Jay to the World

So, for my acupuncturist (for those of you who don’t know this about me, I’m a licensed acupuncturist) friends – you can read the beginning of the most recent post (Primetime Drama) for a brief update as to what I’m doing. Here’s the challenge I’ve got that I need your help with: How does a program centered around RAW food, juice fasting (cold), wheat grass juice (also cold), and colonics/enemas (not mentioned in FOUR YEARS of Chinese Medicine study) incite amazing and rapid healing for patients who are definitely Spleen Qi deficient; while Chinese Medical Philosophy explicitly and repeatedly states that raw and cold foods should be avoided? This question has bothered me since I first came here in the late ’90’s and I’ve not been able to solve the riddle. The knee-jerk reaction from most acupuncturists when we hear about a program based on raw foods is to dismiss it based on our training, as per our training it would exacerbate the condition. But, here’s the thing – each week I see a new crop of people who experience amazing results from just one week and radiant health from a sustained regimen on this diet.

So, help me friends – can we explain this in the terms that Chinese Medicine offers us?

Update for our protagonist:

Well, as it turns out in our last chapter, the guy who filed a formal complaint against me (not this Friday, but last) decided to stay another week so we had the pleasure of each others’ company for a wee bit longer. However, word got around about what had happened and guests began to eschew his company. During the Friday performances, he also “performed” these eerie low singy versions of the Lord’s prayer. But as he was doing so, he’d walk among the audience and smile creepily at them, occasionally putting his hands on their heads, offering his own Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, perhaps? Some guests complained to me that it felt revivalish and they weren’t here to be set on fire for God. I’m not sure, but the effect it had on me was to want to get the hell out of the room. I was not alone as there was announcement yesterday (before the most recent Friday Night Live) that the night was not for preaching or proselytizing, but for celebration. See, he’d received some complaints of his own from a number of guests.
As it turns out, due to his increasing isolation…Oh! I was also told that he’d applied to be a missionary as well, so perhaps to get in the good graces of those on staff, or perhaps it was his increasing isolation, he decided to rescind his formal complaint against me. So, I will not go to wheat grass jail and am left, dangerously, to my own devices.

Okay – so just to recap for those of you who’d like a recap – at the end of 2009, my job and I decided we weren’t a good match. I decided to volunteer to be a “missionary” [for more info on what this means - see the post entitled "The Missionary Position" near the beginning] for 3 months, which began in February, at a center in San Diego where people come for at least one week to learn about, in a nutshell: raw food (eating), juice (fasting Tues-Thurs), colon cleansing (yes, via tube in butt) and wheat grass (from both ends). Why do people do this? Despite the advice quite contrary from Chinese Medicine to eschew cold and damp foods – it transforms people’s health in ways that you would find hard to believe. We’re talking about reversing cancer here; arthritis pains – gone; digestive complaints – eliminated, and thousands of other healing stories which fly in the face of conventional medical care and advice.

No joke.

How does it work? The best explanation I can give is that this program gives the body a chance to heal itself. Because the daily physical, mental and emotional punishment we give our bodies is tremendous and when we go on vacation we usually intoxify instead of detoxify. This is the opposite.

So, that said, I’ll pick up where I left off. Last week we learned about “Friday Night Live”, the weekly variety show where, like Forest Gumps’ box of chocolates, ya never know whatcha gon’ get. I decided to read the same quote that I did the previous Friday – to reinforce it for myself mostly, because I’m selfish that way. Just so we’re clear and to reinforce it for myself, it’s this one:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Marianne Williamson

So, it went well – I made it through without choking with emotion and finished strong. I returned to my seat content with my reading. The host for the evening prepared to play a song on the piano and said, “Does anybody know any jokes?” Since I was feeling so pleased with myself, my body jumped up and before I knew it I was back on the stage, gave a disclaimer about jokes with names of guys with no arms and no legs, then began telling the following jokes…

Well, before I begin with the jokes, let me just say that I’ve been telling these jokes for years. Okay, so granted there was usually alcohol and an audience of at least one woman involved; but there on that stage, with only a wheat grass buzz to fuel me, I figured I couldn’t go wrong – I just thought I was so damn funny. Mmm hmm. So, spotlights on me, room crowded with people, silence and I start:

“What do you can a man with no arms and no legs who is in a pool?”

