CHAPTER 61 Prison Is A State Of Mind

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copyright 2017 Chris Smith  All rights reserved.

"Let us greet the dawn with a clear mind and a pure bleed."


I was driven from sleep. Something was wrong and the lights were on downstairs.

The clock said it was 3:30 a.m. I climbed down to see Dad at Mom's bed with his hands gloved.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"We're fine," Dad said.

I could hear the exhaustion in his response.

"Hi Kid," Mom said.

"Hi Mom," I said.

If Dad was exhausted, Mom sure seemed pretty darn chipper and happy for this early morning intermission.

"Do you want any help?" I asked him.

"No. Go back to bed. I'm almost done," Dad said.

"Ooops," Mom said.

"Oh, Sweetheart," Dad said.

It was Mom's way of saying another bowel movement had made its exit. Poor Dad.

If it wasn't real life, and our life, it might have been more funny. Well, it was funny to me. But I'm pretty sure Dad wanted to sock Mom out. Sure. He loved the women. Though I doubt he'd ever cleaned up so much shit in his whole life. I don't think even my Brother and I combined during our diaper years had produced so much and surely it wasn't Dad cleaning most of it up.

I tried not to laugh, which was near impossible. Our lives were lingering on the edges of a sitcom. But no one would ever believe these stories. They'd think I'd made it all up. Funny how real life always surpassed fiction in ways that continued to boggle my mind.

I went back to bed and hoped Dad wouldn't choke her out while I slept.

Later that morning we loaded up and headed out for another Doc appointment.

"Keep doing the hot packs and massages on her abdomen," the Doc said.

"Okay," I said.

"And keep her on the same juice but start putting some beets in it too," the Doc said.

"Beets huh? Okay," I said.

"And we're going to start her on something for the capillary fragility, the bruises she's getting," the Doc said.

"Oh, and we brought some probiotics that Hospice wanted us to put Mom on to have you test," I said.

"Okay. Let's test it right now," the Doc said.

Mom was laying down on the chiropractic exam table with Dad sitting to the side of her.

Dad was playing surrogate, so the Doc put the bottle of probiotics on top of Mom's stomach. Though I'd seen him put stuff in our hands, or even pockets. As long as whatever was being tested was next to our body, it didn't matter where or how we held it.

The Doc pressed down on Dad's arm, testing for the weakness or strength, in his arm, since he was touching Mom. He was testing Mom but through Dad. Surrogate testing was helpful with people like Mom, who were too weak to be tested directly, and with children or even babies.

Dad's arm dropped, which signaled the pills wouldn't be good for Mom. Then the Doc tested Dad on his own. Dad's arm dropped too. Lastly, the Doc tested me with the pills. My arm dropped as well.

The conclusion?

The probiotics recommended by Hospice, tested poorly for three different people with three different bodies, nutritional needs, health issues, and requirements. It meant the pills were probably a bad product, either from the way the ingredients were grown to how it was manufactured. Somewhere along the line, or all the way through, was a problem. I'd found the same with a lot of products out on the market, even ones recommended by the "experts". That's why muscle testing was such a powerful tool if you did it correctly.

Mom was still battling viral infections in her liver, gallbladder, and pancreas.

"She's been having some pain in her abdomen," I said.

"Well, it's not gas," the Doc said as he continued his testing with Mom.

"And she hasn't wanted a lot of juice or to take all her pills," I told him.

"Give her a little fruit. Like applesauce, mashed banana. But not pineapple. You can still juice it but not to eat," the Doc said.

Then it was my turn to be tested. Emotions came up. Surprise. Surprise.

I always hated it when the Doc reached for the emotion chart.

"Hold your forehead," the Doc said.

Here we go.

The kidneys came up with hostility.

"When you think of hostility, happening now, what comes to mind?" the Doc asked.

"I feel like I'm in a prison," I said.

The Doc tested it and my arm dropped, which meant winner-winner-chicken dinner.

"Think of that," the Doc said while he put one of my hands on my abdomen, over the kidney, and the other on my forehead.

"Think of it. Hostility. Feeling like you're in a prison," the Doc said.

So I thought of it while I breathed deeply in and out. And he moved the roller up and down the length of my spine.

"Think of it," he said.

When the Doc was done with the roller, he turned me around and tested me again to make sure I had cleared the emotion, which I did. Then another emotion came up. The stomach was next with despair.

"Despair, happening now," the Doc said.

"That I'm never going to get out of prison," I said.

"Okay," the Doc said.

He turned me around, while I held a hand over my stomach and one on my forehead.

"Think of it. Despair," the Doc said.

He repeated the process with the roller on my back while I breathed deeply in and out.

Sometimes the tears came when I put my consciousness onto the emotions as they were released. But no tears today. Today I was tired of everything.

"Okay," the Doc said.

He tested me again to make sure the emotion was cleared and nothing else came up as blocking the energy in my meridians.

Before we left, the Doc went through all our nutritional supplements and tested them for our daily dosage. Some dosages changed as we healed and/or other issues came up. All my supplements stayed the same, which was unusual for me.

We loaded Mom up in the car and headed home. We were tired but with slightly less emotional baggage then we'd had  a few hours ago.

We made it through another day without killing each other which meant all and all, it was a good day.

Juice Day 83

4 leaves collard greens

2 apples

½ pomegranate

3 leaves napa cabbage

8 beet leaves

Mom's Juice (morning)

2 carrots

1 cup fresh pineapple

1 apple

2 stalks of celery

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