Thanks to everyone who prayed for and sent healing energy to my dad. He has recovered and is now back in his own home. He is walking around with an oxygen tank, but – he’s walking around! Aside from which, oxygen tanks are totally awesome contraband.

Prayer works. Use it on yourself. Use it on those you love. Send it out to the Universe free-flowing for those who need it. We can heal ourselves and each other.

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Dad as a kid in Baghdad

Tonight I got an email informing me that my dad was in the hospital with pneumonia. Those who know me know that my relationship with my dad has been the source of psychological torment and emotional grief for, oh, the past 30 years and that, as a result, I have seen my father once in the past 20 years.

Dad Today

As soon as I got the email, I called my dad in his hospital room, told him I love him and I’m on my way, then started getting ready to go to the hospital. Then, when I was in the hospital, by my dad’s side, a miracle happened: He said the words I have been waiting to hear for a lifetime. And in a single instant, a gaping wound was healed and everything changed.

I’d like the opportunity to enjoy a new, healthy, positive relationship with my dad. Whatever your religion or non-religion, please pray for his complete and speedy recovery — body, mind, heart, and soul. I believe in the power of energy healing and positive intentions. I know that together, we can bring him to vibrant health.

Thank you as always, dear readers, for your loyalty, love, and participation in my ever-evolving life.

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Ok this is going to be a stream of consciousness, possibly rambly blog post. I just read an article speaking in scientific terms about energy medicine and energy healing. It was so validating!!! It confirmed things I have felt and known and experienced since I was a child. But I kept being ridiculed, demeaned, pathologized, chastised, and whatnot for having these experiences and defending them.

So I developed all these, what shall I call it, nicey-nicey ways of talking about things, so that people’s feathers wouldn’t get all ruffled, but I still could take care of myself. Like you can’t say, in a pro-smoking world, that people are being assholes for smoking in front of you, because they are essentially undermining your chance at a healthy life. They will be like, fuck you.

So when I lived in Israel, where smoking is a way of life, I would tell people I have asthma (kinda true; had it bad throughout my childhood, until I self healed from it in my early 20s – cool story, I should tell you all about it sometime), and I would be all apologetic, and I’d negotiate some kind of arrangement where they weren’t shoveling soot into my lungs.

Urgh. I want to communicate something, but I think it’s finding its words right now, percolating through my system. So I’ll share it another time. But it’s something about how we grow up in a world where certain people or figures – Abraham, Martin Luther King, Albert Einstein, Mother Theresa – are considered these very wise people, to whom people refer and defer. But if you’re a little girl or everyday person who has brilliant, revolutionary, off-the-chart thoughts, you’ll be shunned, ridiculed, dismissed, belittled, etc.

People are not thinking. They are not listening. Maybe they do not have the capacity, I don’t know. But when they respond positively to someone like the figures mentioned above, it’s because it’s already socially sanctioned to do so. Oooooh, yes this person was a great man/woman. Which of course is probably the case. But so are a whole lot of other people, who are not being heard, validated, respected. Who are being treated like imbeciles, by authority figures with the power to fuck up the lives of the people who actually know more, just intuitively, than those with all kinds of degrees.

And I’d like to talk about these degrees. It’s so middle school. I actually talk about how everything I learned about life, I learned in middle school. Someone decided they were really hot and smart and should be admired and so forth. And they walked through the world like that, and social circumstances were such that people around responded to these individuals like that. Then these individuals set up schools and claimed they were the best schools. So then all kinds of social measurements were set up in relation to those schools.

But when you follow the trail, it’s all bullshit. Somebody made something up.

Same in art, music, literature, science, medicine, you name it. Somebody somewhere decided something. Maybe that person was a genius, maybe that person was a butthead with excellent self-promotion skills. But the people who follow are more often than not robots, unquestioning, unthinking, having a degree conferred upon them, thinking that makes them something, maybe something better than the next person. Losing their humanity. Losing their vision. Not staying vibrantly awake each day, each moment, in tune with their senses.

