Om Boob: The Vodka-Boob Connection and Breast Health

Om Boob. Om Womb. Om Knee. Om Tapenade. Om Sodium Laurel Sulphate.

So, I'm thinking a lot about breasts lately, because I'm trying to understand mine. My own recent masses disappeared but were followed by the 'appearance' of what now seem to be blocked milk ducts. I nursed for two years and three months, but have had milk come and go since I stopped nursing. I still get the "let down" sensation when I hear babies crying, where my breasts tingle and I feel ready to nurse. My breasts seem to respond the same way to the emotions of others. When someone cries in my presence I produce milk. So, now, I've got these blocked milk ducts under my nipple, that when massaged properly are expelling small amounts of milk four and a half years after I expected to.

Breasts are sponges. The mammary glands literally absorb things from our environments, which is why breast cancer is quite high, especially in the Mashpee area, where the ground water has been very polluted. It's by a military base, and there's a radar beam which runs through the town. It's also close to the power plant. Health depends of the quality of air, water, and food, as well as the emotional and mental environment you live in. Mammary glands absorb toxicants. We know this because when breast tumors are examined, dissected, and analyzed scientists have found that plastics (including BPAS which are found in plastic food containers, the linings of cans, and receipts) and other man-made chemicals are a large part of their composition. We also know that the chemicals from toilet boil deodorizers and perchlorate (a chemical found in jet engine cleaning fluid) are both found in mother's milk. Years before I became pregnant with my son, I began hovering over toilet seats and avoiding all contact with bathroom anything. I was the pick-up-a-paper-towel-before-opening-the-bathroom-door kind of woman. The idea that my mammary glands could be filled with cancer-causing chemicals made me very cautious. I threw out all make-up that wasn't 100 percent natural. I started juicing, eating tons of salads, walking a lot, doing aerobic exercise to videos at home with my mom, and got in touch with my body.

Thankfully, we also know that our bodies are constantly shifting. The medical community has accepted that uterine fibroids come and go, shrink and expand, often time quickly in women's bodies. What else shifts quickly? You hear of people healing themselves with prayer and powerful positive energy all of the time. Many clients have come to me following traditional treatment for breast cancer, and some have come to me with lumps suspecting that these were tumors, which I treated with herbal tea, angel work and shamanic healings, after which masses have disappeared.



Breasts are such a part of female identity and effect the way people relate to us. People associate them with being womanly, nurturing, sensual, motherly, and many men flat out only find women with large breasts attractive. People respond to boobs, that's why they are photoshopped in every magazine to be rounder, perkier, smoother, larger. Over the years mine have fluctuated in size, shape, and texture. My relationship to them has also changed after having a baby. When you lactate, if you nurse, they become engorged in milk, quite round. When my son was six week old, my breasts were large hard balls. I couldn't stop nursing for more than three or four hours or they would ache. In fact, even after 'round-the-clock nursing patterns, I had really bad mastitis a few times. These involved painful inflammations which manual massage, hot water, herbal packs, and heating pads didn't cure. It wasn't until I discovered nursing my baby upside down and over my shoulder (where I was lying down), that his little chin pushed into the spot that needed to be stimulated to release blocked milk. By the time I was threw with being a nursing machine, my boobs were spent, my vital force was gone and all of the fat tissues had been converted to milk. My nipples looked sad, and surely Maria Shriver would have considered me "damaged goods". It took a long time before I related to them in a sensual way again. I was like, "Don't touch them. You're reminding me of [our son]".

I have a theory about the link between hard alcohol and breasts. When I went through my honeymoon with vodka, where it was literally the first thing I had for breakfast (mixed with cherry juice), I had cleavage. So much so that my boyfriend's friends' would comment on them. At that time I also had a soft spot for mole burritos, and large margaritas. But, through the vodka honeymoon which lasted a number of months my breasts were quite different. Mammary glands absorb toxicants. It would make sense of alcohol made breast tissue swell up. Alcohol makes lymph nodes swell up and the belly swell up.