[Audience calls out]: “Bob”

I smiled, then responded, “Yes!”

“What do you can a man with no arms and no legs who is on the wall?”

[Audience calls out]: “Art”

So, we’ve got a little call and response thing going and I’m having fun, and it appears the audience is as well.

“What do you can a man with no arms and no legs who is in front of a door?”

Matt

“Now, here’s my favorite one, what do you can a man with no arms and no legs who is in a pile of leaves?”

Russell

“What do you can a man with no arms and no legs who is under a car?”

Jack

“What do you can a man with no arms and no legs water skiing?”

Skip

At which time, a guy stood up in the back of the room and loudly and angrily declared, “Jay I work with children with no arms and no legs!”

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…so the premise of these jokes seemed so preposterous I’d never even considered it offensive – who has no arms and no legs?

Fortunately, without missing a beat, I immediately stopped and apologized to him and to anyone in the audience it caused offense. While still on stage, I apologized again and asked if he could forgive me. He said, “You should meet the children I work with!” I said, “I understand that you’re upset and I apologize, can you forgive me?” He relented as the anger drained out of him and he said simply, “Yes.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. I then left the stage and returned to my seat. So, because I immediately apologized and he’d said he’d forgiven me, I wasn’t embarrassed. I’d cleaned up my side of the street and left the interaction on the stage. That was that.

But, the night held more twisties for us, for not two minutes after I sat down – remember I was filler for the next act – another missionary was holding the mike (what do you call a guy with no arms and no legs on a stage – wait…nevermind) for the guy playing a song on the piano as he abruptly stopped and shouted “SHIT!” Looking at his sister, he ordered, “Come up and hold the damn microphone for me!” The impact was like a hot, stinky fart blasted in the faces of those in the audience. The acts are generally uplifting and even if they’re not funny, people are kind-hearted as everybody’s hearts are cracked open like walnuts from the fasting, cleansing and community that develops. But with this piano guy? It felt like he’d just punched a bunny rabbit in the face.

I was done. I gathered my things and began to leave. Before I did, however, I stopped where the guy who I’d offended, you know, the one who worked with kids in India with no arms and no legs? Right. He stood up, I repeated my apology and we shared what appeared to be a conciliatory hug.

The next morning he related that he lodged a formal complaint against me.

I guess forgiveness ain’t what it used to be.

So, as I represent the place here as a missionary, out of curiosity, I Googled, “disability jokes, lawsuit” or something like that to see if there was any precedent that he could use to go nuclear and demand my ‘resignation’ and use a lawsuit as leverage. After working in corporate America for a long time, stranger things have happened and I’ve become slightly paranoid like the people I used to work with. I used to be such a nice, trusting soul… Anyway, I discovered that there is at least one guy who genuinely has no arms and no legs:

The guy with no arms and no legs

Pretty wild, huh? But he looks like he’s got a good sense of humor. I’d like to write this guy and see if he finds no arms and no legs guy jokes funny or offensive.

Many people came up to me the next day and offered their support. But, my mind still hasn’t landed on the question of whether it’s actually offensive. The one dude was offended – but he had both his arms and legs. So, he was offended on behalf of other people – children in this case (none of whom actually had neither arms AND legs, we later found out – some were just missing legs). Or, perhaps you might think I’m missing the point entirely and that since the jokes are ostensibly at someone elses expense (albeit I’ve only found 1 out of 6.5 billion so far), it’s cruel and base to tell such jokes.

Let me know what ya think, good people of the interwebs…

Okay – so every Wednesday morning (the second day of the juice fast), a host is chosen for “Friday Night Live” (obviously, to be held two days later), a variety show by and for guests. Frank Lloyd Wright used to require a weekly performance of his students at Taliesin, his architecture school. Wright suggested that the performance of fine art enhanced the students awareness and understanding of architecture. Here, the evening represents an opportunity for creative self expression. Each week between 10 and 20 acts pass through the stage, some singing, some demonstrating Jiu Jitsu, or yoga, or how the brain works, comedy routines, or stories. It’s always a mixed bag. Some acts move you deeply, some acts make you laugh or think. Others, you simply want to end. However, despite the fact that a variety of different levels of talent (or appropriateness) may exist (though it’s asked the jokes are clean – there’s of course a lot of poopy humor), it is the safest environment that I’ve ever experienced for getting up and doing your thing, whatever that may be. Some people have simply come up and introduced themselves – in a display of overcoming their fears of public speaking. Others are extremely comfortable and engaging. But, each week there’s something about the dedication and commitment to a goal of vibrant health that binds us together in a spirit of camaraderie and acceptance.
I’ve been more of an observer for the most part through the weeks. But last week a quote returned again and again to my mind. This one, in fact:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Marianne Williamson penned this in 1992. Nelson Mandela occasionally gets the credit for it, but all the interweb surfing I’ve done suggests it’s indeed Marianne. It’s used in the charming 2006 movie “Akeelah and the Bee” with Lawrence Fishburne and Angela Bassett, among many other citations.

