladybug," I tell her. "Isn't it pretty?" She sits on the ground beside my feet, puts her face close to the ladybug, not quite touching it. "Awww, red, pretty, ladybug," then says again, "Yuck!"

Rissa has always loved the outdoors so when she's visiting me, we spend more time outside in a day than I usually do in a week.  Before this, I had a renovated farmhouse in the country with a really big yard, cornfields and pastures all around. We had a separate garage, a basement and a wooden deck we could have coffee on. She enjoys her morning coffee time with 'Amy' - (That's me. She started calling me 'Amy' when she was too young to say 'Grandma Lee'.)

She loves to roam and that place had lots of possibilities for a small explorer and her dog. She ate apples from the tree, played on the picnic table, picked loads of dandelions, rode the wood pile and examined rocks from the driveway and flowers in the flower beds. When the corn fields grew tall, she would stand at the edge and peer inside as if there were something to see besides corn: In the winter when the corn was no longer there, she would take off across the plowed field, long-striding confidently, sure she'd get somewhere amazing.

She imitated the birds and played with the dog and piled sticks by the cooker. We'd often sit quietly on the post at the edge of the road and watch the little creek below us. The water was still, just a tiny shallow creek, but she would sit very still and stare down into it for a long time as if she saw great things.

Of course I would walk with her if I could, or, if my hips were giving me a problem that day, I could sit on the deck and keep an eye on her in comfort. I like to walk with her because she invariably makes me laugh, but some days I just can't.

It was a wonderful place to be, peaceful, quiet, pretty. Birds sang softly while they darted busily from here to there; breezes carried the sound of the corn rustling on the stalks; occasional there'd be a distant whinny from the horses grazing in the field across the road. There were blue skies in the daytime and lots of stars at night. Nature filled the silence with wonderful melodious sounds and Rissa's laughter was part of it.

Now, I live much closer to her, at the edge of the city, in a small upstairs apartment. I worried because her favorite thing is to be outside and, as I
mentioned, I am not very ambulatory. I worried because she's a friendly child and there are a lot of people whom I don't know yet.



There's also a fairly busy highway in front of us, so, since she's still slowly learning the boundaries, if she goes outside, I would always have to go with her. I need to make sure she's safe. She'd be limited here by what I could do and I foresaw nothing much for her to do at 'Amy's new house'. I was worried she wouldn't enjoy coming over as much.

But, all that worrying was silly: Like most kids, Rissa makes her own fun out of anything. The first time we went outside, I  briefly explained why she had to stay where I could see her and that we'd go back inside if she went too far or didn't come when I called. She listened patiently. Then I sat down on the steps and she, feeling her freedom, began immediately to run, back and forth past me on the sidewalk. The large grin covering her face spread to mine when she breathed loudly as she passed, "Amy, I can't stop running."

I might enjoy sitting in the sun, but she likes to explore. The 'yard' includes a sidewalk that circles the building with a hill of grass in between the two parking lots. Since I have to rest frequently while we walk, she only gets to explore the area where I can see her from where I sit. I know it's certainly limiting for a small child, so I give her as much freedom as I can. We've had to take a few trips upstairs, but I am patient and she is finally figuring out I need her to keep me in sight.

The front of the apartments consists of a row of rocks in a flowerbed along the building about two feet wide. Then a sidewalk, then a sloping, grass-covered hill maybe 15 yards deep that ends down at the sidewalk, which is a couple of feet from the highway. She's not allowed on the lower sidewalk because it's too near the road. But she enjoys watching the traffic and the people on the sidewalk make her happy when they wave back.

For a city apartment, we are lucky. There are bushes to hide in and trees to try to climb and even a stone picnic table that she loves to dance on. She leans on the trees, frolics in the leaves, lays in the grass, digs in the dirt or rolls on the hill.

She's discovered the row of garages behind the apartments and struts up the drive, merrily knocking on each and every garage door. Nobody has ever answered of course, but she likes to knock.

There's even a few occasional moments of excitement. Like the day she was playing in the grass when a lady jogger ran by on the sidewalk below us. Without a sound, Rissa sprang to her feet and began running on the upper sidewalk, little legs whirling, keeping pace with the lady below us. The lady looked up at Rissa, then at me, and we both laughed out loud. They ran together like that until they reached the drive. Then I had to make Rissa stop so she wouldn't get hit by a car. But all the way back. she chattered about her and the lady running. "Good job," I told her.

She investigates the edge of the small woods every chance she gets. The other day she saw two ducks waddling just a couple of yards from her. She called out, "Amy, Ducks!" in her excited little voice. I could barely see the tops of two somethings just above the weeds, couldn't tell what they were, but she was so excited I had to grin. She walked carefully over the branches and leaves towards the bobbing little heads.

They in turn, walked leisurely just ahead, evading her, but staying just close enough to let her think she was catching up. After a few vain attempts to reach out for them, she ran back across the drive towards me yelling, 'Amy, DUCKS, I need to hold them!" I walked to the edge of the woods, with Rissa running ahead, to see for myself. Sure enough, it was two wild ducks with heads the color of drakes (could have been drakes for all I know about ducks). So we got to have a nice talk about ducks and animals, wild and tame.

