In other words, does your life support a pain-free reality? Are you constantly eating junk food that jacks up your inflammation, or to the contrary, are you eating tons of green leafy vegetables, which reduce your inflammation and promotes the overall health of your immune system?

Are you a couch potato, sedentary slave to your pain, thereby compromising your body’s production of pain-busting chemicals, or are you doing as much activity as you can (ie, without exacerbating your pain), thereby improving your circulation and the production of endorphins in your body?

Natural pain relief doesn’t just mean reaching for supplements instead of pharmaceuticals. It means taking an honest look at your life and figuring out what is promoting a healthy, happy body, and what is working against it. This week, take 10 minutes to reflect on your life. Write down two things that work well and two that need improvement. Then write down one step you can take in the next week, to tend to the part of your life that needs a little booster shot.

Remember: You have the power to impact your body and influence your health. And despite pain, you can do little tiny things that make a difference – one painless baby step at a time.

Order the “5 steps to Successful Chronic Pain Management” e-book on our natural pain relief store, for more tips on how to life your life pain-free!

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The thing is, while effective pharmaceuticals are amazing for immediate, take-the-edge-off response to pain, they fail to eliminate the root cause of whatever condition is causing us pain. Meaning, we need to keep on taking those drugs, to keep on treating that pain.

There are a few problems with pill-popping over the long haul:

1. Pharmaceuticals are notorious for causing all kinds of side effects that further destabilize our bodies, meaning that we may end up on even more drugs, to treat the problems caused by the drugs we already are on.
2. Over time, many pharmaceuticals peter out. Like crack addicts, we end up needing to take higher and higher doses, to get the same pain-relief effect. Even then, we may not feel the level of relief we once felt.
3. Speaking of crack addicts, pharmaceuticals cause chemical dependencies that mirror addiction. They also straight-out cause addiction. Like we don’t have enough issues already when living with chronic pain.

Natural pain relief is a way of life that promotes overall health and wellness. In other words, it’s not just a lifestyle habit. It’s a life-saving habit:

By eating organic, nutritious food, especially vegan, we not only reduce or eliminate our pain, but we also reduce or eliminate toxins that are known to cause illnesses as potentially life-threatening as cancer. By engaging in mild to moderate exercise, we not only promote blood circulation and release endorphins that lower or eliminate pain (even if temporarily), but we also improve our overall cardiovascular health, in turn preventing diseases as potentially life threatening as heart attacks.

I’m not suggesting that you stop popping pills cold turkey. I am, however, suggesting that this week, you evaluate your lifestyle habits and figure out one little baby step you can take, to optimize your health and wellness.

Is there a toxic person in your life? Maybe this week, you can have a couple less phone calls with that person. Do you sleep poorly because of a less-than-ideal pillow? Maybe this week, you can splurge and get yourself a headrest that works better for you.

Yes, natural pain relief takes effort. And yes, you are worth it.

Order the “5 steps to Successful Chronic Pain Management” e-book on our natural pain relief store, for more tips on how to life your life pain-free!

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Those assaults impact the body, eroding our life force and our relationship to our own damn skin. We come to feel uncomfortable in our bodies, or we rework our bodies to be in hiding or to fit the “on display” way of walking through the world. Think “hoochie mama” for that last one, and you know what I’m talking about.

There is a cumulative effect, just like with too much exposure to radiation.

When I go bike riding, I throw on a dark t-shirt and bike shorts. I do not wear a bra. Most of the men who pass me stare at my chest unabashedly, as if it is their right to visually consume my breasts. As if my breasts are independent objects, on display. As if the breasts are not on the sacred body of a human being with a heart and spirit.

I have been repeatedly surprised by the ogling, as I do not wear anything “revealing.” It’s a loose damn t-shirt. Not that if it were tight or with a plunging neckline, the ogling would be any more justified. But I’m just pointing out how extreme this behavior is. I have been so perplexed by the phenomenon that I actually have looked down when men stare, trying to figure out what the hell they are looking at and seeing.

