Reconnecting the Healing Circle I wrote this book I was so sick, even spending a lot of time in bed. What I learned from the study, thought and experimentation that went into this writing has impacted the rest of my life in profound ways. Much to my pleased surprise levels of health, energy, spirituality, joy of life, accomplishment continue to increase. Although I’d never have believed it then, this serious illness was a blessing – and my stubborn determination not to have an operation, but to seek alternative healing and spiritual health.

This is the most personally written of my books and I sometimes feel I share too much. My thinking was that by letting you into my reality, you would find useful clues to your own health and healing physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Order Reconnecting the Healing Circle directly from:


Reconnecting the Healing Circle is written to heal myself, to get at the spiritual dimensions of health and healing and to share with you my learning and experiences. How do we heal ourselves? Is there more available to us than the usual Western medical model? What is, in fact, known in the spiritual worlds of health, healing and alternative care?

Amazingly the healing lessons from Reconnecting the Healing Circle continue to be highly effective for me. It is my deep hope that you too will come away realizing how you really do control and can more positively impact your own health and healing.

I’d love to hear from you and will always read your letters and emails and will reply as my schedule permits. 



This book records a change in consciousness—from illness to wellness.  My views of health and healing have undergone a 180-degree shift that feels wonderfully permanent. The same “traditional health care system” that pronounced me in trouble now finds me well.

At first this experiment was purely personal and pragmatic.  I did not want a hysterectomy, nor did I want to bleed to death from fibroid tumors.  I did want back my marvelous health.  Prepared to grab healing from any direction I slowly became aware of deeper laws, of a relationship between thought and manifestations. And of the solid continuous joy that a more spiritually based life could hold.  I sensed that past mountain peaks of happiness could in fact become new foothills of ordinary life.  My mind was more wondrous and my body more fluid and self-healing than I’d ever dreamed.  Hard as it was for me to believe, health and healing, under the new rules, were directly under my control.  Mind, attitudes and beliefs were key as was unearthing and dissipating negative thought and conditioning.

Along the way to learning laws of the spirit and of this new consciousness, I also discovered alternative healing and health ideas that have changed my life.  I have reconnected my own healing circle. I have reconnected with some women’s healing circles and come to a new trust. By sharing experiences as they impacted me I hope to share this learning with you.  And thus perhaps to shorten your time spent on unproductive paths and to deepen your interest in discovering and reconnecting your own healing circles, whatever form they take.

Self-care is at the heart of what I’ve discovered. Although we seek and accept help, self-healing—reconnecting our healing circles—is the only kind there is.  Self-healing means we take responsibility for our own health and healing—at the deepest level.  Self-healing means that we must each find our unique way.  Self-healing for me now means judicious combinations of Western and Eastern healing based upon comprehensive health and healing knowledge, which is in turn grounded in spiritual laws. Spiritual, for me, is that common center of experience, which holds true across all religions. Self-healing also means that you know where to go to get the help you need. It includes trustworthy resources and people who are dedicated to healing the whole woman. This help especially includes preventive care and has, in my experience, meant less and less reliance on the traditional medical system and more and more use of alternative care.

Although some names have been changed to prevent confusion and protect privacy, the experiences are real. Pat is the fictitious name of my life partner.

In retrospect I believe any illness could have served the purpose of changing my life, for what needed addressing was life style, ignorance and underlying belief systems.  By the same token I believe any person concerned with wellness and health can uncover here ideas and information that can help them, just as it did me, to gain a larger view of our universe of healing.  As my vision has enlarged, I’ve seen that spiritual learning is a solution for more than our physical ills.

It is my particular hope that women dealing with so-called “female” problems will especially find encouragement here to forge their own paths, more independently than before.  Healing can come from other directions besides Western and rational thought. And we can learn to trust alternative healing, ourselves, other women, and their experiences.

I hope this story of one woman’s search will save you time and open your thinking to other alternative treatment.  I would wish in my wildest dreams to solve women’s fibroid problems, or all of them for that matter, just as in my wildest fantasies I will some day find a book that contains all the answers I’ll ever need.

So much for wishful fantasies.  Just remember as I search among many books and places, experiences and theories to find a path with heart for myself, that this is self-growth we must all undertake. Or face the consequences.

