In the '80s and 90's I listened regularly to The People's Pharmacy on the radio. I can't recall if it was AM or FM. If I had to guess, I'd guess AM. Seems it aired at 9:00 in the morning.
At the time, I suffered with serious allergies. During my 20ish years of that struggle, I saw over 35 health practitioners -- surgeons, medical doctors, specialists, homeopaths, counselors, chiropractors, naturopaths, and more. Years later, after I was free from the serious asthma and allergies, I called it the Physician Carousel.
One morning in the early '90s, the People's Pharmacy host was interviewing a man, Taylor Hay Jr., about an exercise routine Taylor had developed. (Click here for a 2022 article about Taylor who, at the time of the article, was 92 years old.) I had been a jogger, often running 5 miles at a time 3 to 5 days a week. I loved it. I liked to free roam when I jogged, instead of running a set course. I had jogged enough to know how long it took me to jog one mile. So, I calculated my miles by the amount of time I ran; thus, I could run anywhere I wanted.
After the asthma started, I had to give up jogging. I practiced yoga, Knowles Breathing, and some other breathwork that I can't recall now. But still, the asthma was violently persistent. So many stories, including two ambulance runs. But most of the time I, or someone else, drove me to the hospital when needed. I always carried inhalers and injectable epinephrin with me. At home I used a nebulizer which I would take with me on any overnight stays, including Way Advances and even when I worked overnight as a Camp-In Site Director at Discovery Place in Charlotte.
Anyway, I was always on the look-out for some kind of exercise I could do.
After listening to the interview with Taylor Hay on The People's Pharmacy, I ordered Hay's program called Synergetics. My husband and I learned it together. We practiced it faithfully for about 10 years. It was one exercise I could do and included (and still does) deep breathing as one dips and pivots through the routines. At the ten-ish year mark, in the early 2000s, I got well from the severe allergies, which was amazing. And I could then do other physical activities. I didn't start running again but did pick up long-distance hiking which I loved more than jogging.
I continued practicing Synergetics, sometimes regularly, sometimes sporadically, until February 18, 2024...
Sometime in late January, early February 2024, I felt my back and was a little alarmed. I felt it because the burning pain was getting worse. As my fingers felt my spine, I discovered the scoliosis had moved farther to the right.
Damn. Is my back going to land me in a wheelchair?
I've had scoliosis my whole life, but it was never an issue until I developed kyphosis, which is a rounding of the spine. (Think of Quasimodo.) Typically, kyphosis happens in the upper spine; mine is in my thoracic area which is also where the scoliosis curves. Together the two are called kyphoscoliosis.
Kyphoscoliosis first showed up in a lung x-ray around 2018ish(?), and then in a couple subsequent lung x-rays in following years. At first, I ignored it. I had so much else I was dealing with, and the doctors didn't seem concerned. So, I focused on managing the polyradiculitis and all its repercussions including the side effects of high-dose, long-term steroids.
"Steroids?!" you say. "Those are terrible for you. I'd never go on so many steroids!"
Good for you. I certainly didn't want to be on steroids (again). But neither did I want to be bedridden. And all the natural means to help with the inflammation wasn't enough. Like with the asthma days, the polyradiculitis was relentless. In 2016, after six years of living with Polly Rad, we discovered that my 2008 hip implant had been leaching chromium and cobalt into my body. Like with the mercury toxicity (most likely from my amalgam fillings) in my asthma days, it's hard (if not impossible) for the body to heal when its slowly being poisoned from within.
The kyphosis is the cause of my height shrinkage. We all shrink as we age, but I was in my latter 50s and shrank 3 inches within 4 years. That's not normal. The likely cause? Steroids. I bought an inversion table around 2018 which I use almost daily. Since then, I've not lost any more height; I'm holding steady at 4'11".
On February 12, 2024, I received an email newsletter that highlighted an article about a study: Tai Chi Surpasses Aerobic Exercise For Lowering Blood Pressure. It caught my attention. I had had blood pressure problems for about a year but had gotten it down to normal levels. I chose meditation, breathwork, and herbs instead of medication. It worked and still does, though under certain stressors my blood pressure will sometimes get a little high.
