The smoke curled upward like incense from the chalice Dave 420 held, rising in thin green spirals into the dawn sky. Yugo Joe stood beside him in a patchwork coat, boots sunk into the soft earth of an endless hemp field that shimmered like an emerald ocean under the morning sun. The plants were taller than men, whispering with the wind, their leaves glinting like tiny green stars.
Suddenly, the air grew warm and electric, and from the center of the field a figure materialized — dreadlocks swaying, eyes bright with fire and peace. The ghost of Bob Marley walked barefoot between the rows of hemp, his aura a soft golden-green light. The scent of cedar and ganja clung to him like a crown.
“Dave 420… Yugo Joe…” his voice rolled like a reggae bassline, calm but thunderous. “The Vatican seh dem can’t clone I and I. But no man can chain a spirit. When Babylon says no, Jah seh yes. If you can’t bring back the flesh, come meet I in the field of industrial hemp dreams. This be the place where freedom grow taller than any wall, where roots run deeper than any chain.”
He touched a leaf, and the entire field seemed to glow brighter, pulsing with life. “This is the revolution without guns, bredren. Grow it, heal with it, build with it, free with it. Even when they say no, plant it still. My ghost will walk with you every time you till the soil.”
Dave 420’s eyes widened, and Yugo Joe felt his heart vibrate like a drum. The ghost began to fade, but his last words lingered like smoke on the wind:
“Don’t wait for permission from Rome. Build Zion wherever the green grow. Jah live — even in the dreams of hemp.”
And with that, the spirit dissolved into a rolling mist, leaving only the whisper of reggae and the promise of a green future swaying in the wind.