We can totally change our lives for the better. We owe it to ourselves and to those close to us to discover the full spectrum of healing and health.  I hope this book nurtures your search for health and healing, high-level wellness[1] and spiritual growth.


[1]              Halbert Dunn, in 1950, coined the phrase and promoted the basic idea of “hegh level wellness.” Donald Ardell, particularly in Planning for Wellness, Kendall/Hunt publishers, 1981 and High level Wellness: An Alternative to Doctors, Drugs and Disease, Ten Speed press, 1986, enlarges this theme.

Chapter 1

108 Days to Healing

 Day One

This is the low point in my fight to keep my uterus.  If I was less stubborn, or perhaps simply less scared, I’d give in, have the hysterectomy.  “You’re playing Russian roulette with cancer.  If you were my sister I’d insist you have the operation.”  The cancer specialist I was referred to is stern and serious.  I’m scared.

The laparoscopy, D & C and hysteroscopy were one month ago today.  And today I lie in bed trying once again to stop the bleeding.  This current pattern is clear: stop bleeding, feel great, start living normally—and begin shedding again from my uterus.

Uterus.  Womb.  These are words I’ve never used.  When I talk it’s of my stomach.  Ignorant of my body, resentful of the need for change, my current choices narrow:  Hold on to that uneducated other-controlled past and sacrifice my uterus.  “You don’t need it any more,” they tell me, and surely they are correct.  My daughter is herself middle-aged; I am past bearing or wanting a child.

Yet the faint voice of my womb gains strength.  I am birthing, it tells me in shadowy 3 a.m. whispers.  Something never dreamed of by you seeks to come into existence.  From outside my ordinary scientific consciousness, a new awareness blossoms.  With a pleasurable shock I realize that western medicine goes straight from drugs to surgery.  There is no middle ground.  With joy I know that I not only want the middle ground, I want the low ground.  I want the vast ground, the entire mind, body, emotional and spiritual ground.

I desire to know the meaning of these 30-year fibroids in my womb and what they, leaving aside my ego, wish to manifest.  What will I find, when I totally face all implications of their existence?  And what are fibroids anyway?  The more I learn, the more cloudy the distinctions are between healthy and unhealthy tissue.

“Less than one percent of fibroids turn cancerous,” medical statistics say.  “Your Paps are normal; your endometrial biopsy is normal,” I’ve heard over and over.  Even this last tissue, a hunk biopsied right off my oldest fibroid, is normal after I push past an almost benign.  “What do you mean?” I was sharp.  “The biopsy is benign or it isn’t.  Which is it?”

You will learn later of my further education in cancer growth but for now I wish to make very clear that if any biopsy of mine showed cancer I would bless my good luck at living where and when I do and run to the best conventional medical treatment I could locate, though I would surely choose to augment it.

Now, however, finding myself in this precarious position one-step before the need for drastic medical intervention, surgical removal of my uterus, I seek alternatives.

Day Two

Nothing starts where it starts.  My 108 days of healing are arbitrarily chosen.  The 108 has spiritual connotations. Hindus have strings of 108 beads to represent their 108 names of God. The 108 add to nine, a spiritual number in the kabala, tarot, and other places.

To pick a beginning:  Was I born with fibroids from a long lineage of women?  Am I doomed to a hysterectomy and am now fighting the inevitable?

There is evidence of the effects of heredity; there is evidence that the incidence of fibroids in American women is increasing.  But birth is too long ago to begin and I well realize the statistics for hysterectomies in American women are appalling.

My story could start with the first time I was told I had a small fibroid, a benign and non-cancerous growth on the top right side of my uterus, less than a half inch in diameter.  How could I worry over something so small?  The wonderful and far-seeing internist who found it even said that I might later be advised to have a hysterectomy because of it. And not to have it done. My plan for these 108 days chosen out of my life is to methodically look at my history, at psychological and emotional aspects, to examine Western and Eastern medicine, to experience herb therapy and acupuncture and further reaches towards alternative routes to healing that I may discover along the way.

What I seek now is the superior health of a spiritually developed woman.  In my Western environment the very act of naming this goal is hard to do. Even finding that I might have this goal is difficult, for a negative voice cries:  “Just who do you think you are?  Spiritual development is for people smarter and more mature than you.”