For the record, most natural and organic products have chemicals known to cause cancer. In fact, my friend called me up today with a new detox product. Wraps which contain a bunch of wonderful herbs, but also a lot of harmful preservatives. There are good products out there, but you've got to be really careful. Everyone calculates their own risk. It is helping her to lose weight effectively without making dietary changes. Drinking water improves digestion and metabolism too though. Most people could lose weight just by breathing more deeply and drinking a gallon of pure water a day. Living stressed out in fear is at least are harmful to our immune systems as toxic chemicals themselves are. However, the lymphatic system is easily put off balance. Acidic conditions caused by the consumption of sugar, wheat, caffeine, tobacco, dairy, processed meat, preservatives and dyes are all bad news for your immune system which is responsible for keeping damaged cells in check. The tests doctors give often don't reveal problems until your body is already struggling to keep above water. Especially when it comes to the endocrine system.

Because They Were On Sale

I thought I'd share some experiences that I have been having lately. About a week ago, I discovered a lump in one of my breasts, right over my heart. I asked my husband to investigate, which he did willingly. With his tongue. And that's when I realized my husband is not a doctor. So, after a more professional examination, we discovered the lump was very hard, and also sore to the touch. I told him to remember that he was a healer, and to channel white light, and do like Jesus and all that. He massaged my breast, and I prayed and visualized white light entering my body. And added a dollop, of "Help me God, please, help me now." And in about five minutes, there was no perceptible lump. I've heard of a lump in your throat, but Jeez, I think my mass was a "lump in my heart". A day later, it was still gone, but another bunch of fibrous tissue was below my nipple in the same breast. We did the same thing, but without the use of the muscular hydrostat. And it worked again. The appearance and disappearance seem to be a message from God, telling me to wake up. And also, to take care of my body.

On Tuesday, I felt a mild pressure in my uterus. On Wednesday I woke up with aching knees. I thought the knee pain was due to the pink Converse I had bought to feel like a hipster. And because they were on sale. I was like, this is why I wear heels damnit! By the early afternoon, my uterus was sounding an alarm. I worried it was a baby-sized fibroid, but hoped it was from orgasming too much. I know, first world problems. Whatever it was, I thought "this is bad news". Then, my ankles swelled up like I had gotten the gout from Damiano's doughy Pizza. They were so swollen you could stick a fork in them. And in fact I did. Not really, but I was able to push my thumb into my swollen ankle to make a nice lasting impression. What is happening, God? Whenever I get scared shitless I consult my Father Who Art in Heaven. Is my immune system going kabluey on me? By the time my class rolled around I was a mess. And then, something amazing happened. We danced.

Tracey Crowell, my co-teacher, took us through a journey of wild, tribal, ecstatic dance. And my body moved exactly how it wanted to, with little intervention from my mind. In fact, it was the most free my body had ever moved in my life. We don't know what liberation is. Without ecstatic dance and group singing, we don't know what group synergy is. We think, because all day we chat on the phone to our friends that we are connecting on some deep level. But, we're not doing each other any favors by listening to each other whine about how much things suck. Bitching and moaning can have its place in release, but if you wanna go deep, you've gotta move and make noise. You've gotta vibrate with the earth, the moon, and the stars, with water molecules, with the the lion, the mouse, the beaver, the orangutan. In every culture, people have come together to celebrate, to heal, to share, to connect, to be. And we isolate ourselves, with labels, ideas, and trick ourselves into the sensation of separateness and disconnection. Most think if they have a partner or their family and status emblems, they are done. But what about community? What about global consciousness? What about connecting to spirit, connecting to the collective heart and soul, through sound and movement? Now that's the path to bliss and evolution.

It's something we have to strive for. To be daring enough to be our authentic selves. To discover the parts of ourselves that lay dormant, to find out what our voices do when no one tells them what do to. To find out what our bodies do, when our brains don't instruct. Liberation is freedom from judgment. Freedom from fear. I shook and gyrated close to the floor. I jumped and I pumped my arms and I let my body do the talking. Sensual movement is wonderful, but dance can transcend all of it, encompass all types of consciousness simultaneously. It makes living on earth make sense. Striving to achieve authenticity is what life is all about. After moving in ways that released my tension, emotions, and pain, after hooping and hollering, by the end of class, I had no pain. No soreness. Just bliss running through my veins.