But the article prompted me to again pick up Synergetics which I'd heard the Synergetics founder describe as a type of westernized tai-chi...
I'm not exactly sure when it first started, the feeling that I am unintelligent. But I think it may have been in my heavy-duty drug use days as a teen, when the psychedelic trips started turning bad. I became withdrawn. I had a hard time finding words in order to communicate. Thankfully I had enough sense left to stop the drugs.
I recall the moment as I sat in my bedroom upstairs. I was sixteen years old, my head in my hands, rocking back and forth, trying to rid the feeling of a bad trip without having taken any acid. I thought I was going insane, and maybe I was. But my one saving thought was, If I'm insane, I wouldn't know it. I clung to that thought. And I turned to Transcendental Meditation for help, which it did. I faithfully practiced for a few years interspersed with breaks. I gave up TM totally around July 1977 after I spoke in tongues for the first time at Resurrection Lutheran Church in Charlotte.
I then decided to go to college. I wanted to become a Christian counselor, and I wanted to learn Greek and Hebrew to get back to the "original" Scriptures. I chose Montreat-Anderson College in Montreat, NC, near Black Mountain. I chose Montreat because of the spirit-filled community in and around the school.
While at Montreat I got involved in a small prayer group where people got slain in the spirit and would speak in tongues quite loudly. It was more Pentecostal than Charismatic. I preferred Charismatic; it was gentler than Pentecostal.
During my first semester at Montreat, I was witnessed to by Way believers but not at Montreat. I was witnessed to in Hickory, my hometown, at the time around a two-hour drive from Montreat. This was in the days when Interstate-40 did not yet go up the mountain. That weekend I attended my first Way International fellowship, at the time called Twig. Twig was part of The Way Tree, as it was called.
I was a bit uncomfortable when the Twig Leader called on people to "speak in tongues and interpret." How could one control the Spirit of God moving? I was used to a different format, more free-flowing, where folks would speak or sing in tongues as they were "moved by the Spirit" and someone else might speak or sing the interpretation.
But everything else about Twig felt beautiful, real, like the Book of Acts. The music. The people, The Word. The love of God. I felt I truly had found "the way."
Bill, the Way believer who was one of the believers who had "witnessed" to me, told me about "The Class." As he was showing me the "green card," which is what a new recruit would sign to take The Class, along with $100 at the time, I thought, I can learn all this on my own, at college, as I learn Greek and Hebrew. Right as I was having that unexpressed thought, Bill said, "You can learn all this on your own. But why not try The Class? It can save you lots of time in learning the Scriptures." So, I signed up not knowing where the money would come from. I received a surprise gift from my parents of $100 without them knowing I needed the money to take The Class. This must be of God; He has provided the funds. Once I completed The Class, I dropped out of college to study and serve with The Way.
I don't recall the feeling of unintelligence at that time, but that feeling eventually crept back in. I struggled with it for decades. And it still comes up from time to time, mostly around folks who seem so confident and adamant that their viewpoint of life is the correct viewpoint. According to them, folks with viewpoints different from theirs are "stupid" or have "low IQs" or some other derogatory label. So maybe they'd think the same of me? I sometimes fall into similar labeling, but I endeavor to extend the benefit of the doubt without being naive. I endeavor, as much as I'm able, to put myself in another's sandals and to remember that I too am human.
In 1998 while living in Charlotte and volunteering as a Twig leader with my husband, I landed for a 3-to-5 day stay in the hospital while we were running a Way class in our home. Asthma, which for two decades sent me to the emergency room often. If I recall correctly, this hospitalization was about the fifth multiple-day stay (or the ninth, if I count the four sinus polypectomy surgeries, which were part of the mercury-asthma-allergy package), instead of just an overnight stay in the ER for observation.
During this hospital stay I looked at my chart which hung on the end of my bed. The doctor had written, "An intelligent middle-aged woman...." I didn't know this doctor well, but well enough to respect him. He was the first doctor to discover my mercury levels were sky high. And he had called me "intelligent."
Maybe I was intelligent?
