Past

Throughout my childhood, I was against marijuana. My feelings might have been from the influence of D.A.R.E. or the values (military father) instilled in me growing up, where doing the "right" thing meant obeying the law and steering clear of anything deemed illegal. Either way, I internalized a clear and moral conclusion: Drugs were bad, and those who used them were losers.

 

As a child, my exposure to marijuana wasn’t abstract, it was personal. I watched friends I cared about drift into circles that seemed to strip away their potential. School became secondary, tension with parents and teachers escalated, and what once motivated them slowly dimmed. From my experience, marijuana wasn’t just a plant, it was the catalyst for decline, the wedge that drove us apart.

 

I judged them harshly, not out of cruelty, but out of fear and disillusionment. It was easier to brand them as “Losers” than to grapple with the complexity of their choices or the broader context of their struggles (Ignorance is ALWAYS bliss). And so, in an act I once framed as self-preservation, I turned my back on my childhood best friends, believing I was choosing a higher path.

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Only now do I see how much more there was to their stories.  I was looking through my own lens; rigid and selfish.  I failed to acknowledge humanity in their choices.  Marijuana wasn’t the problem, to them it was the solution to the trials and tribulations that made life hard.

 

Present

I see it differently now; we all grow from experiences.  Life has a way of testing all of us. In fact, I’ve come to believe that the challenges we face shape us more than almost anything else. They expose us, strip us down, and in doing so, reveal who we really are, what we cling to, what we fight for, and what we learn to let go of.

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For me, the defining challenge has been my health. I’ve spent over a decade navigating the relentless grip of an autoimmune joint and connective tissue disease. It's a quiet war, one that wages inside your body, often invisible to others, but deeply consuming. My stubborn drive; sometimes a strength, sometimes a burden has taken me down every path I could find. I’ve sought out specialists across the country, cycled through a dozen prescription medications, experimented with hundreds of supplements, and poured thousands of hours into research and conversations with leading experts.

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And still, much of it felt like chasing shadows. Temporary relief would come and go, but the deeper toll; the psychological grind of persistent pain was harder to escape. It’s not just physical discomfort. It's the mental weight of waking up every day in a body that feels like a battleground and living in a near constant state of fight-or-flight. That kind of pressure wears you down in ways you don’t even realize until something breaks the pattern.

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For me, that something has been marijuana. More specifically for me, indica strains of marijuana.  I won’t claim it as a cure, that would be dishonest, but it does something powerful. It interrupts the cycle. It offers a reprieve, a quieting of the chaos. It gives me space to breathe, to exist without being in conflict with my own body for a moment. That space, as simple as it may sound, is sacred.

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Because of what it's given me, I’ve felt a responsibility to speak up, not just for myself, but for others who suffer in silence, bound by both physical and phycological ailments and stigma alike. There is healing in understanding, and there is power in challenging the narratives we were taught. Marijuana isn't a miracle, but for many of us, it's medicine. And it deserves to be seen that way.

 

Pipes
Over the years, I’ve explored nearly every method available for cannabis consumption. From rolling papers to herbal vaporizers, concentrates to glass rigs, each offered its own experience. And yet, time and again, I found myself returning to the raw simplicity of flower. There’s something sacred about it being unrefined, honest and rooted in nature.

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The problem wasn’t the plant. It was the delivery. The tools I was using didn’t reflect who I am. They felt disconnected from the depth of my journey.  My favorite experience was with a glass bowl, but between their delicacy and the weight of the stigma I was on the hunt for something more.  I’d held these pieces and feel as though I was betraying my own values, reducing something medicinal and sacred to a stereotype I never felt part of.

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I needed something different, something that felt like an extension of my values, my story, my struggle. Something that reclaimed cannabis from the shadow of shame and brought it into the light with pride and intention.

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So, I made my own pipe.

It wasn’t just about utility; it was about identity. I wanted something that demanded reverence, not secrecy. A piece that didn’t hide in drawers or glove compartments but stood boldly on a shelf next to an old carburetor or set of wrenches.  In designing it, I thought of the rebels from prohibition-era times, those who dared to challenge the status quo, not for recklessness, but for freedom. I wanted to honor that spirit: to create something that didn’t whisper but spoke with quiet strength.

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My pipe isn’t just a tool, it’s a statement. It’s a bridge between who I was, who I am. It represents not only the reclaiming of a plant, but the reclaiming of my own narrative. A narrative no longer defined by shame or stigma, but by truth, healing, and intention.

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-Justin

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Special Thanks To:

Dennis P. for introducing me to Marijuana. If it wasn't for you and your persistence I don't think I would be where I am today.

 

​​All of my "bus" friends who make the time to gather.