I came to realize that when these men pass a woman, they must just zero in on her breasts, as if it’s their birthright. It makes me angry. Especially in the case of the guy today, who just would not take his eyes off, as he slowly passed me. What the fuck! It makes me see red. It makes me want to kick their bikes, yell at them, spit on them. As in, right back atcha, fuckface.

This socially-sanctioned form of violence – ie, violation – is so pervasive that hardly anyone notices it or talks about it or does a damn thing about it. We serve up our daughters to this undignified treatment, even sanctifying it as an indicator that a girl or woman is “beautiful” – the ultimate accomplishment, we are taught, for any female.

And it’s so damn pervasive, that I’m left with two choices: fight it constantly, or tune it out. Ahh, there’s the rub. Tuning it out means constantly and repeatedly denying the natural inclination of taking up and protecting our space. Therein lies the erosion. Another option is hiding and succumbing – ie, wearing a bra. Another erosion of the human spirit.

When I was sleeping on the beach in Tel Aviv, nearly 20 years ago at the age of 24, I woke up and took a shower on the beach. Naked. A man ogled me. “It is disrespectful to stare at my body. Turn around!” I commanded him. He did as I said. That is power. I get to be buck naked and you don’t get to look. That is also basic respect.

The energy of male-female interactions is one of peeking, copping a feel, grabbing, getting away with something. The female body, or body parts, become the target in a video game. And so girls and women are under assault constantly. Forget the threat of rape or murder or the domestic violence that happens every eight seconds. That’s extreme. I’m talking about the stuff you’ve numbed yourself out to.

The stuff that makes women more sick than men.

In 1996, I wrote a book called CONSEQUENCE: Beyond Resisting Rape. I chronicled my journey hitting men who harassed me – like the time I hit two soldiers in the balls for staring at my chest. My journey pushing the boundaries of response to sexual harassment was thrilling. Empowering. To keep it up over a lifetime, however, would be exhausting. As long as violence against women, in its tiniest or most grotesque forms, remains socially sanctioned, it will require battle to defend against it every day. And nonstop battle is depleting. But so is the erosion of our energetic field.

What to do?

In my 20s, I confronted things head-on. In my 30s, I avoided things – because I had enough on my plate, dealing with chronic pain. In my 40s? I don’t know. But I do know that I shouldn’t have to wear a bra, or a t-shirt for that matter, when I go biking. I do know that men need to teach boys and other men a different way of seeing, so that the “male gaze” dissolves, and gaze of respect and dignity meets women instead.

People have often said I should go to Burning Man. I always had the sense, however, that I would hate it. Nobody could understand, because I’m your prototypical anarchist artist type. But a new friend of mine said I would hate it. “Thank you!” I replied. “That’s always been what I thought. Why do you say that?” She shared with me that while men ran around without pants, without any predatory attack by women, women who went without shirts were sexually harassed with the “hey baby,” whistles, and all the other crap that women get on the streets – which are not as “enlightened” as these supposed hippies are.

It’s such bullshit, and I’m so tired of it. And I’m so tired of how overwhelming it is to take it on. As I documented in CONSEQUENCE, when a woman creates the rules of the game and starts hitting men who are assaulting her verbally or visually – the violence that deliberately falls through the cracks — she is the one considered the assailant. So she ends up not just assaulted by a creep, but then assaulted by the criminal “justice” system.

It is sick. And, as an upshot, so are we.

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I am preparing by practicing guided imagery with CDs, dancing, meditating, resting, and PLAYING. I plan to go swimming in a lake! Meanwhile I would appreciate your good thoughts, positive energy, prayers for healing, and love sent my way. I have done my part, and I now ask my Creator to join me in my efforts – taking my hand and granting me Perfect Health.

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The parent may (probably will) continue being the same to the child, but the child will have experienced a contradiction – a critical challenge to the behavior of the parent. You have no idea how transformational that little seed can be. A child can hang onto the experience for a lifetime.

I believe that health is not just a personal matter but also a societal matter. There is a kind of osmosis between the personal and the communal. So even from a health perspective, I think it’s critical to raise our voices and help move the world towards a more loving paradigm.