So, as cleansing goes, it’s easy to anticipate the physical, material things that may come out of one’s body during a cleanse. However, as the physical toxicity leaves and the diet cleans up, emotional and mental things begin working their way out of you as well. I couldn’t figure out why the quote repeated its circling of my thoughts. Last week I hadn’t planned to get on stage at all. But, at the last minute, I quickly searched for the quote on the internet and told the host I’d like to be squeezed in somewhere. Then, just after dinner and before the show, a realization rose up from within my depths and, as corny as it may sound, I realized a number of ways how I shrink in the world so as not to make others feel uncomfortable. As I was relating this to a dear friend I’ve made here, I said, “I’m going to cry.” Without missing a beat, she dropped her fork and threw her arms around me as I proceeded to sob in her arms. I feel blessed and highly favored that she came at about the same time I did – a true kindred spirit. This all happened about 5 minutes before the show went up.

Oh, I forgot to mention that all day I’d been feeling moody and introspective, as if a cloud was passing through my very soul. That may sound a bit melodramatic, but as soon as the tears came, my whole demeanor brightened and a grief that sat within me for many moons rained out of that cloud. The rain continued through the first few acts. By the time it was my turn, I warned the audience that I might cry and to just roll with it. One guest later said, “For a moment I didn’t think you were even gonna get it off the ground.” I choked through that quote and cried on stage and I wrung the cloud clear out. Glorious is how I would describe the feeling afterward. Something deep within my unconscious knew it was time to let something go. I can’t begin to explain the mysteries of how my mind works – but my conviction is firm that it would not have happened had I not been here and allowed myself the gift of letting go.

Here’s me after the show…see that peaceful look on my face? Yep – it’s good.

One of the greatest things about this place (aside from the miraculous healing that takes place without drugs or surgery) is that, each week, amazing people come from all over the world and you get to sit and talk with them. This week, there’s a movie star, several healers of various modalities and a fascinating plumber from Canada, to mention a few. All drop into the cocoon and let their respective guards down and relate to one another with openness and consideration. There’s lots of hugging – so much that someone who walked in from the street would think they’re about to bring out the purple kool-aid. But, it all feels natural that you hug without a second thought. Even the most stoic and macho bust out their inner kids and smile like the tall children they really are.
Someone said, “I’m not sure what I’m going to do when I go back to the real world.” To which the person they were speaking responded, “This is the real world.” A world where people eat healthy food, interact with love, honesty and compassion and give themselves and each other love and kindness that the crazy-making default world often does not allow for. This is what the real world is.
My interest in alternative therapies runs back almost as far as I do – as a kid I asked for books on wild edible plants for Christmas and would try and sneak various tendrils and leaves into the family salad. Yep, I was that kid. But, being here just a few weeks, I’ve learned of dozens of new methodologies that I never knew existed. But, this place proves to me that disease can be eliminated if we simply detoxify our bodies – physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. It’s not hard. It’s a choice we make in each moment – from what thoughts we allow ourselves to have to what we pop into our mouths and pour down our gullets to what we do for a living. If we choose a job we hate, but we do it because we want the cash – it affects us in subtle but profound ways. If we stay with a mate because we’ve got a couple of kids, but we hate each other – it dampens the light the we shine. This is nothing new. These thoughts are as old as the hills and have been written in different ways in every language that has an alphabet.
But, it is another thing to bear witness to healing before my very eyes – and within my own body. The majority of people come here for one week. But, some stay for the entire three week course. In the short span of one week, where people only juice fast from Tuesday morning until Thursday night, lab tests come back in the hands of happily surprised patients who’ve given far too much power into the hands of their medical practitioners. It is indescribably empowering to seriously take your health into your own hands. I say take back your power and self-medicate. But, self medicate wisely with thoughtful reflection, not with the knee jerk of a 12 ounce curl.