Sometimes, in the late afternoon after school, the apartment children come out to play. We can hear them below the window and immediately Rissa wants to "go see the kids". I don't mind because it's always easier to keep up with her when she's got someone to play with. Their parents limit them to the area below us, so Rissa is happy to be where I can see her. She loves the 'kids', which we didn't have in the country.

So, I live in the city, can't have a dog anymore, am limited in space and movement, but Rissa's okay with it. And so, I am.

It's true: Life is much better when you have someone to hang with,
Grandma Kay

* DOES GOD CARE ABOUT MARIJUANA? by Kay Lee


It was Fourth of July, Independence Day, 1995. I was giving out flyers to the huge crowd, announcing an upcoming medical marijuana debate. I passed nearby an older gentleman who had been quietly watching me and offered him the information. He said, "This is for marijuana? I cannot take it. I'm a minister, a man of God."

  I replied, "I, too, Love God and put my trust in Him. I try to stay very close to His Spirit." He suggested I go home and pray about what I was doing. I looked deep into his kind eyes so he could see the truth when I said, "I have."

  "I see," he whispered, and took the flyer.

  Years earlier, at the age of 30, I had made my quiet decision to use marijuana medically. I had given the doctors their chance: All their medicine was making it harder for me to control my life. I had researched marijuana, tried it, and it worked for me. I didn't feel the need to stand up for my medical choice.


  But, when the medical marijuana issue touched my 24 year old daughter in the most intimate of ways, I fell to my knees, and prayed a mother's agonized prayer for her child. "God, should I tell her about marijuana? I think it will help her, I know it is safe, but what if it helps her? It will make her a criminal in the eyes of the law. What should I do?"

  She is losing the use of her internal organs, delivered into her world of depressing pain by a physician's clumsy hands. When her doctors told her that the only real relief available now was an expensive surgery that her insurance company would not pay for, she wiped away her tears and worked desperately hard to accept what she could not change. I prayed for her strength.

  When the doctors told her all they could do was order her a wheelchair, and prescribe her pain killers that burned her stomach when she took an effective dose, or made the constipation worse, or made her arms and legs twitch, or her mind nervous, she began to pray for strength. I secretly wondered if marijuana would give her less stressful relief, but I still I said nothing.

  However, when a doctor refused to give her the pain medicine because he was afraid of the government, I knew I had to do something. Her pain was my pain. It felt desperately wrong in my heart not to tell her about marijuana.

  So, how I prayed, on my knees and in tears. And He answered me. I told her everything, helped her try it, and rejoiced when it worked. When I finally looked up from my daughter's situation, I saw millions like her in pain from these policies. Bad laws really do hurt lots of good people. I prayed about that too, and He has been by my side ever since, guiding me every step of the way.

  I do nothing without the Energy of all that is Good, I pray long and hard before taking any action, and I feel in my heart what He wants me to do. He blesses me greatly, and I know without doubt that I'm doing what He needs.

  This prohibition on medicine, on God's creations, and on compassion has to be put to rest. God created this plant, God created us, and despite what many people think, 'God don't make no junk.'

  I continue to Pray, for those in pain, for those causing pain, especially for those who have power over us. And I continue to look forward to a spiritual healing of our nation.

  Looking Forward,
  Grandma Kay

* BEST PART of WAKIN' UP by Kay Lee

I'm not a kid anymore, but I still get that 'wake-up-early-excited' feeling during the holidays when my children visit. Especially when they bring the grandchildren.

It's the day before Christmas. I wake smiling when my two-year-old granddaughter, Rissa, leans over me, lays her soft cheek on my aged face and whispers, "Mornin' Amy" (her word for 'grandma lee'.) 

No one else is awake yet, so we tiptoe hand in hand, passing quietly through the living room dimly lit by the Christmas tree, into the cozy kitchen. I turn on the lights to start our coffee and with the two of us together, it is immediately cheerful.

While the pot perks and the smell of fresh coffee fills the kitchen, I get out my favorite cup while she fetches one of her 'baby doll cups'. We put napkins and spoons at our places: She sits her doll on the table to celebrate with us. Everything is a holiday when she is here. 

We sit at the table, waiting patiently and I laugh as she tries to copy the finishing bubbling sounds the coffee pot is making.

I pour my cup full and put a few drops in hers with milk to top it off. The sound of her doll spoon clinks quietly as I seat myself, draw in a deep breath of steam rising from my cup. 

We both sip. Ahhhh, the best part of wakin' up really is that first cup of coffee with Rissa while all the house is still asleep except us.