Tonight I was at Walgreen’s, picking up a Rx. I was in line behind a woman and her two kids, maybe four and seven years old. The woman’s energy was very harsh, and she kept telling her kids don’t do this, don’t do that, in a very unkind tone. She was super controlling, too – things that were totally harmless, like the kid asking a question or doing anything other than standing totally still and quiet like a statue got a reprimand.

The kids were clearly unhappy and bottled up – I mean, who wouldn’t be? I got the sense that they probably got whacked around at home. When the woman’s turn came up, and she was picking up her meds, she made her umpteenth scolding comment at her older son, apparently named Sergio. “Do you ever say anything nice to him?” I asked.

I don’t know if she didn’t hear me or if she ignored me, but that question got Sergio’s full attention. He kept looking at me after that, with a light that suddenly had come to life in his eyes. Plus the little son, sitting in the shopping cart with a dead expression on his face, suddenly had lighter energy and began to be responsive to my friendly interaction with him. The kids had been smelling some scratch-and-sniff coupons, so I made conversation with both of them (one-way verbally, but they were responsive in body language) about how much fun it is to have cool scented stuff.

Then, after another scold or two directed at the older son, the woman turned to walk away. “Please be kinder to your son,” I said gently. Again, I got Sergio’s full attention. The woman turned to look at me briefly then continued away, stammering something to the effect of, “Don’t you worry about how I treat my son…” I tuned her out after that. My intended audience, her son, had heard me loud and clear. He had an advocate.

When I finished with the Rx purchase, I turned to walk away. I heard the voices of the mom and her two sons (she was still busy scolding the older one), so as I walked away, I looked in their direction to send some love to the kids. Sergio was watching me. I smiled at him and waved, then left the store.

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Mrs. Weber was a disciple of a lineage of monks tracing back a few hundred years ago. Back in the day, they discovered that they made different sounds when they prayed kneeling, standing, bowing, and so on. From that discovery came a music tradition of “singing” from various parts of the body. Each generation, a new master was chosen to teach the method to students.

I passed the audition, was accepted to the Conservatory, and studied with Mrs. Weber for the next seven years of my life. Had I been assigned to another flute teach, I only would have learned flute. But because I was assigned to Mrs. Weber, I not only learned how to play flute. I learned the foundation of mind-body medicine.

From a young age, I was not excited about visiting doctors or taking certain drugs. Perhaps a certain amount of that was just about being a kid, but I distinctly remember thinking it was a really bad idea when my dad pushed Dristan nasal spray on me, when I developed nasal congestion. Something about spraying chemicals into my nose just did not feel right.

(As it turned out, Dristan caused an addiction, exacerbated my nasal congestion, and ultimately damaged my olfactory senses – so that I had to more or less stick a flower up into my nose so as to smell it.)

Through Mrs. Weber’s guidance, I learned about breathing into and singing from different parts of my body. When I played flute “singing” from my shoulder blades, I got a very powerful sound. When I played flute “singing” from my “umbrella” (the area between the throat and the roof of the mouth), I got a very soothing sound. And so on. I was singing from all over my body – the arches in my heel, my groin, my nose, you name it.

I also learned about energy, though we didn’t call it that. When I wanted to sail over a high note, I cast my intention above that note. In addition, when I flew over high notes, I grounded into the earth by sending energy through my body – like roots of a tree. As I blew air out, I also absorbed it in, creating a clear, clean sound instead of a super airy or excessive or shrill sound. And on and on and on.

It’s not surprising that while I have barely picked up my flute since my mid-20s, except maybe three times, I played better than ever a couple of days ago, when I picked it up again. That’s because now, more than ever, I understand and master the flow of energy. And so playing those super high notes – the ones that used to make my palms sweat with anxiety – are now a breeze.

I also learned the power of visualization, the kind that elite athletes now regularly use. While I was playing notes, I was visualizing myself playing the upcoming notes. The idea was never to “crash into” a note, but rather, to prepare it mentally, then sail into it easily from that visualization.

