Oh my. Not just big pharma, but big medical technology is now coming under focused fire, thanks to Jon Rappoport, who can be counted on to point his steady, steely finger towards especially the way “health care” works in Amerrika. Which means: first ruin the environment (earth, air, water) to make ’em sick and make ’em spend money on pre-packaged fake, poisoned “food” from Big Ag; next, make ’em work long hours at “jobs” they hate “just to get (medical) insurance,” and then, when they do “get sick” from their unfulfilling lives, make ’em spend money on medical tests that give false results, pills that keep ’em sick or make ’em sicker or make ’em forget why they are so depressed, plus hospitalizations and allopathic “mistakes” that kill, what is it now, 210,000 per year? (Numbers vary depending on source.)
So yes, that’s why I’ve steered way clear of the medical profession since I was 31 years old when I finally switched to alternative healers. Took charge of my own health. Over the decades, I have become more and more dedicated to the first principle of making care for the body primary in daily life. Of course that means organic and locally sourced food wherever possible. Of course that means paying attention to my own mind and how it tricks me into fearing this or that. Of course, it means that whenever I do get “sick,” I recognize it as the spirit giving me a head’s up through the body. I.e., bodily symptoms are symbolic of unaddressed spiritual needs. That can be a little as the need to let go of whatever I’m preoccupied with for a few days since, given my “personality type,” I do tend to get obsessed and thus unbalanced. Or it can be a major as a broken bone — which, by the way, I did rely on orthopedics to fix a few years ago. Thank you! There are always exceptions to my general rule.
But even then: what bone broke? How to see its function as an outpicturing of a spiritual function? For example, I broke the wrist of my writing hand. The meaning? Obvious. I needed to look again at “what I was putting out there.”
Plus: At this point in my 74 years, I follow one unswerving directive: I must and do — and happily! thankfully! — dedicate two hours per day to “physical culture” — and that includes 3-4 mile morning walk with puppy Shadow, plus yoga, chi kung and tai chi.
So grateful that I set my priorities where they need to be so long ago. Otherwise, there would be no way, at this age, that I could contribute meaningfully to our sorry world. First of all, I would have “lost” most of my energy. Next, with whatever energy remained I would be increasingly focused on my own infirmities, and no doubt, complaining, bitter, desperate, and maybe even dead. Probably dead. I wouldn’t want to remain here if I didn’t feel good.
In fact, for years now, I have known that I will compose my own death ceremony “when the time comes”, i.e., when I am no longer able to give, but instead have become parasitic. My deathing ceremony will be planned in advance, non-violent, and with full cognizance and acceptance by those close to me. Unless, that is, my soul decides to lift me out of this body sooner, via some kind of surprise. Who knows? The point is, during each and every moment of my life, as Don Juan counseled, Death walks by my left shoulder. Death is my friend and confidant, signifying the birthing into fuller life via the completion of this one.
But so is are all the others.