Grandma Kay Lee

Friday, April 9, 2010

* DAMN THE LAW by Kay Lee

Fifteen years ago I didn't question the laws, nor the people who make and enforce them.  I assumed everyone was doing their job properly, that public servants were really serving the public and all was as it should be.  Mine was a late-in-life rude and painful awakening.
The truth that set me on my path was a simple one: Bad laws hurt good people. Tonight I cannot sleep because defenders of one of those laws are wrongfully crippling someone I love, a very good person who is in a great deal of pain and is being denied relief by those around her because they are afraid of the enforcers of a very bad law.
She's only in her 30s but already her fingers are swollen and twisting painfully with advancing crippling arthritis.  She cries with the pain.  I cry because I know there is a much maligned plant that eases her pain without the side effects she fears from man made medicines.  A tiny amount can make her feel better for days.  It loosens her joints and elevates her mind above the pain so that she can enjoy the little chores of life,  and it's possible that, over time, the plant could slow or halt the progress of her ravaging disease. 
But her husband refuses to let her use it because dangerous men could come into their home and take his child.  He felt forced to make a choice between his child's future or his wife's. I doubt that the choice will give him comfort in a few years when she can no longer write her wonderful stories for his son, or when she has to cut her long hair that he loves so much because she can no longer brush it.
In the bible are a number of verses that lead me to believe that everything we need to sustain life, to ease our pain and heal ourselves is already here -  created for the use of mankind, woven right into nature by some wonderful force that obviously intended the benefits of the plants for all who suffer.  Everyone knows it - that's why our medicines are based in nature, culled from the growing things around us.
So it is confusing to me that a relatively small group of people could have claimed total ownership over portions of a nature they didn't create and can't even come close to imitating.  I weep because those people stand waiting to destroy a very good person and the people she loves should she dare to reach in her anguish for one of those plants.
For all the 65 years I've lived on this earth, I've watched the ritualistic celebration of grown men who dress up like toy soldiers and tromp through the fields with scythes raised high to wage war, not on evil human beings, but on medicinal plants and the people who use them.  My gosh, even manmade alcohol wasn't denied to doctors and patients for medical use during that prohibition, yet plants made by God are withheld from everyone, no matter how badly they need them.
I don't give a damn about immoral laws, drug wars, pharmaceutical profits or an imaginary drug free utopia!  What I do care about is people, particularly one beautiful little lady who fears the deformity of her hands will mimic her grandmother's in coming years, and her husband, who should never feel pressured to make such a choice between his son's security and his wife's pain.
It doesn't even matter how a group of men slunk in and used awful lies to take total dominion over the plants of the field.  What matters is that the masses, meaning you and I, continue to allow them to hurt good people, continue to feed their never-ending lies to our children, continue to finance such absurdity as a war on plants, and continue to believe that liars, cheats, and underhanded profiteers are going to create a perfect world for us with their guns and handcuffs and prisons.  To hell with the drug warriors!
I say end the Pain of Prohibition NOW! 



Grandma Kay Lee

Saturday, April 3, 2010

* WHAT CAN ONE SHY GRANDMA DO? by Kay Lee

I didn't go to college until my kids were grown, and I was the most receptive to education I'd ever been. It was there that I first realized things were NOT really right with our country. I found out about millions of people struggling against bad laws*, the economics of the drug war, the inhumane conditions in our jails and prisons, the dwindling constitution, and America's lost sense of freedom and justice for all. I was crushed.

How many times over the last 10 years has another truth brought tears of disappointment and anguish? Soon, I found out that to know the truth hurts worse if you do nothing about it. So, I looked to the spirit within myself, thought of my grandchildren' future, and asked with passion, "What can I, one small, shy grandmother, do?"

...And my journey began.


The Journey for Justice is an empowering, enlightening, spiritually evolving trek through rural America. No, I don't mean the Christianity of a church particularly, but rather of the spirit of concern, compassion, and common sense that will lead us to a better way.

The first Journey for Justice through Ohio focused like a microscope on legal medical access to marijuana for patients, medical rights. The second journey, Wisconsin style, included the POWDs (prisoners of the drug war), who are really political prisoners: They've committed no violent act: They were imprisoned because they stepped outside "politically correct", snubbed the status quo (called "Freedom of Choice" in bygone years).

By the third journey through Florida, we had begun to find out about the conditions all inmates are living in, and realized that, for the safety of society, prisons should be a healing place. The Florida journey stopped at jails and prisons and churches and courthouses across the state. Our mission was to educate and enlighten the public about the conditions patients will live in when the long arm of the law sweeps them into the crowded courtrooms and bulging prisons.

The 4th leg, the Journey for Jubilee Justice traveled through Texas, evolved into a journey for peace, a national and international plea for a better way. We want an end to the thirty-plus drug war, the quick release of non-violent political prisoners, and a cleaning of our prisons so that they are places of true rehabilitation for people who purposely hurt others.


We want leaders with wisdom, mercy, vision and truth. We want candidates to discuss human rights, and harm reduction, and lifting the spirit of man, for we understand that it will be the healing of the people that will lead to the healing of the nation.




*It's not hard to spot a bad law: Anytime the law is in violent conflict with compassion and common sense, it is a BAD LAW and must be changed.

Sharing the vision in the spirit of Jubilee Justice.
Kay Lee

Condensed History of the Journey for Justice (J4J)
http://www.angelfire.com/fl5/j4j

MAKING THE WALLS TRANSPARENT (MTWT)
http://www.angelfire.com/fl4/fci

Kay Lee's Cannabis Research
http://www.angelfire.com/planet/cannabis