I also learned to breathe into parts of my body that hurt. Which came in really handy, being that everyone on my dad’s side had back pain. I remember my back going out when I was 14 years old. I didn’t officially know what it was, but I just knew. My back is out. I breathed into it, as Mrs. Weber had taught me to do with regards to various body parts, and within a day, my back was 100% in shape again. In addition, whenever I got any kind of back pain throughout my childhood, I’d breathe into the pain, and poof! It would be gone.

Ironically, it was that ability to self-heal that left me overwhelmed following the first in a series of injuries in the mid-1990s. When my back went out, I could not make it go back to normal. Bedridden for a couple of weeks, I was extremely frustrated and scared that the condition might be permanent. But that’s a whole other story I will leave for another time.

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Abuse is rampant, creating a vicious cycle. People suffer silently, because most people do not want to deal with the depths of pain and suffering caused by abuse. And so people who have been abused stuff the feelings deep inside – swallowing the rage, fear, and hurt.

Society has a much higher approval for addictive and self-destructive behavior than it does for something like yelling raw and loud and fierce in the middle of the street, at nobody in particular, seemingly about nothing in particular. That kind of authentic self-expresison just scares the bejesus out of people – probably because it awakens in them the seemingly never-ending tunnel of rage and grief that many people have buried deep down in the pit of their souls.

Here are some steps that I suggest for empowering yourself enough to get the angries out in safe and healthy ways, no matter what other people think. I want to acknowledge that the more rural one’s environment, and the less money one has, the more challenging it will be to access help. But see it as a challenge. Get creative. Use the internet. Find free options. Offer to trade your service for a service you need. And keep in mind that while any number of your attempts may not work, that’s part of the process of life. Keep on keeping on, and know that you are worth the effort. You get one shot at life. Make it count so that you can enjoy the fuck out of it.

Find like minded people.
Search the internet for support groups. Read books that open your mind, heart, and soul. Join local or phone-based 12-step groups. Look for art therapy and music therapy programs at your local community college. Call the women’s center of the local university (even if you’re a guy) and ask for resources. Follow the trail: When someone seems cool, safe, and knowledgeable, ask for additional resources.

Get help.
People who go to therapy are not dumb or crazy. They are smart and courageous. People who don’t deal with their shit are foolish. Look for psychotherapists who are loving and feel safe. Trust your gut. Keep looking till you find someone who makes you feel as if you have just come home to yourself. Again, follow the trail. Ask people you trust about good therapists. Remember that you may end up with a few bad therapists before you find a good one. It’s good to have a support system (see #1) in place as you embark on the journey looking for a therapist.

Take baby steps acknowledging and expressing your emotions.
Once you get your support network in place, start getting your angries out, one baby step at a time. Write about your feelings, then maybe read your journal to someone you trust. Create music and art that express your feelings. Dance. Drum. Study self-defense, even if only verbal boundary-setting workshops. Go with a safe friend to a part of the beach or forest where there are not lots of people, and yell and stomp your feet. Get a yellow-pages phone book and the black foam insulator for pipes. Using the insulator, whack the shit out of the yellow pages (simultaneous yelling optional) – it makes a satisfying cracking noise.

Move.
Get your energy moving through and out of your body. Practice yoga. Run. Dance. Take up fencing. Play basketball. Row. Swim. Learn kick-boxing. If pain prevents you from doing any of these, do modified forms that are safe and comfortable for your body, or find physical activities that accommodate your limitations. Never push into your pain zones, because that will compromise your ability to heal. For more information about how to dance safely, even in bed, check out these videos on the Dancing with Pain method.

Congratulate yourself.
It takes tremendous courage to express ourselves authentically in this society. Pat yourself on the back for every step you take towards expressing pain and anger in healthy and safe ways.

Pre-order the Dancing with Pain audio class series, and get ready to dance in the comfort of your home!

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Well, I was having none of that.