I took action. Today, I drank Earl Grey instead of coffee. I stopped using make-up with chemicals. I started drinking diuretic and uterine tonic herbs. I've been eating salads all day. And, when my heart feels blocked, I'm pushing through it. I know what my breasts feel like expressing milk, so I am using those channels to release sadness and heartache. It goes back through the years, back through childhood abandonment, back through ancestral adversity and hardships. I'm cleaning my blood and I'm savoring each moment. Life's too short to follow the for sale signs.

That's a metaphor. Cheap stuff can be the best. You know what I mean.

I had a breast orgasm today. Yes, a breast orgasm. And, now I suspect every part of the body can orgasm, under the right conditions. I also realized that the enthusiasm I used to bring to performing on stage, singing, hosting, or talking to archangels at the seashore...is the same energy and presence I should show up for in every moment of my life. Every moment should be making love to the universe. See, if I were French, pulling down my sunglasses to stare into your soul, wearing a sundress with geometric patterns and smoking a cigarette in a holder, in black and white, with subtitles, that wouldn't sound cheesy one bit.

In other countries, people's lips and mouths make love to words. We have puritan lips in America. Pensive, reserved, tight, afraid-to-be-engorged-with-blood-lips. So, people get injected with collagen, so their lips can be in-heat for them. What kind of poetry does a mouth make with a cow's ass?

After teaching class tonight, I felt like my car was floating on a lotus flower all the way home. Better than the time I ate mushrooms in Joshua Tree, and had to use my vagina to drive us back to the hotel. That was hard work, and I didn't think we'd make it. So, I revved it up, and put my engine is hyper-speed. Anyone ever drive one of those all-terrain vehicles up over a clusterfuck of boulders? They made it look so fucking easy on the commercial.

My husband was laughing at the Gods, his mouth wide open like a Mayan hieroglyph. Turning into a cosmic Bandito with a tattooed face mask, his eyeballs doing acrobatics, he leaned into me. His dimensions colliding with mine. Hypnotizing me with his aura, sucking me into his Dutch angle batcave-existance. "You're part skeleton girl. Half of you is completely dead already. But you already knew that." "Dusting off old barfly-gothic-tripper pick-up lines? You still know we're already married, right? Get thee back to thy Batcave." "Not a problem," he said wide-eyed, before peeling with laughter, his tongue eating the stars through the invisible roof.

We were in the backseat, while my curvy, Blonde-haired, Amazonian pal grew four arms and four hands. For a woman who had never grown extra appendages, she was doing pretty good. We were driving between the lines, and seemed to be in forward motion. Better than the first attempt, when the car wasn't actually on. She's the kind of lady with a Navajo peace mantra quilted into her soul. Like a matrioshka doll, a home to her sisters. But, this was New Years Eve and not the best time to be observed driving far below the speed limit. Her boyfriend's frenetic mad scientist yelps, were like hysteria wrapped in bemused self-awareness. He was very zen, with his geeky glasses, his gaunt macrobiotic cheekbones and balding head. Bucking in his seat and jerking his body, he birthed pithy oracular ramblings. I felt like I was at the Salem witch trials. So, that's when my yoni decided to drive us back.

Ever seen the Sci-Fi show "Farscape"? In that show there is a living ship, a fusion of plant, animal, and machine. I pictured my uterus growing, enveloping the sports utility vehicle and becoming one with it. My pink wet labia turned inside out, wrapping around the car tires, sprouting cactus thorns for tread. As my friend began freaking out that her many hands were turning numb and becoming immobilized, the car slowed. Uh Oh. With each revolution of my labia propelling us closer and closer to our destination, we gradually accelerated and reached the speed limit. We may have entered into a vulva portal on our expedition, traversing a wrinkle in Labia Minor. "It's working! My vagina is driving the car guys!!" "Really, I thought I was?" "Hallelujah, we're gonna make it after all!"

Now, that's taking backseat driving to a new level. Soon, we were back in the parking lot in front of two glass doors leading to our elevator. Of course, no one knew how to park the car. No one wanted to get out, but I had to pee really bad, so I bolted. No vaginas were harmed during the transformation, but every now and then, when the moon is full, I can sense that my vagina wants to take a ride through the desert. Well, that would be one way to deal with a vagina that's like Ms. Pacman.