I’m supposed to go watch whales having sex or birthing or something tomorrow in Mexico. Hopefully I’ll take some pictures, but I misplaced my camera today – so we’ll see.

Just got this from a friend – Love me some Rumi

Fasting

There’s a hidden sweetness in the stomach’s emptiness,
We are lutes, no more, no less. If the soundbox
is stuffed full of anything, no music
If the brain and the belly are burning clean
with fasting, every moment a new song comes out of the fire.

The fog clears, and new energy makes you run up the steps in front of you.
Be emptier and cry like reed instruments cry.

Emptier, write secrets with the reed pen.
When you’re full of food and drink, Satan sits
where your spirit should, an ugly metal statue
in place of the Kaaba. When you fast,
good habits gather like friends who want to help.

Fasting is Solomon’s ring. Don’t give it
to some illusion and lose your power,
but even if you have, if you’ve lost all will and control,
they come back when you fast, like soldiers appearing
out of the ground, pennants flying above them.

A table descends to your tents,
Jesus’ table.
Expect to see it, when you fast, this table
spread with other food, better than the broth of cabbages.

Love that! Although I’m not sure what a Kabaa is and the broth of cabbages sounds little better than piss. But, I’m on 5 weeks of cold, damp veggies people, so even cabbage broth sounds appetizing. I went to a Kangen water demo last night (which is amazing – we’ll talk more on this later) and a friend brought home made cookies. Home made fucking cookies! The closest I’ve come to sugar is apple sauce and cinnamon in 5 weeks. For me, cookies were like a roomful of free hookers to a sex addict. Oatmeal chocolate chip with walnuts in them and they looked almost as soft as Uncle Eddie’s and I could smell them from 10 feet away because my nasal passages are now better than a bloodhounds.

But, no ugly metal statue to my Kabaa, bitches. Even though I could feel them enticing…teasing…taunting me, when all hope seemingly faded, my soldiers appeared out of the ground with their little flags.

I am quite worried about what happens when I leave here, though. Can Whole Foods possibly stock enough cookies for 3 months of abstinence?

Uncle Eddie’s

That’s the worst website I’ve seen in ages, but they make up for in their addictiveness. If you look at the cookie aisle in any Whole Foods (at least west of the Mississippi), the Uncle Eddie’s section is always torn apart, while the others are pristine. Check it out – especially hard to find Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip.

Just a quickie tonight, my fellow lutes – stuff yourself or burn clean.

Reading the comments on Facebook, Neveen helped me realize I’ve made a serious omission.

Back in the summer of 1990 two friends and I were hunkered in the back seat of some funky two door careening down a street in Heliopolis – a neighborhood of Cairo, Egypt where mysteriously; they actually have stop lights, but since no drivers pay attention to them, they hire cops to direct traffic. If there are no cops on the corner, you just slow down to about 35 miles an hour and honk loudly. I started noticing ominous dents in cars the next morning. But, surely any driver coming from the opposite direction would heed a warning in plenty of time…

As we flew down the nighttime streets, I started noticing small crowds of people gathered around certain brightly lit shops.
Hearing a question about what they were, our driver veered a hard right, screeched to a halt and we poured out of the car. Our gracious hosts ushered us to the front of the line, happy to expose us to Cairo’s delights.

A guy in the shop stuffed bamboo thingies into a machine that crunched them and spit out juice from a spigot down below – my first introduction to sugar cane juice.

Sugar Cane Stop

The guy in the right corner also has a nice hookah, which we’ll talk about later…

Sugar Cane Guy

So, we’ve already established my insatiable sweet tooth. Sugar cane juice quickly became my Cairo crack. Then there was the baklava that my dear friend Y’s family couldn’t make enough of as far as I was concerned. So, I’ve since learned that sugar can reduce one’s immunity. Shocker.

So, after a few days of racing around Cairo, stuffing as much baklava as they could bake down my gullet and washing it down with sugar cane juice, guess what happened to Jay? Yes, in retrospect, the first time this happened:

This

Except, I’m fairly certain a Gerber it was not.