Then the voice of my best intuitive self answers that health and spiritual growth are for those who seek them and this path is open to all.

I suppose too that I’m borrowing Susan Sontag’s “Illness as Metaphor,” and looking (maybe for the first time ever) at health and disease, at what they really are.  I want to climb into health so far that it turns into disease, dive into disease so deep I discover health. And go so far into Eastern and Western notions of the body/mind/spirit that I find how they fit together—for me.

Then too there’s the real reason why I’m doing this—that I know a key to my personality lies hidden in the center of my fibroids.  Fibroids are tissue damage.  Why is the damage taking place?  What can I do to stop it?  To understand it?  To cure it?  As for why I am so sure that a positive answer exists—that’s what I’m here to discover.

Surely the best way to drown the negative voices is to get extremely busy doing positive things.  As Anais Nin says, “When you are trapped in destruction, open a door to creation.”  A choice, as I told someone the other day, is to proceed as if.  Then, it was as if I could be hypnotized; now, at least for the length of this narrative, it will be as if spiritual transformation and healing are available to me.

Day Three

            Question Number One:  If I sought unconditional healing, What would I do?

I would look for it, which is precisely my 108-day plan.  Except I’ve got a problem, for with my on and off current pattern of bleeding, I think I’m well when I’m not.  I accept the superficial and hurry back to the usual.  My ego (control, running everything) and my fear (not good enough, not doing enough, not worthy) has dominion over behavior and feelings.  Even my legitimate wanting things better for others is suspect—maybe all of that taking-care-of-others energy now needs to go into taking care of myself.  Co-dependency—if I don’t have it now, my past is surely riddled with it.

What will make me well right now, I ask, which is another way of asking what is my true spiritual path?  And of course if I knew that, I wouldn’t be in this mess.

Something makes me sick where I am.  What?  What is the message of these fibroids?  Of the bleeding, the enforced bed rest?  Of the energy, joys of sex, and pleasures I’m cheating myself of?  Or conversely, what is my reward for being incapacitated? What do I avoid doing? Where is my reward for being ill?  Or does a fun-loving part of me know its turn will never come?  That my workaholic, please-others style will always propel me deeper into work?  That play is practically extinct from my vocabulary?  Is getting sick still the only legitimate restful time for myself that’s allowed?  It’s been years since I’ve had a cold or flu, ever since I figured out that what I needed was to give myself permission to rest and that it was a lot more fun to spend a day in bed reading and resting than to spend several days sniffing and sneezing. Now, in order to outfox my ego, do illness and disease simply have to become more complicated?

No doubt about it, I have constructed a paradoxical puzzle for myself.  The Zen nun lends me words:

I don’t want to be sick and die any more than the next person, but I am so certain that knowing that there are sickness and death—my own sickness and death—is the place to start from.

Start from in the right way. It is not minor and to be smoothed away.  It is not a planetary tragedy, it is not a matter of course, and it is not untrue and to be kept hidden….

What Buddha did was “solve the problem of life and death.”  What the Zen masters exhort you to do is, “Here and now, solve the problems of life and death.”

…. That does not mean, “Be serious, don’t laugh, assume a solemn air, speak in grave tones”; nor yet, “Have another drink and forget it.”

It means, “Find out now, at once, what is the problem of life and death, your own life and death, and solve it.[1]

Nan Shin in Diary of A Zen Nun, fighting her battle with cancer,lays it out for me.  Not only do I have the chance to solve the problem of my life and death, this is an early opportunity to learn the lessons of sickness, an early rehearsal for death as it were.  Or a better life.

Day Four

            I thought about my uterus and this poem came out:

Sacred Blood

A uterus is weeping

unborn children

who will never be born


My uterus is weeping

unborn selves of myself

that will never see light


My uterus is weeping

dreams not brought into being

or helped to die


My uterus is weeping

as it now births

My immediate plan now is:

1) Day to day management: don’t hemorrhage, stay alive.

2) Commitment to stay with the fibroids, read (pain, impatience, anger, and other spiritual barriers to transformation) for the 108 days to healing. Unless of course there’s a medical emergency.

3) Long-term projects of the study of Chinese medicine, psychic healing, holistic health, transformation and the systematic study of Eastern and Western notions of health and disease.

