My "cleanse" was more than that: It also shook up my consciousness around how I nourish myself and live my life in general. I began juicing and eating healthfully at fifteen - but lo, the egregiously toxic sidetracks I've stumbled upon and justified over the years! And while some of the expressions of the Christian walk as exemplified by my hosts don't match mine, I took to heart those things which I would prayerfully emulate - like really trusting God.
Really. Trusting. God.
...and continuing to breathe and not beat myself up when my solar plexus tightens as I uncover that.
Food-wise, I'd always thought that vegans and especially raw foodies were whacko extremists albeit exceedingly well-intentioned. "I need my organic animal protein!" (Yeah, but a heaping plateful of high-fat cheese and refined flour crackers as a hunger-easing substitute for a colossal salad with nuts & seeds on top?). I wouldn't buy a non-organic apple from the 7-11 because of the pesticide residue, but step aside while I lunged for the chocolate chip cookies at Church coffee hour! Ok, so I'm not consistent: I'll join the human race. Sigh. Move on!
When I was hospitalized, a few squeaks slithered through about alternative healing modalities. I was eyeballs deep in a 5-alarm fire and had NO interest. Don't tell me about a liver flush when I'm hooked up and trapped in the leukemia ward! These doctors were going to heal me! And you know, the chemo worked; the blasts went away. So did my hair and my skin tone and some organ function.
Chemo doesn't heal and is a dreadful fix in the short term.
So what heals besides God? What authentic tools of self-healing may I embrace?
That's the path I'm on - to search that out, discover it, integrate it into my life. And if I feel called to join the whacko ranks, bellying up to the salad bar while I give thanks, I will do this. My dearest and most blessed friends aren't fighting over themselves to call me "normal" anyways. The "fix" of a 5-day cleanse turned into a wake-up call. Will I evangelize? No. Will I celebrate its joyous efficacy if in fact that is my gift? You betcha! (Why can't I write that without thinking of Sarah Palin?).
From a cookie-cutter hotel in Wichita, Kansas, I travel westward to Sedona and then, after a week, onward to San Rafael, California.
Got carrot juice?