~*~
"He has told you, O man, what is good; And what does the LORD require of you Except to be just, and to love [and to diligently practice] kindness (compassion), And to walk humbly with your God [setting aside any overblown sense of importance or self-righteousness]?" ~Micah 6:8
“In my walks, every man I meet is my superior in some way, and in that I learn from him.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson
~*~
Todd Agnew is one of my favorite Christian musicians...
On the other end of the phone, my friend stated adamantly and with conviction, "I have every right to my anger!"
This conversation took place back in the '90s. I recall standing in the kitchen, holding the receiver of the wall phone, in the house on Elizabeth Avenue. I was a Way believer; so was my friend on the other end of the phone.
I listened, but to my recollection, I did not agree nor disagree with my friend. However, I did think about their proclamation and questioned it in my heart. It was one of those questions that has stuck with me since.
Do we really have a right to anger? I mean, as humans we all get angry. But is it a "right?"
Ephesians 4:26 states, "Be ye angry and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath." The context of this verse is about putting away lying and stealing and corrupt communication, letting go of bitterness and wrath, being tenderhearted and kind one to another, and to forgive as God for Christ's sake has forgiven us.
That's a tall order. I know I fall short more often than I like. But when I do abide by those words, my life has more peace.
(Though I mostly fall under the "agnostic" label, I still find guidance and comfort from certain Bible passages. As far as Biblical interpretations, I lean toward Christian Universalism. If Jesus did "pay the price," he did it all the way.)
So, does that mean I suppress the anger?
No mam.
Suppressing it may cause unforeseen consequences, such as physical illness.
This isn't news to anyone who's been around awhile.
Heck, it may not even take a while.
So, what does one do with anger?
Well, for me, I feel it.
And I begin to question; the circumstances around the situation prompt the questions.
One of my biggest helps is recalling all my blessings, engendering gratitude, and remembering what is really important in my life, the most precious being my children, and now, soon-to-enter-this-world, grandbaby.
If it's really intense to the point of rage, I may use my Dammit Doll to beat a rice bag wrapped in duct tape. I hit that bag over and over and over, sometimes shouting my rage, until I can let go of the bound-up simmer in my brain, sinews, organs. And then I quiet.
Guided meditations and breathwork also help me. (I am an Insight Timer fan.)
Reading certain books or bringing to mind certain quotes can help.
Music, dancing, riding my indoor bike can help.
Drawing can help.
Getting out in nature can help.
Talking with a friend or one of my teachers can help.
One of my favorite Christian authors is Brant Hansen. I often turn to his book Unoffendable. He dives deep into the emotion of anger and what the Scriptures say about this emotion and what to do with it. He questions what I have questioned for years, Is there really such a thing as [human] righteous anger?
This question became amplified for me after leaving The Way International and getting involved with anti-cult movements and witnessing the same kind of "righteous anger" I'd witnessed in The Way, a similar black-white thinking, some of it worse than what I experienced while being a loyal Way follower.
And what of criticism and critical thinking?
Over the years, I've seen and heard folks claim they are "critical thinkers." (This was true in The Way too.) But when I read or listen to what some of these folks share, it's more like criticism, not critical thinking.
To me, criticism is about finding fault.
Critical thinking is about finding truth.
Criticism is quick to judge others' motives, 'other' those of a different opinion, and cast them into an outgroup.
Critical thinking is about being a curious observer, holding judgement until facts are clear. And even then, to remember one's own frailty and humanity.
As humans, we all fall into criticism. It's impossible not to.
But we can pause, step back, take a breath, and put ourselves in another's sandals.
We can step outside our "righteous" opinions, our "right to be angry," and look at the situation as a curious observer.
It takes work and self-awareness.
But it takes less work than holding onto one's so-called "righteous" anger.
And the payoff is more peace of mind.
Couldn't we all benefit from more peace?
~*~
From Hansen's book, Unoffendable, from the end of Chapter 8: Ain't You Tired?:
...Quit trying to parent the world. Quit offering advice when exactly zero people asked for it. Quit being shocked when people don't share your morality. Quit serving as judge and jury, in your own mind, of that person who just cut you off in traffic. Quit thinking you need to "discern" what others' motives are. And quit rehearsing in your mind what that other person did to you.
