This week Jamie dragged me to an Otomi village, Indian descendants of the pyramids near us in San Miguel Allende in Mexico. We watched the women grind corn and make tortillas, ate some of their food and did the usual virtuous tramp around an indigenous village, spreading money everywhere. All Good. What interested me rather more, since I have visited lots of indigenous villages, were members of our tour, all of whom had let aging take them down. Most were bad tempered as a default setting, and they creaked and groaned and limped and quietly sighed and complained to themselves in a wholly adversarial relationship to their precious bodies. Most of them carried an extra forty or fifty pounds. Pause for a moment and consider carting a fifty pound weight all day. That is insane. It is the definition of insane. None of them smoked, because we all know that smoking shaves seven pounds off their life. But being overweight takes nine years.
None of their pain was necessary. No creak, no moan, no Spartan attitude. We already know how to stop their pain in its tracks: cleansing, supplements, a largely plant based diet along with nuts and seeds. Olive oil. Limited drinking. Good sleep. AWARENESS.
I was sick for three years recently. If I’d had a GP, I’m pretty sure she would have diagnosed lymphoma. But in the demented Dominion of Canada, having a GP is more luck than “human right”, so I mostly visited the emergency room, and took up with a young naturopath and we hacked our way through it. I cleansed for an entire year. A year of purging on deeper and deeper levels, until one day I woke up and I felt well. Not only did I feel well, I felt better than I had felt since I was 10.
This newsletter is going to be a deep dive, in part on how I healed myself with largely alternative medicine and how you can live so that when you are ninety, you jump out out of bed, with a leap of joy, saying to the Death spirit, “Not today, old friend.”