See, me being the ignorant fool (even more of one back then) who’d left the safety of suburban Minnesota only a couple handfuls of times before this international jaunt to North Africa, I did not know how cloistered I’d been for my first 18 years. I had no idea I had it so good in the safety of whitebread Minnesota. So, when the massive diarrhea hit, I quickly devolved into a whiny little bitch. It wasn’t so much the burning I minded, but the cramping…

Scott became fond of saying, “Jay’s pissing out his ass again.”

Fortunately, a cousin or something practiced medicine and gave me some drugs. But, the trip to Alexandria by bumpy car provided many hours for me to contemplate my inflated sense of suffering. Scott and Y and everybody else in the car traded jokes as I held onto the door handle in self-pitying silence.

We finally arrived in Alexandria in the middle of the night and I made a beeline for 1) the bathroom and then quickly; 2) a bedroom, where I shut the door and crashed. As luck would have it, there were no locks on the doors. An armada of mosquitoes dive bombed me throughout the night.

But, that wasn’t keeping me up.

Someone repeatedly snuck into the room with a tiny rolled piece of paper, stuck it between my toes, lit it on fire and then bailed. It wasn’t enough to leave a mark, but the little Egyptian prank was enough to wake me up repeatedly and drive me the closest I’ve ever been to insanity. Far beyond tears. I would storm into the living room looking for the culprit. After each time, I struggled to stay awake. But, the canny Egyptians wielded a sixth sense for when foolish suburban Americans arrived in sleepytime-peeper land. To this day, I’m not sure who bears responsibility, but I’m sure they got a great laugh. Fuckers.

The pooper drugs kicked in sometime between the mosquitoes and the mini toe fires. So, the next morning after waking up I was hot for revenge.

I wanted revenge like this:

Dumb Guy

Unfortunately for Scottie, he slept soundly on the living room couch. Yahya translated the basics for setting toe fires (ultimately not that complicated – paper, fire, toe) and grabbed the nearest piece of paper, tearing a big fucking piece off and yanking a lighter out of somebody’s hand before Scottie woke up. I shoved the paper in between his big and second toe and set it ablaze.

He arose. So did a huge blister on Scottie’s foot. He didn’t deserve it, or maybe he did – I just didn’t care as my twisted side felt somewhat vindicated.

Fortunately, no magnesium availed itself and it was the beginning of Eid (a Muslim holiday where they commemorate Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice of his son, but sacrificed a ram instead) and the neighbor across the street held a goat by the ears and sliced it’s throat, draining the blood into the street before skinning it in his driveway. Butchering a goat consumed our attention for a few minutes, and all thoughts of revenge and white knuckled door holding were forgotten. Then we got a bunch of beer for the week, cheered Cameroon on in the world cup, swam in the Mediterranean and found a hookah shop. Nowadays, hookah dens are fairly common in major US cities, but back then a whole shop devoted to smoking a hookah oozed coolness. Sometime in the blurry week, a hookah showed up and I smoked until I could almost read Arabic. Somebody said, “He’s drunk.” Which, I’m sure I was. But, to prove I wasn’t, I stood up and attempted to walk a straight line to the bathroom. On the way there, the combination of poopy drugs, hookah, beer and God knows what else was in my stomach stopped me short of the bathroom as I barfed into my hands.

So, it seems the entire alimentary canal got a workout in good old Egypt. My intention for this little trip down memory lane was really just to say that I’d forgotten I’d made it through India so well because of a prior poopy past experience. But, I’m hoping to avoid making this “Jay’s gnarly poops around the world.” I’ve just been through some shit, yo.

Video of the Post:

Ex-E.T.

This is a great video for anyone who likes to march to the beat of their own drummer. Come on – take the 8 minutes, sit back and enjoy.

Artist of the Post:

Fink – This is the Thing

If you don’t yet know Fink – check out this amazing acoustic musician.

First of all, thanks to everyone who’s commented via FB and here – you’ve made it a true pleasure to write.

Did I mention the juice fast? Right, so Monday night is the last rabbit food that you get. Then it’s liquid until Thursday night baby.

The industrial juicer in the kitchen (no oven by the way) cranks out a ton of juice that provides breakfast, lunch and dinner from Monday to Thursday night. Though this may seem like cruel and unusual punishment to many, but the high you get is not to be missed. My mom always says, “Isn’t that dangerous?” with that concerned look she gets on her face. But, think about it – Jesus did it for 40 days – without a juicer and no rabbit food from what I’ve gathered so far. The Buddha is said to have fasted 49 days and still had his great awakening – also without a juicer.