So I decided that I would drink inordinate quantities of chocolate milk, so as to train my body not to have an allergic reaction to it. It worked! I guess it’s no surprise that three plus decades later, I’m smack in the middle of the mind-body medicine movement…

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The experience set me on a path exploring and researching mind-body medicine. I always beleived that my body had the power to heal itself, but I felt like a mouse running around and around a maze, knowing the exit was somewhere but unable to find it.

I encourage you to keep searching until you find the modality that stimulates your body’s self-healing abilities. Maybe you need a jumpstart, a holding hand, or some heavy-duty intervention along the way. But as David Simon, MD says, “The most powerful pharmacy is not Walgreens or CVS or Rite-Aid. It’s the human body.”

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So today’s topic is emotional freedom. I had a radical commitment to emotional freedom since graduating college. I moved to Los Angeles, and that’s where I became myself. Growing up and becoming an adult, I came to understand, meant finally being free to be the child we were always meant to be but not allowed to be.

I have a lot of stuff about that too – ideas about how children behave and how adults behave. I have always lived in a fluid continuum, and the various barriers felt artificial. In a lot of situations and on a lot of levels. But here I’m getting abstract or esoteric or not clear enough about what the fuck I’m talking about, which is exactly why I don’t like to write unless I have a few hours to do it.

So back to the radical commitment thread. I’ll talk about smashing bottles. The first time I smashed a bottle, I was home alone with my sister. But I’ll save that story for another time. I really started getting into bottle smashing after talking with a friend of mine who was a survivor of incest. I think we met at a Take Back the Night rally at my college, the year after I graduated.

At any rate, inspired by her, I would take my pent up emotions, release them into a bottle, and late at night, after looking below and making sure the coast was clear, throw that bottle down the, oh, four or six flights from my Westside apartment. SMASH! All those emotions dissipated into a million shards of glass.

Why don’t we have, as part of our social norms, bottle smashing ranges? Designated areas where people can go and release their emotions?

People talk about how the youth is wasted on the young, how people spent their 20s being stupid. My youth was spent dedicated to what you might call Absolut Freedom. 100%. Full speed ahead. My mantra was, “There is no limit.” I challenged myself constantly. I defied my fears and defied convention and crossed the threshold of socialization.

People assumed I had not been properly socialized, like I’d missed a memo or 107 along the way. No, I was properly socialized alright. And then I challenged myself to uber awareness of what was mine and what was imposed upon me. And I activated my core, authentic Being.

It’s actually why I became a writer. I figured that if I kept going the rate I was going, well, you remember that song, “They’re Coming to Take Me Away?” I realized I better get some clout and fast.

It’s interesting how people assume that when someone is not doing something according to conventional norms, they are “crazy.” It’s kind of like, if you don’t believe in Jesus, you clearly haven’t heard the gospel. It’s not possible that you’d know all about the Jesus trip and still not buy it. It’s not possible that you actually know how to act like a so-called civilized, so-called respectable young lady, but actively choose to act differently.

Why do we emphasize things like math and science and all the “basics” but not human freedom and authentic expression? Why do people typically ask questions like, “What do you do,” “Are you married,” and “Do you have kids,” as opposed to “Is your soul manifested in the work you do,” “Does your spouse honor your authentic self and encourage you to fly,” and “Are you living life on your terms?”

When I lived in a house, I smashed bottles. Wait, did I write about this already? Anyhow. There was a cement area in the back, with a fence around it. We built the fence higher, then added a net on top, with the net curving inwards onto our yard at the top, so that any glass would stay on our side of the property.

When I’d be in a bad mood – not a fit of rage, mind you, but just feeling yucky energies I didn’t want floating around in my system – I’d go to the backyard, yell whatever the hell I wanted, at the top of my lungs, and smash bottles. Jamaican ginger beer bottles were my favorite, because they were light to toss and gave a crisp smashing sound and thorough shattering. Satisfying.

Within minutes, I’d be chortling, giggling, like a fresh little baby, full of delight.

OK there’s a lot more to this story, but I’ve come to the time limit for today’s installment. Nighty night.

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