It's all so exhausting.
...I've tried resisting God's clear command to forgive as He has forgiven me, and I've gone to great effort to explain--again, if only to myself--how whatever I've done really isn't as bad as what that other person is doing to me.
It's really hard. It's really time-consuming. It's really a drain mentally, spiritually, and even physically.
This gavel, the one I awarded myself--who knows why--is really, really heavy. I can keep pronouncing everyone else guilty for the rest of my life, but I'm not sure why.
I don't want this anymore. Maybe you know what I mean. So let me ask you...
Ain't you tired?
[Note: Hansen explains that he got the quote "Ain't you tired?' from a scene in the movie The Help. "Hilly is a judgmental, racist, conniving busybody full of religiosity and anger." Aibileen (her friend's hired help) confronts her, "Ain't you tired Miss Hilly?"]
As stated in the 2015 YouTube description: “‘Once A Day’ is about unexpected moments in life. Some days we have unexpectedly beautiful moments and others that are unexpectedly challenging. Last year I had a really challenging moment when my son was diagnosed with a kidney disease called FSGS (Focal Segmental Glomerulosclerosis). We thought it would break our family apart, but moving through the initial tears, made us realize life is precious and that we need to hug, kiss and be close to each other every day and through that we could ‘rise up’ and face his illness together. I hope that Once A Day brings inspiration to anyone in this world who is going through challenging times. Through music, dance and gratitude for this life we can all ‘Rise Up’!” ~Michael Franti
Lyrics (most of them)...
...You never know what the world's gonna show you,
It ain't up to you.
You always think it's gonna happen to another person,
And it's never ever gonna happen to you.
You got your friends, you got your money,
Got your family, got your honey,
You think you got a million days.
But then life comes along
And it knocks you right down to the ground and that's why I say,
Everybody oughta hug somebody, at least once a day.
And everybody oughta kiss somebody, at least once a day.
Everybody's gonna miss somebody, at least once a day.
And everybody gotta love somebody, every day!
And we all will rise up! (Spread your wings and fly)
And we all will rise up!
And we all will rise up! (Spread your wings and fly)...
I heard the purpose of life's to live a life full of purpose,
And so don't ever take for granted what the spirit has given you
In the first verse,
You might never get a second verse,
This ain't a rehearsal, you can't put it in reverse.
Believe in yourself, don't let nobody be a negative or tell you what to do.
Cause I know (cause I know)
In this sweet, sweet life that just this much is true!
Everybody oughta hug somebody, at least once a day.
And everybody oughta kiss somebody, at least once a day.
Everybody's gonna miss somebody, at least once a day.
Too often when I sit down to write something for other ears or eyes, I end up frustrated. I get too entangled with details and backstory. Plus, my mind isn't as adept as it once was; it's hard to find the right words. It's like my vocabulary has waned. But I think the real issue is living over a decade with fatigue and pain and weakness, over a 1-1/2 years with sleep deprivation, medications that dope me so I can fall asleep, and the plethora of tasks involved in my self-care.
In the morning, around 7:30 to 8:00 after I've opened my eyes from twilighting through my second shift of quasi-sleep which begins anywhere between 1AM and 4AM, I arise slowly, get my trekking poles from beside my bed, and carefully make my way to bathroom to relieve my bladder. Then I lie back down for one to two hours, accompanied with guided meditations, until my body says that it is okay to get up now. If I get up too early or overexert, my gut responds with nausea. It's a fine line to balance. Thus begins my workday of self-care.
The workday is filled with administering herbs, supplements, and pharmaceuticals at specific times; charting my symptoms and activities; going to my one to two per week healthcare appointments; feeding myself including my (mostly organic) nutritional smoothie which contains nine different nutritional food powders, adaptogenic tea formula, tart cherry juice, lemon juice, spinach, liquid COQ10, soaked chia seeds, frozen blueberries and filtered water; inverting in the morning before I eat or drink; lasering my body in part or whole; walking outside with trekking poles or my walker or riding my indoor bike; stretching my body as best I can in hopes that I can build some muscle and help relieve pain; keeping my various herbs and supplements and pharmaceuticals in stock; and more. Once a week, and occasionally twice, I bathe. Showering is harder, so I take Epsom salt baths. I can't dry myself, so I air dry while lying on the bed wrapped in my towel and a throw. Bathing and dressing are two of my hardest tasks. Recently I turned taking my socks off into a game I call "Kick the Field Goal."