4) Devise a routine for the 108 days with rules so simple I’ll follow them: bed, no lifting, diet, affirmations, and ask for directions from dreams and meditation.

I resolve that for my 108 days I will stop running and open myself to whatever is here.  I relieve myself of all “have-to’s.”

Day Five

The sequence continues to demonstrate itself: stay in bed, stop bleeding and feel great with flat belly and no pain; get up and I’m okay with limitations, do more and the bleeding/pain/belly swelling sequence starts again.  I keep replaying the sequence:  stupid or tired; self-defeating or simply learning a new reality; in denial or only ignorant?

What a high to talk with Marlene yesterday. Talking with an old friend with a PhD in Nursing who is also married to a physician certainly helps me better assess my chances.  It sets my mind more at ease, if nothing else.

She says her best experts say the pathology report that my GYN bases my need for a hysterectomy on, is mumbo jumbo motivated by protecting their fanny.  “How can you look at a pathology report and predict what will happen?” she asks.  Marlene said her GYN said if he biopsied every woman at the party they were attending, a low percentage would show a report like mine. But of that number, and for reasons utterly unknown to anybody, only so many would have cancer (back to my one percent of fibroids become cancerous). And at least as many, with exactly the same report, would never get cancer.  One pays one’s money and takes one’s chances.

Marlene says that Western physicians are also now saying that women should take estrogen for life—just as I suspected years ago.  (Suppose men stopped producing testosterone at 40 and could replace it in pills?  You’d better believe they’d do it in a flash, and figure better ways of doing it!).  Marlene says that only those women with a history of cancer should not take estrogen.

The odds are against you—90 percent of all gynecologic or pelvic surgeries for endometriosis, fibroids, fallopian tube repair, ovarian cysts, even appendicitis result in adhesions. These abnormal fibrous bands form between organ surfaces during healing. They occur predominantly in women …. One of the newest and most effective methods is the Interceed absorbable adhesion barrier…[2]

Wow—another reason not to have an operation and another thing my doctors never told me.

Day Six

If the Tibetan herbs don’t arrive from India today, make an appointment to get Chinese herbs and acupuncture.

“I’m treating my fibroids with Tibetan herbs,” a friend of a friend, told me two years ago.  Immediately intrigued I asked for more information.  I had known casually a couple of women involved with Tibetan healing.  They were doing something about clearing out their systems, purification.  The idea was provocative but not of special interest to me.

The notion of a treatment for fibroids captured my attention two years ago. For against my will my body was making itself felt.  Every 28 days pain and bleeding increased until the occasional trouble-free month was engulfed by the months growing worse and worse.

My GYN at that time was not happy.  Already I’d done this twice; used mind power, the healing power of affirmations, to shrink my fibroids.  I knew I could do it again.

I could and did.  Here is the pattern I followed: 20 minutes twice a day with intense meditative concentration on my fibroids, seeing them healed, dissipated, and reabsorbed.  On my daily two-mile walk I repeated: “I, Jo Ann, am filled with vibrant health and am radiantly beautiful. (‘Beautiful’ because I need the motivation and it makes me feel good.) Any fibroids have disappeared and/or been reabsorbed. I, Jo Ann, am now totally fibroid-free.”  I said this ten times in each of the three voices.  I, Jo Ann, am …  You, Jo Ann are vibrantly healthy and radiantly beautiful … She, Jo Ann, is … When needed, I also add I, Jo Ann (and You and She) have all the energy I need and want.

Two years ago my fibroids shrank.  For whatever reason, they once again became manageable.  My nurse friend, Marlene, says fibroids are prone to expand and to shrink depending on hormone levels, on what’s going on in the woman’s life and other fascinating and unknown factors.  As I told a Canadian physician many years ago, “I don’t care if Vitamin C keeps me from getting colds or I don’t get colds when I take Vitamin C because I think that when I take Vitamin C I won’t get colds; all I care about is: I take vitamin C in fairly large amounts; I haven’t had a cold in years; I’m going to keep on taking it unless you demonstrate some very good reason why I shouldn’t.”  So, I thought my fibroids away; so, they shrank by themselves.  So, who cares which happened if they’re gone.  It helps though, if like my Vitamin C and colds, the experiment is repeatable and/or keeps working.