That’s just two of the more than 2 people on the planet who’ve fasted for thousands of years. So, I’m going with – when done with a bit of forethought and care: fasts = safe and healthful. Actually, the Catholics have the whole lent thing for 40 days as well and Ash Wednesday was just a few Wednesdays ago – so it’s like I’m just giving up cooked food, salt, sugar, anything that doesn’t grow out of the ground and sometimes food itself for lent. Hence – no Treats for Treat.

Just so we’re clear – I love me some good Southern barbecue, love the hamburger at Beechwood and meats of all kinds and of course – cookie dough. Uncle Eddie’s Cookies (the one brand I like cooked) do taste delicious – the Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip especially – Holler…okay confession – I can knock back an entire bag in one sitting. No problem. Truth be told, it was dinner on some nights. Bachelor life makes me lazy some nights – what can I say? Doesn’t happen so much when there’s a woman who can cook in my life but back to the matter at hand…

I did the juice fast for the first two weeks and extended the fasts a bit because I had a colonic one Thursday night and didn’t eat until Friday. At first, I felt like ass as I was detoxifying all the intoxifying I’d done over the past few years traveling, living out of hotels and eating dinner in the fatty rich food restaurants of whatever city I happened to be in. I slept for much of the first couple weeks I was here, hence the delay on the blog. By the end of the second week, I walked around smiling and laughing like a fool at random things, like flowers and trees. Today, however, I had juice for breakfast and lunch and truly don’t even feel hungry after working four hours in the garden.

Here’s a little shot of the garden crew. We grow a ton of stuff, but only a fraction is actually used because it’s more for show than a production garden.

S, just before he left, built a pergola for people to sit and hang out in the garden. He was a cool old dude with a great story always ready to spill from his lips. His “health opportunity” being prostate cancer (his PSA dropped radically while he was here) – anyway, I’ve been told that it’s a bit harder to get your noodle up when you’ve had a prostatectomy – so we called the pergola “S’s Last Erection”.

I worked on the rock border behind the pergola today (to the left of the pergola). Not sure how long the nasty chunks of concrete comprised the border, but we’ve got plenty of cool rocks – so I rearranged it so that it’s all rocks – better pic in the next post.

Did I mention I lost twenty pounds in two weeks? Yes, getting the body I had back in high school back. Pants that were getting snuggy on me are now sagging off my hips. [Insert mom's look of concern] BUT, I’ve leveled off. See – I was eating and drinking like I had a corporate expense account that was unlimited, which, in fact, I did. Lots and lots of vodka, which I hear is awesome for the liver. Now, I’m dumping wheat grass on it and it seems to be quite happy.

OK – now is the part where I actually talk about the title of this post. So, classes are offered every day that educate hungry minds about a variety of health-related topics. When I first got here, I wanted to be a good Missionary (aside from the 18 hours of work, another requirement for Missionaries is to take two classes per week). Got here on a Monday and so Tuesday, after I settled in, I took the first available class – “Elimination I”. I learned that the Perfect Poop (when not juicing/cleansing/fasting) should: 1) be taken 2-3x per day, 2) be light brown, 3) look like a snake (as opposed to a Rhinoceros), 4) sink (the claim being that only an overabundance of fat will cause it to float).

Now, there is apparently some debate among poop experts or perhaps we should just call them poop aficionados. See, I’ve also heard my good friend R, who knows a lot about poop, convincingly declare that poop should float. I just can’t remember why. I’ll have to ask.

In any case, now you know what the Perfect Poop (according to the folks in Lemon Grove) should look like.

Now, you get to watch a cool video. This one is a sweet story of unlikely love. You’ll need about 10 minutes to devote to it. Trust me, it’s a sweet little video.

