A friend was bit by a rattlesnake back in the 1980s while hiking in the Arizona mountains where access to a phone for an emergency call would require hours of her friend’s fast hiking down the mountain. She would lie there for hours before the helicopter landed to take her to the hospital. 
Telling me about it many years later, she did not mention the pain, but instead described almost dreamily how she lay there alone on a slab of rock in the warm spring sun, facing death – and was overwhelmed by a sense of love.
She said she fell in love with the rock on which she lay.
Had an impulse to organize my herb and tea cabinet today, which was overflowing and well-intentioned but badly neglected.
Coincidentally, I’m ready to hang the herb and tea cabinets I found used at the Habitat for Humanity store on walls in the utility building/greenhouse that came with this house I bought five years ago.
As I weed out this cabinet, I realize I’m thrilled to have the beginnings of an herb store in there soon – closing in on the realization of my years’ long vision of a food growing and processing operation here. A casual one, functional, not too demanding.
At my crowded herb cabinet in the house, I went through everything, removed duplicates and anything I wasn’t sure what it was (so certain was I at the time that I wouldn’t forget and that I would soon get a label on it, but years went by), next to carry them all into the greenhouse to put in those cabinets soon.
Also exciting, I can begin to use my extensive collection of saved jars of every size and type! And put pretty labels on them!
Meantime, what I have left in here at home, are arranged in categories of sleep/rest, daytime, daily health, and medicine.
Suddenly I realized the little nudges I was making to various jars to make their arrangement just a little bit prettier reminded me of a book I had read long ago about making alters throughout one’s house. And I realized that was what I was doing – creating a new altar to my health and healing.
This afternoon, I came outside to dry my hair after showering, and found the air temperature 78° and the wind just slightly gusty. The sun at 3 o’clock, the sky clear, the desert still green from the rains a few weeks ago, and the desert I greet each morning and say goodnight to each night seemed to bless me with such good energy, I could only stand still with my eyes closed and let it sink in.
Then a healer inside me, a resident or maybe one who just comes in now and then, took me through a series of slow motions like tai chi, then collapsed me down, my head to my knees, then twisted me very slowly in one direction and the next, rolling across with my head bowed and rotating, all so slowly that every muscle fiber after another hummed with joy. Then we rose again like a tree slowly twisting and swaying in the wind, then slowly returned to this pose that I don’t know about, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn it was an asana: my feet apart, toes wide, knees bent, arms bent beside me, palms forward, shoulders relaxed, breathing full, loving the stretch in these muscles that don’t often get used, finding slightly new variations with a slow twist, relaxing.
I believe we all have inner healers that can help us release stress in our bodies without lessons or classes, give us the same benefits of an expensive massage, get our lymph system moving, get our blood fully moving, our nervous systems made happy, and healing begun.
I was supposed to see a new doctor on Tuesday, but the night before they sent me an extremely long agreement I was supposed to sign with numerous sections requiring my initials throughout.
In the first section, there were some paragraphs I didn’t like. In the second section there were more, including one that gave them permission to audio and videotape me but forbade me from audio or videotaping them.
Next they promise to give us copies of our files except for anything they might write that had to do with psychology or psychiatry. I once told a psychologist I thought I was a mind control subject, and while he never responded and we never talked further about it, he wrote delusional in my file, and that has dogged me ever after.
Given my status as a mind control subject, this felt threatening. So the next morning I expressed uncertainty about signing it to the check-in person, and I was not allowed to have my appointment that morning.
The truth is, I trust modern medicine as practiced in the United States for its emergency care and diagnostics, but I do not trust it for its prevention advice or treatment. For those needs, I see a naturopath.
So I’m crafting a letter to thank the system very much for its opportunity to avail myself of its services, but I will decline their offer.
I will pay for my own healthcare and state publicly in every way possible that I refuse CPR, intubation, or any hospital admission. My angels will take care of me, or I will pass on to the next life. 
I’m not looking forward to dying, but when I go, I’d prefer it be by mountain lion.
Death should be a last experience of life, not one more of technology, whether fast as in a car crash, or slow as in needles and tubes, monitors beeping and motors keeping organs alive for years.
No, I can think of no better way to go than knowing I am at that very moment sustaining the life of another living being, especially one as beautiful as a mountain lion.
Too many in my family have died of Alzheimer’s Disease. My grandmother I watched go for a full fifteen years, the last ten of which she seemed to have no recognition of sound or movement or her very own life, much less recognition of her family and our caring for her. None in my family want this to be our fate, yet we wonder: How do we help another dodge the law to achieve our lbreak from a mindless “life”?
I have notified my family that if the time comes I am like my grandmother, or otherwise unable to respond to others and care for myself, I want to go on a “vision quest.” I may not have that understanding then, but they may tell the authorities with conviction that that is indeed what I demanded.