Anyhow, that’s all I got for now. I’m sleepy. And I want to eat something fresh and tasty. So off I go. Night night, kiss kiss.

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I know someone whose girlfriend died of cancer after a valiant struggle. Today he sent me some of his thoughts about the medical system. He gave me permission to publish this part. I think he asked some great questions:

Is it right that our ventures into this medical system are dependent on luck? Luck that someone makes a right decision?  Luck that we have that rare doctor who is an honest healer? Luck that the drug they choose actually does more good than harm? A medical system which is largely dependent on luck is a pathetic joke.

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I woke up this morning feeling shitty again, but not as shitty as the day before or the day before that. Progress, my mom reminded me. But I was scared. When we’ve had injuries that have not healed for months or years, every new injury comes with apprehension: How bad will it be this time? How long will it last? How much work will I lose? How long before I can go out and play again? The list of uncertainties goes on.

I have had pain in just about every region of my body, and I can say this for certain: Nothing, not a damn thing, is as scary or earth-shattering as having cognitive dysfunction. I felt scared that I may have lost the essence of my being, because some dumb nurse decided to prescribe me a medication that has side effect funsies like peripheral neuropathy, meningitis, and central nervous system disease. I have said it before and I’ll say it again: WHAT THE FUCK IS A MEDICATION LIKE THAT DOING ON THE MARKET? I want names and addresses.

But I digress. Here’s the point of this here blog post today: I sludged through, trudged through, and otherwise hauled ass through the murky swamp formerly known as my brain. I spent a few hours doing public relations work for an awesome doctor whose book I’m promoting. I pitched a potential new client – an act which requires all kinds of quick thinking skills, identifying on the spot what kinds of work would benefit them and how I might apply that work.

What I discovered was this: It was the act of using my brain, of putting myself in situations where I would need the very capacities that seemed just out of my reach, that brought those capacities back to life. Which reminds me of that saying, “use it or lose it.” It’s almost as if I was in a largely darkened room, with light far off in the distance, and every time I engaged in a mentally challenging activity, there would be a spark of light in my room, then the light would stay on for a few minutes, then half an hour, then fade back into darkness, then come back on again, and so on throughout the day.

Then I decided to get back on the bike trails. I was apprehensive, because I was feeling quite wobbly. My balance was still off all day, and I felt as if I had a bowling ball for a head. But I decided that I had to get back on the bike trails, go where I was scared of going, so that I could reclaim and reactivate my mental capacities. I called my mom ahead of time, told her my route, and planned on calling her when I arrived at the one-mile point. If I didn’t call my mom within an hour, she was going to call for help.

I was deliriously excited to arrive at the one-mile mark. I felt good and wanted to continue. I first stopped to call Mama. But the damn phone didn’t work. So I waved down two bikers and one pedestrian, until I found someone who had a cell phone to lend me. (I have to say, people on the trail are especially friendly!) Since I didn’t have a working phone, I decided to play it safe and bike back. Still, that two mile round trip was enough to make me feel super accomplished and taking back my life.

Not long after my return, I felt a wave of nausea and numbness. I decided to dance it out. When I started dancing, I felt as if I would collapse. So I called my mom to ask her to call me in an hour, to make sure I hadn’t keeled over. By the half-hour mark, I was leaping and twirling – all traces of nausea, fainting, and numbness flat-out GONE.

Then about fifteen minutes later, it returned. So I chilled out the intensity and slowly brought my dance session to a close. After that I worked on another client’s media development. At first, I was battling growing nausea and difficulty concentrating. But I was able to power through, and in doing so, my mental capacities cleared up. Now it’s almost 2:00 am, and I am feeling about 75-80% me again. Most importantly, I recognize myself again internally.

So before I go to sleep, I’m giving myself a big fat fucking gold star.

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