Effects of Northern Lights
First time I tried Northern Lights, I was 19. Cold night, busted lighter, two friends who wouldn't shut up about how "this one hits different." They weren’t wrong. It’s not a slap-in-the-face strain—more like a warm blanket you didn’t know you needed until it’s already wrapped around you. Heavy, but not suffocating. Like your bones are melting but your brain’s floating somewhere above your head, humming softly.
It creeps. That’s the thing. You take a hit, maybe two, and you’re sitting there thinking, “Okay, this is chill,” and then—bam—you’re staring at the ceiling like it’s a goddamn planetarium. Colors feel louder. Thoughts slow down, stretch out, get weird. Not scary weird, just... odd. Like wondering if your cat understands sarcasm or if trees gossip about us.
Physically? It’s a full-body exhale. Shoulders drop. Jaw unclenches. You forget you were even tense. Some people say it’s sedating—I don’t know. Depends on the day. Sometimes it knocks me out cold, other times I just sit there, zoned out, watching reruns of shows I don’t even like. Either way, it’s not a get-up-and-go kind of high. More like a stay-put-and-stare-at-your-hands kind of vibe.
There’s this weird clarity that comes with it too. Like, your body’s heavy but your mind’s clean. No racing thoughts, no spirals. Just... quiet. I’ve had conversations on Northern Lights that felt like therapy. Or maybe that was just the weed talking. Hard to tell.
It’s not a party strain. Don’t bring it to a rave unless you want to be the guy sitting in the corner eating dry cereal out of a Ziploc bag. It’s for nights in. For solo walks. For lying on the floor with headphones on, pretending the carpet is the ocean. It’s introspective. Gentle. But not soft. There’s a weight to it. A gravity.
Side effects? Dry mouth like you’ve been chewing on cotton balls. Red eyes. Sometimes I get snacky as hell—like, demolish-an-entire-box-of-Chex-Mix snacky. Other times, food sounds like a chore. No rhyme or reason. Also, time gets weird. Five minutes feels like an hour, or the opposite. You blink and it’s 3 a.m.
Some folks say it helps with anxiety. I think it depends on the person. For me, it’s a reset button. Like turning off the world for a bit. But I’ve seen people get too deep in their heads on it, especially if they’re already spinning. It’s not magic. It’s just weed. Good weed, though. Old-school, earthy, piney, with a sweetness that lingers in the back of your throat.
Honestly, I don’t even smoke it that often anymore. It’s like a favorite book—you don’t read it every day, but when you do, it hits just right. Makes you remember why you loved it in the first place.
Anyway. That’s Northern Lights. Take it or leave it. Just don’t try to do your taxes on it. Trust me.