For what I learned, after several gyrations through the process, was that indeed I could shrink my fibroids; I could even keep them shrunk.  But the cost, in serious attention and time, was one that was too high for me to pay in perpetuity.[3] I had other things do with my life; surely there was some other way to keep them in check.  Or I’d settle for not having them—which was largely my trouble-free state for 30 or so years. Until I participated, about 5 years ago, in an experiment using estrogen patches (which with my fibroid was contraindicated), and which delivered doses of estrogen so large my fibroids went absolutely crazy.  I only signed up for the study because in my poor-writer condition, free medical care loomed like a free gift.  This gift was not free!

Two years ago, before these present troubles, Tibetan medicine offered a possible way out.  I chased it with enthusiasm and followed the instructions to obtain it like an incantation.  “Bring your first urine in a jar, bring your money in an envelope for Dr. Dhonden[4] prefers to have nothing to do with money.”  I arrived at the private home, waited a short while and then was shown in to see Dr. Yeshi Dhonden, former physician to the Dali Lama.  Prepared for a holy man, I was struck by his far-seeing black eyes, which I discovered were leveled straight at me.  He took my urine sample, stirred it vigorously, giving it his full attention.  I felt a little silly.  Finished, he turned that full attention to me, asking through an interpreter, “Why are you here?”

“I’ve got fibroids,” I said to this man of presence and no wasted motion.   “They give me trouble and my doctor wants to operate.”  How surprised I was later to learn that this holy man I thought was in his 40’s was instead in his 60’s.

My words came under full advisement. Then he bent forward and simply unbuttoned my jeans, zipped them down and put his hand flat over my belly pushing around a bit.  He’d said not a word before beginning this process; I was somewhat dumbstruck and wondering what came next when he began talking to the interpreter.  I don’t remember exact words but the gist was, “I’ll give you herbs, the fibroids will be gone in six months, don’t eat bell peppers (one of my favorites), cabbage, cauliflower or broccoli, and cook all your vegetables.  Do you drink, smoke?” he asked.  My, “Not much,” and, “No,” answers pleased him and I was given some herbs with the information that each month’s prescription would be mailed to me from India.

The procedure was exciting; every two months I sent my money and a Xerox of my prescription to India and received back an envelope with foreign stamps and exotic pills.  After a time, perhaps eight or ten months, when the current supply of Tibetan herbs ran out, I didn’t reorder.

I return now to recapture that casual moment of decision and all I find is vagueness.  The clearest remembrance is of fear: “What’s in those herbs?” people would ask me, and of course I didn’t know.  Faint images of dirty beggars in India would jostle momentarily with a Chinese sage on a Taoist mountain or a saffron-clad Buddha and I would wonder what I was doing in this peculiar place.  Yeshi Dhonden had said six months and the fibroids would be gone; I’d been taking his herbs longer.  I felt terrific.  The fibroids weren’t gone, as measured with ultrasound, a lot more pleasant experience than the endometrial biopsies I’d been having at every drop of somebody’s wanting to be absolutely sure), but they were under control.  This could be a good time to stop and let my body purge itself of whatever was in those herb pills I’d been taking.

Certainly the mysterious illness of the previous autumn played a part: temperature of 104, two days in the hospital with a million units of penicillin every four hours, a potassium drink at intervals because mine was very low and spots had appeared all over my body.  Like deep blisters under the skin, those on my hands and feet were the worst, a fight not to scratch.  I’d had no energy for weeks and tons of tests and never any clue as to what disease I’d had.  “Better stop all medication,” my internist advised as he admitted he was baffled.  I knew it could be the herbs.  Over time my body had just built up a reaction to them, I thought, and although I soon resumed the herbs, traces of doubt remained.  A kind of better quit while you’re ahead mood prevailed and I stopped the Tibetan herbs completely.

Once stopped the herbs were forgotten.  Forgetting was easy; I’m well trained in denial.  Engaged in the absorbing project of finishing a difficult manuscript and holding together the diverse strands of a complicated life, it was easy to dismiss my slow slide into trouble.  My periods were longer.  I had more pain.  I developed bigger clots.  I ignored the two or three days in bed, took triple strength Bufferin when I had to and sometimes self-medicated with a bottle of wine.