Sweet Dreams

I just can’t resist – if you don’t know Jose Gonzalez (musician), I want to introduce you to him. His voice takes sorrow and joy and smushes them together with a sonic beauty that stops me cold. Check out his cover of The Knife’s “Heartbeats”:

Jose Gonzalez’ Heatbeats

Incidentally, the song was used for a Sony Bravia commercial that is also a lot of fun to watch – Sony bought all the rubber balls they could buy around the world and dumped them down streets the streets of San Francisco:

Sony Bravia commercial

So, thus began my increasingly intimate relationship with my colon. Poor neglected colon. It just takes the water out your food and makes poop, right? Well, as it turns out, that is true, but it’s oh so much more important than just all that. In college, I heard about a place in San Diego where people go to detox and cleanse (what “cleanse” means we’ll get into in a bit, but I’m guessing you’ve got part of it already). Anyway, my dear friend M said that she came outta there feeling amazing and vibrant. But, it wasn’t until 5 years later (at the end of the ’90’s) that I checked it out for myself. Burnt out while in the middle of 4 years of grad school to get that degree in Acupuncture; I convinced my sister to come along, who felt burnt out as well. I was sick when I first arrived but by the time I left, we both felt completely revitalized and rejuvenated. There were “missionaries” there and I always kept it in the back of my mind that if I ever got to be in a position to be a missionary, I would.

At the end of last year, my life opened up and I finally had the chance to apply for the missionary position that I’d thought about for more than a decade. Since it had been a long time coming, I was truly excited with thoughts of finally engaging in the missionary position. I started February 8, 2010.

So, what’s it all about? The Center is a place where people of all walks of life come from all over the world for healing.

The Center claims that participants:

• Purify and detoxify the body with diet, fasting, cleansing and
exercise
• Quiet the mind with journaling and meditation
• Strengthen the spirit with study, prayer and celebration

All the food is raw, it has the third largest wheat grass growing facility in the world (and each person is recommended to drink 4 oz – two twice per day). Then there’s the colon cleansing part. Yeah, so enemas and “implants” are an essential part of the deal. We’ll talk more about that later…

The full program is a three week course, of sorts. But, guests can stay for one week each time (at any time of their choosing) to three weeks – or simply come for one week and never come back. There are daily classes that teach a variety of subjects from emotional detoxification to how to grow your own wheat grass. Each week a fresh group checks in and each has it’s own characteristics. Many guests have been here before and make a bi-annual or annual pilgrimage in order to get a tune up. I realize the program itself may sound like cruel and unusual punishment to many. But, the benefit is beyond your imagination. We’ll get into the radical details in future posts – and I mean radical in the “thoroughgoing or extreme, esp. as regards change from accepted or traditional forms” rather than the cool dude radical.

But, the missionary program is reserved for people who want to take three months to focus on getting healthy. So, imagine hitting the reset button on your life. Imagine having any extra pounds melt away and all sorts of little aches and pain eliminated. Imagine your clogged nasal passages clear up, allowing you to smell things for miles. Imagine your taste buds being able to distinguish flavors like you probably haven’t since you were a baby. For me, that was just week one. No joke, yo.

The deal is that I pay $600 a month and work for 18 hours a week and I get a room, eat the food and drink all the wheat grass I can handle. Fortunately, I don’t have a life threatening disease like many of the folks here – both missionaries and guests. But, people have amazing stories of recovering and healing. One guy spoke of how his doctor found a brain gave him 6 months to live. He heard about this place and came immediately. He fastidiously learned all he could about the nutrition he was putting in his body, started growing his own wheat grass and juicing it every day. He got colonics or did enemas as often as he could. He lived in Alaska and had to drive an hour each way to get fresh watermelon. That was ten years ago. He went back to his doctor and his doctor said, “Hmm, maybe I made a mistake and misdiagnosed you.” That little comment I’ve heard a number of times already.
Another guy – just last week had bladder cancer and every pee he’d taken for months, there was blood in his urine. He got here Sunday afternoon – when everybody checks in. By Thursday – piss clear. Serious.

It’s as if physicians don’t believe in the power of the body to heal itself. But, that’s exactly what happens here – people slow down, clean out and allow their bodies to heal themselves.

So, every post, I’m gonna share something I find interesting – feel free to comment. The one below is a song that I love, the repetition mesmerizes me and the first time I watched the video, directed by Spike Jones (most recently, the director of “Where the Wild Things Are” ), my eyebrows shot up at 3:18 and then a number of more times after that.

Here’s the video of the day: UNKLE’s “Heaven”

Lyrics:

Where’s the Seraphim?
Where’s the money that we made?
Where’s the open gate?
Where’s the fortune that we saved?