More on the breast orgasm later...it involves stimulating the circulation-sex meridian.

Abunnydance!

You know you've had an eventful Easter morning, when you've been soaking your hand in acetone for thirty minutes and it's only 7:30. The kid was up at the crack of dawn. The scavenger hunt is already a distant memory. And you're on your way to the early service at a church you like to crash on earthy holidays.

My husband has suggested that our Bunny might be Bulgarian, as there are a few grammatical errors, spelling mistakes and he insists that wind chimes don't clack in the US because they are not made of wood. Maybe Bulgarian Bunny is actually Up-in-the-Wee-Hours-of-the-Morning-Bunny, trying not to think loudly enough to wake up the sleeping telepathic little boy. Hero is correcting the mistakes, saying, "Oh this little bunny is so cute" as he proofreads.

Hero is so telepathic, he answers people's inner unspoken thoughts out loud. For example, when my friends babysit, they notice that he replies to things they are thinking but decide against saying. If I catch myself thinking too loudly, I say "stop listening" in mind head, and he says, "What?" out loud. It always cracks me up. I try to be covert about my inner thoughts, like at bedtime, when he takes a while to sleep and my mind wonders. My technique is like wrapping up my thoughts in space age material to avoid letting any heat escape my body so his 'infrared' cannot detect me. He still wants to sleep next to me every night, but when he was a baby, the only way I could get him to sleep because he nursed to sleep until last week, was to bring my heart rate and all vital signs down to a snails pace, so that he thought I was in a very very deep sleep. I always pretended to be dead growing up, so I had years and years of practice to outwit my cunning and co-dependent toddler.

If Your Body Could Talk, It Might Just Give You Dirty Looks

Here are the Medieval eggs that Hero and I colored together.

My son and I dyed these eggs with purple onions, 'red' cabbage, beets and turmeric. The dyes that are typically used have lots of toxins and carcinogenic chemicals. Trying to keep my mammary glands, uterine tissues and our thyroids and DNA happy and healthy in the long term.

After finding some fibrous tissue in my breasts, I've been thinking about how my breasts feel about my pink "Soulmate" nail polish. I'm pretty sure they're glaring at me every time I put on foundation or lipstick that's not from Gabriel Cosmetics, or some other mineral-based, chemical-free company. Benzoin, formaldehyde, and parabens, are among just some of the cancer-causing agents found in these everyday products. And perfume contains hormone-disrupting, DNA-damaging, invaginating-your-cell-membrane-toxicants. Diluted essential oils are quite healing though, and you can create your own perfumes with floral, musky and earthy notes. For example, use jasmine, rose geranium, or ylang ylang (floral), with sandalwood (musky), and a bit of vetiver or frankincense (earthy).

In the thirties Bay Rum was a very popular scent for men. That cologne was made from the bay tree. The essential oil is still available today. It's a very spicy masculine scent which also stimulates hair growth and can slow male pattern baldness. Look to your mother's father to know your predisposition for that. Some men loose hair, because of their mineral or vitamin deficiency, slowed digestive tract, spending too much time in a sauna, and/or not stimulating new hair growth with proper brushing/combing/tapping. Alcohol is very acidifying to the body. Alcohol increases the chance of hair loss, as does the regular use of tight hats. So, if you are losing hair already, try to avoid wearing baseball caps or other hats with synthetic fibers. Your scalp needs to breathe.

The next time you reach for Obsession (or Eternity), ask, what would your boobs (or prostate) do?

Interview with Sonic Alchemist Amma Sophia Rose

Here it is...
http://www.womr.org/podcast/sonic-alchemist-amma-sophia-rose/

New Testimonial for Shamanic Soul Retrieval

"Thanks! I am so happy. I feel like since the shamanic healing that things are finally coming into focus. All aspects are firing on all cylinders. Health, money, friends, music and romance all proceeding at a steady pace. We just found out that the big gig has been budgeted and we are getting our asked for per diem. Yea!" P.D. Harwich, MA

Vintage Trouble is coming to Provincetown for a WOMR Benefit!!