By now it’s two years later, I’m in trouble and this GYN is saying, “You need a D & C; I don’t feel comfortable.  You must be checked out.”

The pain in my side, separate from my uterus, is now really bad.  Why not have the operation?  And while we’re at it let’s see where this heavy bleeding and side pain are coming from.  Let’s check for endometriosis.  Long ago a doctor told me I had it, and with no trouble at all I could visualize odd little bits of womb-lining tissue stuck here, stuck there, painfully bleeding like fury at wrong times and places.  Sure, let’s have a laparoscopy; put a light in there, see exactly what’s going on.

Instead of returning to the Tibetan herbs and affirmations, I went for the fast route. But my guardian angel was out to tea. That operation which, according to my GYN, was supposed to fix me up, instead has fixed me down. Such a casual decision for such horrific consequences.

Day Seven 

Last night was the OWL (Older Women’s League) party, which I had to force myself to attend, although I was feeling terrific and secure enough about the bleeding to wear only shields.  I listen to Lynn describe her horrendous tale of early heavy doses of Enovid in Puerto Rico when they first tried out estrogen in The Pill, and of her later fibroid tumors (removed), her long heavy bleeding, and then an emergency hysterectomy (which went very well).  Then they put in five cortisone implants to stop growth of heavy scar tissue, which she is subject to.  As it turns out, however, she is also allergic to cortisone (the doctors found this out much later).  She developed life-threatening clots in her veins, from which she still suffers.  Hers is truly a tale of horror.  Like Patricia’s.  Like Joanna’s.  Like so many women’s.

Is this increased pain and now heavier bleeding worth my time out of bed yesterday—and especially the party last night?

If I could see the direct one-to-one relationship (which I know is there), perhaps I could discipline myself to bed, to listen to my body.  I will keep in mind (it could be me) Lynn last night, over and over, denying her part in her troubles: “I got out of the car,” she says, “to tell my father to give a message to someone” (this in a hurricane when he’d asked her to stay in the car).  Then the heavy wind picked her up and threw her down on a stake.  Later, in that same conversation, she tells me about the clots: “I felt the burning in my stomach; I felt the clot and pain.  But my response was to take a bath and wash my hair!”  I’m falling off my chair in horror and she’s happy as a lark.  Denial. Denial means I can’t anticipate and take measures to guard against what I don’t want.

Another feature of denial stares me dead in the face.  “We are complaining about the ants at the picnic when the bears are eating our children,” says Blaise Pascal[5], French philosopher.  This is certainly another part of what I’m doing now—naming my bears and ants.  And getting them in order.

I now have to construct, it appears, a life in bed.  I could do this, take what isand make that reality real enough to live by.  I’ve been resisting and resisting.  I’m in denial like Lynn.

“What is the problem of your own life and death?”  The Zen Nun continues to ask.  I struggle to answer.

Mine is that I’m currently in a huge period of change, moving from one belief system to another.  And I’m lucky to be assisted by illness unless I choose to cut the learning process short with a hysterectomy.  A problem of my life and death is: how shall I be entirely well, and not just for a day?  I think I’m asking: What is health? What is long-term high-level wellness? What does it mean to be a spiritually developed woman? Could I become one?

Day Eight

Each year, 650,000 hysterectomies—roughly one every 30 seconds—are performed in the United States. More than 2,000 women die from the operation and another 240,000 suffer major complications. Herbert Goldfarb, M.D., director of gynecology at Montclair Community Hospital in New Jersey, believes the number of surgeries could be cut in half if doctors used—and women knew about—such alternatives as hormone therapy and laser surgery. The No-Hysterectomy Option (co-authored with Judith Grief, John Wiley and Sons, $24.95) provides women with the wherewithal to keep their bodies and lives intact.[6]

I already know I don’t want a hysterectomy. But I am this body having these symptoms. This moment is what it is—mediated by previous “now” moments (the one of deciding to stop Yeshi Dhonden’s Tibetan medicine—which was dumb), as were those succeeding points of continuing that wrong decision.  Then there was last month’s operation (D & C, laparoscopy), which didn’t work, and which now seems to contain large elements of fear (endometriosis, ovarian cancer).  Also, I had the information of how well two previous D & C’s over my 30-year GYN

history had worked for me (it only now occurs to me to wonder what the statistics are for successive D & C’s; are they as likely to be distress-free?)