Heaven’s here for you and me
With every falling curl
Heaven’s here for you and me
we gained ourselves the world

Hit the Motorway
I can take it all at speed
I got everything
I got everything you need

Heaven’s here for me and you
scattered out with pearls
Heaven’s here for me and you
we gained ourselves the world

Where’s the warrior of light?
with gates of solid gold
Paranoia through the fight
with dreams that never fold
Heaven’s here for me and you
scattered out with pearls

Heaven’s here for me and you
we gained ourselves the world.

It was the winter of 1995.  In the early hours of the morning I sat on the Dasaswamedh Ghat on the banks of the Ganges River watching the pilgrims attempt to bathe away the sins of a lifetime.  As I took my last bite of a Cherimoya  (a scaly green fruit on the outside, with sweet white custardy fruit and big brown seeds on the inside) I suddenly realized my digestion may never be the same.  See, unfortunately I didn’t know that some Indians, to make a couple rupees – which could mean the nights meal for them – force caps back on water bottles and resell the local tap water – Varanasi’s finest.  Yum.   Purchasing a bottle from a street vendor the previous night (foolish, trusting, innocent boy) I took a fateful sip.  As soon as I had that sip I knew, deep down inside that the times, they were achangin’.  I thought that I’d get through the experience with a little diarrhea and then I’d be fine.  But, the fun was only beginning.

A guy I knew from Lucknow said his family lived in Varanasi and that I could stay in a spare room.  It warmed my heart to think that this nice man had opened up his house to me.  It turned out to be a storage closet, with one broken light bulb under their house.  Oh – and one of the those toilets with foot grips on each side, to make sure you don’t slip when you squat.  I’d arrived in Varanasi late at night and only had about $800 left to my name to last for the next 8 months.  So, I figured I’d just crash for the night and find a guest house the next morning.  That’s when I went out for dinner.  Mmm hmm.  Yep, rethinking that idea.

Optimistically, still thinking I could sleep it off, I crashed in my sleeping bag, my thermorest the only comfort in the dank and dark storage closet.   Oh the places you’ll go.  After about 15 minutes an earthquake started around my diaphragm and I became a human tube of shitpaste with a boa constrictor on crack squeezing me.   I frantically scrambled to rip open my sleeping bag.  I racehopped as quickly as I could, trying to tear off my boxers.  Bam!  Pfhhhhlat!  KKccccck!  Explosive diarrhea.  The little snake creature from “Aliens” rummaged around in my guts for awhile and then this happened (click link):

This

Nobody likes that.

Oh, but wait, there’s more.

Didn’t make it to the squat toilet, at least not before the most explosive part of the diarrhea had stopped by for a visit.  Finally made it to the squat toilet.  No sink.  Just the squat toilet.  Broken.  No flush.  I almost started crying.  One hand still relatively clean…must get to backpack with headlamp…yes!  Got the headlamp on.  Headlamp reveals…one thin layer of paper around the cardboard toilet roll.  Are you fucking kidding me?!  I had enough to wipe the watery poop off one hand.  That’s when the fever kicked in.  That was about half an hour before the delirium.

Sunrise in Varanasi

But, of course, we can’t control what life throws at us, only how we react to it.  I’ve always been an optimist, to a fault sometimes, but that’s my lot and I’ve made peace with it.  So, after my ass exploded, I spent the rest of the night dazedly wandering around the ghats (steps by the river – in Varanasi they go on for miles).  I zombied my way towards a bonfire down the river.  On my way exploring in the cool night air, I noticed stacks and stacks of firewood piled everywhere.  I got to the fires.  They were people.  They were burning dead people.  Awesome.

Here’s a link to a picture where you can see the head of some dead guy on his way to having his ashes dumped in the river where everybody was bathing:

Dead Guy

But, as I stood in the wee hours of the night, ass tingling and watching dead people burn alongside one of the most sacred rivers on the planet, a preternatural calm settled over me.  Eddy Grant’s “Electric Avenue” came into my head – and I just shook my head and smiled.  Watch the surreal and confusing 1982 video here:

Eddy

Not sure what’s up with all the water, but maybe all the splashing in the video reminded me of the splashing in the closet.  Ironically, it seems apparently there weren’t many actual electric lights, or electricity of any kind on Electric Avenue.

So, what the Hell does Eddy Grant have to do with anything?

Nothing, but I do love that song. But, it dovetailed perfectly with the surreal and confusing night I was having. As for why I bring all this up…Stay tuned.