Oh, my God! Holy Ship! What could possibly be better than Cape Cod in the Summer? Cape Cod in the summer rocking and bopping to the groovy, suave, dapper and smoking vibrations of Vintage Trouble! The bluesy gospel inspired gyrations will hypnotize you, mesmerize you, and finally, immobilize you. If you love boogying til you drop...from wherever you are....take one of these:

...to drive to Ptown July 11th to see these sassy dapper gentleman rockers...
...with a ticket from here: https://www.facebook.com/events/763102803714220/

Check 'em out...

"Why you tryin to stay still, when the groove is movin? Tell me what's the point, what the hell are you provin? Let the beat get in your body. Stop tryin to fight now, start to rattle your shaker. That's it, all right now. One, two, three, push your pelvis with me. I said, one, two, three, push your pelvis with me."

I've often wondered this, when I'm one of a few people dancing in a group of hundreds of people. But, it aint gonna be like that this night. Oh no!

Even if they don't take their beatnik jazz gogo dancers with them you still get James Brown happy feet, Little Richard crescendos and hoots, music that evokes early R&B, and the Wild West/Turn-of-the-century-London-derby-hat-clad-cuteness and retro-60s-suaveness of this delightful band!

African Dancer Tara Murphy on Healing Wisdom

Click here below:

http://www.womr.org/podcast/tara-murphy-of-cape-cod-african-dance-and-drum

Scrying Your Own Books, and Then Scrying Other Peoples'

You needn't wait until the Universe has you by the balls to scry for mercy. You can just do it for fun and to connect with your spirit guides. You can try scrying books so God can have words with which to speak to you. You can scry books for inspiration and to answer questions you didn't know to ask.

My client's grandfather wanted her to scry Timothy Leary. This is what she found:

“Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the “normal people” as they go about their automatic existences. For every time you say club passwords like “Have a nice day” and “Weather’s awful today, eh?”, you yearn inside to say forbidden things like “Tell me something that makes you cry” or “What do you think deja vu is for?”. Face it, you even want to talk to that girl in the elevator. But what if that girl in the elevator (and the balding man who walks past your cubicle at work) are thinking the same thing? Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger? Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence. Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others…” ― Timothy Leary

WOMR Pledge Drive and Healing Wisdom This Week

Tara Murphy of Cape Cod's African Dance and Drum will be with us LIVE in the studio this Thursday morning at WOMR in our little school house that could. We'll be discussing the origins of African dance, the healing power of movement, the transcendental and spiritual nature of movement as ritual and release. Call in to release the $156 that is burning a hole in your pocket to help support the station and sustain the programming on WOMR. Your money helps to pay for the electricity, heating and all the basic things our Cape Cod station needs to offer you original, thought-provoking and local programming. And why not show your love for Healing Wisdom. Become a sustaining member. I will read your name every week. Aliases and anonymous pledges are also accepted. Go on, motivate me. Motivate us.

Past guests have included: nuclear activist and physician Dr. Helen Caldicott, international best-selling author and activist Naomi Wolf, NY Times best selling author James Twyman, actor and playwright Taylor Negron, shaman author Sandra Ingerman, professor of philosophy, religion, anthropology, and psychiatric medicine Dr. Roger Walsh, herbalist Dr. Allan Keith Tillotson, author educator Susun Weed, herbalist author Lesley Tierra, author and professor of anthropology Vickie Noble, Suppressed Histories Archives founder Max Dashu, poet Lamont B. Steptoe, graphic designer Dame Darcy, and so many more unique people with interesting perspectives. We don't have to agree on everything. So much of the joy of life is seeing life through others' eyes and trying on new perspectives. Ideas are just ideas. Spirit is all that truly matters. Life is a dance of consciousness, individualism and collective conscience. If Healing Wisdom has opened people's minds or hearts even one iota, it's done its job. Support Community Radio!!

Working on the personal narrative of my book proposal, a little bit every night. As a solemn promise to my spirit guides. It's been so hard with my practice and being a mom, but I know that this book is supposed to be written. My story is supposed to be told.