I am now in trouble—to what degree I don’t know.  I’ve been in trouble before—many times and come through.  Yet age and death come as surely to me as to anyone.  And the unpleasant trade-off of slack muscles from staying in bed, no exercise, also comes clear.

We can always mess ourselves up; life will allow it.  It is also always possible (though it seems less clear) to straighten ourselves out.  I can learn the limits of this new body.  It gives quite clear messages.  A first message: stay off your feet and stop direct bleeding.  At first trace of bleeding return to stay off your feet.

Second lesson: I need help.  I have called, at long last, Joy for Chinese herbs.  If I don’t get the Tibetan herbs in the mail today, I’ll call the homeopathic doctor.  I’ll also do meditation whenever I’m in pain.  It worked well yesterday, until I ran from its depths into visits by Aunt Ruth and Andrea.  And then I further ran to the OWL party last night, which I didn’t have to do.  No one forced me to do the cooking for OWL, or carry the heavy platter.  So a new rule has emerged: go to bed when bleeding, even when I feel well.  Secondly, don’t lift heavy things if you wish not to aggravate the bleeding.

Day Nine

Mostly I’ve slept today—less pain, still blood.

Louise Hay speaks to me:

In the infinity of life where I am,

all is perfect, whole and complete.

I recognize my body as a good friend.

Each cell in my body has Divine Intelligence.

I listen to what it tells me,

and know that its advice is valid.

I am always safe, and Divinely protected and guided.

I choose to be healthy and free.

All is well in my world.[7]

Later.  Reed’s book, Edgar Cayce on Mysteries of the Mind[8], contains an interesting idea.  Before you sleep, think about your ideal and your current problem.  Daydream solutions before you sleep and commit yourself to one full page of thoughts and written ideas immediately upon awakening.  And of course try to dream.  Do this for seven days.  I am tempted, for after all my options here in bed are limited.

I could look at what I do without hesitation, what I do with difficulty, what with great difficulty, and what I don’t do at all.  Seven days to try an experiment.  Why not?

At intervals today I meditate and keep going to sleep.  I think I’ve not come from a deep enough level of my being to properly decide what I want to do—too superficial and other-directed.

Day Ten         

Pat did a healing on my belly after our ritual afternoon holding.  From my perception, this form of healing is to simply hold a hand, palm down, over the hurt place.  Pat is totally silent; I frequently feel heat in the area and the pain, while it may return, goes away for a while.[9] Today Pat drew back suddenly and said, “I heard a little girl saying ‘Please don’t touch me.'”

I hear that little girl too and she sounds very real to me.

I will have to try hypnotism, past life regression, hypnotherapy—something to get this to the surface.

[1]              Shin, Nan (Nancy Amphoux). Diary of A Zen Nun.  New York: Dutton, 1986, p 185.

[2]              Glamour Magazine, July 1990, Health & Fitness section.

[3]              Interesting to find a discussion of exactly this process, only with a sore throat, in The Reality Illusion: How You Make The World Experience Your Own. by Ralph Strauch, Barryton, N.Y.: Station Hill Press, 1989

[4]              Dr. Yeshi Dhonden’s name is also translated as Donden and his book name is Americanized to Donden. Donden, Yeshi. Health Through Balance: An Introduction to Tibetan Medicine. Ithaca, New York: Snow Lion Publication, 1986.

[5]              Blaise Pascal.  Quoted in J. Keith Miller’s Compelled To Control: Why Relationships Break Down And What Makes Them Well.  Health Communications, Inc., 3201 SW 15th Street, Deerfield Beach, FL 33442-8190, 1992, $18.95.

[6]              Longevity Magazine, October, 1990, p. 16.

[7]              Hay, Louise L. You Can Heal Your Life. Santa Monica, CA: Hay Hoouse, 1984, 1987, p 146.

[8]              Reed, Henry.  Edgar Cayce on Mysteries of The Mind.  New York: Warner Books, 1989.

[9]              There is a discussion in The Reality Illusion by Ralph Strauch of chi energy, how to build it and how to pass it to someone else.  Chi energy can be used as healing energy.

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