It's all day long, and it's detailed work from light reaching my eyes in the morning, through the day, and into the night. I take the final doses of herbs in the wee morning hours at my 2nd shift of sleep; two herbal formulas I drink and one herb I chew. One could say those are my first herbs of the day.
Each day, I have to begin my wind-down bedtime routine around 5:30. I'm typically in bed between 8:00 and 8:30. So, it's a lot to get done in eight to nine hours for a body that has to move slowly and deliberately, traverse pain, and adapt to how much the body-mind is capable of on any given day.
I've barely just scratched the surface. I'm not complaining, but rather trying to give a glimpse of the work involved. It really is a full-time job.
After typing all this I ask, Carol is this what you really want to read at the workshop? No, it isn't. I want to write a poem for my good friend Susan who died on January 21, but nothing's flowing yet.
***
So, what song can I post to go along with this wordage?
Write what is real and true and tied to our experience... (M.S.)
~*~*~
I think of the Velveteen Rabbit.
He so wanted to be real.
And he was real to the little boy that would carry Rabbit almost everywhere Boy explored.
Boy slept with Rabbit.
I feel sure Boy held Rabbit closely to his heart while in his night dreams.
Rabbit sat with Boy after Boy fell ill with scarlet fever.
Doctor said all Boy's toys needed to be burned for sanitation reasons.
Rabbit was stuffed in a bag and put in the garden awaiting cremation.
His heart was broken, and he shed Velveteen tears.
But then a magic fairy appeared to Rabbit.
Fairy transports Rabbit deep into a forest, places him with other bunnies that can hop and breathe and wiggle their ears.
Fairy gives Rabbit a magic kiss and Rabbit's fur turns from tattered velveteen to soft, warm, rabbit fur like bunnies of the forest are clothed in.
I have felt like the Velveteen Rabbit after he was put in the garbage bag.
No longer needed.
Tossed aside and eventually forgotten about.
Broken. Tattered. Lonely.
Without purpose, other than to make it through another day.
Did a fairy come along and pull me up?
If so, I could not see the fairy with my head eyes.
But in my imagination my Insiders were born.
Though they had probably always been with me; I was just too preoccupied with pleasing people and obeying the Word to allow my imagination to wander that far for fear of devil spirit possession.
How silly for a woman in her early 60s to have relationships with imaginary beings that live inside her.
There is Pog who first appeared as the steward of the pond of grief; that's how he got his name, Pog. Then the pond of grief slowly transformed into the pond of gratitude.
There is Itt, who looks like Itt from the Adams Family.
He first appeared as anger.
He would shiver and all his hair would shiver with him.
When he felt rage all his hair would stand up on end, stretched as straight and far as the hairs could go.
There is Owl who first appeared when Woman was having some gut trouble.
With his beak, Owl carefully plucked dark pellets from woman's belly and her gut trouble eased.
There is Troll who is gnarly with a heart of gold.
Troll is strong and a shape shifter who helps give woman's limbs strength.
He carries a golden sword, probably related to the Greek myth Chysaor whose mother was Medusa and father was Poseidon.
There is Martin, a golden star who used to tremble with fear.
Pog has helped Martin to find peace.
They both help Woman to sleep.
There are Campfire Stewards, Unicorn, Winged Fabio, Eagle and Raven.
And two of the most beloveds of the woman, Whale and Elephant.
And there is a giant tree where the Campfire Stewards have built treehouses.
From a different decade there is Nanna, the girl, Sally the horse, Tender the aged steward, and Giant John the gardener.
All the Insiders love to dance as Woman listens to dancing music.
How silly for a woman in her mid 60s to count inanimates as friends, treat them kindly, talk with them and feel them talk back.
Similar to the trees who hold her and cradle her and let her know how much they love her and how happy they are to see her.
She has been known to break into shadow dancing, the sun behind her back as she dances with Tree.