They are to take me deep into whatever mountain range is convenient and help me to the highest possible place, far off the trail, within the mountain lion’s seasonal habitat. There we may have a ceremony. They may hug me, wish me a good journey, and go away. Leave me no food, no shoes. I do want a good sleeping bag, since at this moment I cannot imagine tolerating the cold (allow me this idiosyncrasy as another last request), but leave me no tent.
If you want, you may return in two weeks or so to gather my remains, or simply verify that I am gone. But you are not to come back sooner or try to change my course.
I may die of cold or starvation or even a fall, should I be ambulatory and try to move around. But the most glorious way to die, if I am lucky, will be by major predator – such as the mountain lion.
Few of us have had the pleasure of seeing a mountain lion in the wild, even though the animal used to have the largest range of any native mammal in the western hemisphere. Also known as cougars, it is the second largest cat in North America, second only slightly to the jaguar. Despite its size and weight, it moves with rolling grace, with hardly a sound. Stalking its prey, it often approaches very close before charging swiftly to make a kill. The attack is made toward the head, to break the animal’s neck.
Mountain lions do not usually attack human beings, especially if deer, their favorite food, is available. But if a human being were an easy target, such as myself, then there is no reason to believe the mountain lion would not take advantage, as most predators are also opportunists by nature.
If I had any awareness of myself and my surroundings, I believe the pain of the attack would be easily outweighed by the thrill. Perhaps I would be surprised as, in a flash, a lion would be at my neck. Or maybe, despite failing faculties, my senses would come alive in the solitude and silence of the wilderness, and I would smell and hear as sensitively as wild things.
Sitting or lying quietly, I might hear the cat from a distance pause, then slowly approach, pads settling softly on the forest duff, its breathing intermixed with the breeze.
Then the charge. In the silent blink of an eye, the huge body would be at mine. One-hundred fifty pounds of warm fur, perfect muscle, not breath and bounding hunger. If I am lucky, I will see its eyes, intent, without malice, about the deed it must do for every meal. It has been a killer since its fluffy spotted babyhood.
The house cat I tried as a child to cuddle, too aloof, resisting, would be upon me now with a vengeance. Soft fur, and warmth, its weight would surprise me. And its teeth would sink with perfection, consummating our exchange.
Before the warm rush of blood which would make me cold if I could feel another minute, I would perhaps inhale the big cat’s breath. In adrenalized alarm, I would gasp as the big cat, in exertion, exhaled its hot breath – sweet, rich, but not with the oxygen I would otherwise need.
Before it broke my neck, perhaps a low sound would emerge from deep in the cat to my ear, anticipating its satiation. Fur on my neck, like a lover, almost purring. Claws embracing. Its stomach even then churning chemicals to make me part of it.
Its heart would beat calmly then, after mine had ceased, slow and steady, sixty beats per minute, as the owner licked its paws and cleaned its face and departed to nap, as it has for thousands of years.
Art copyright Asante Riverwind 1987 Text copyright Jean Eisenhower 1987
Asante and I produced our art and writing in 1987, though we wouldn’t know each other or begin our collaborations until 2002.
Here is another history of Mind Control, which I wrote 11 years ago and actually forgot about! Just skimmed it, and this post seems to provide a great deal more interesting detail than the page I posted about last. But both are worthy reading – if you care about this subject – not specifically about healing, but important for those healing from Mind Control, to understand the full context of our serious situation.
Some of my readers here have arrived from my other site about healing from Mind Control. For those and anyone else interested in the subject, here is my overview of Mind Control, unfortunately quite common in our nation, even though we choose not to think about it. 
It’s been 40 years since I quit using soap on anything but my hands.
The idea began with a doctor who, in my 20s (50 years ago), told me to never use soap on intimate parts. “Your skin has oil ducts for a reason. Don’t use chemicals to remove what Nature designed. Just water.” So I quit using soap. End of problems.
One morning ten years later, in my 30s, as I used copious amounts of lotion all over my body, as I did every day, I wondered whether I could quit using soap all over me.
It would be totally contrary to every bath commercial I’d ever seen in my life, of watery soap bubbles running down the shoulders of a happy, beautiful naked woman.
I would see if I could go soapless on the whole of me. I would just use water and scrub with a loofah to remove dead skin cells, excess oil, other natural exudations, and dirt. And hope to feel a different sort of clean in my newly naturally cleaned skin. But I didn’t just feel as good; I felt much better.
Loofah is naturally antibacterial and smells like loofah even after a year, whereas a damp used washcloth can smell pretty terrible after a single day.
After the first day of using no soap, I knew I’d never subject myself to that habit again. (What has the culture been doing to us?!)
Next I tried quitting soap on the soles of my feet, using only water and a foot brush. My athletes foot went away forever.
For my armpits, I used a separate loofah and water. (Afterward, a sprinkle of baking soda, maybe essential oil, or nothing.) Totally fine.
Soap dries out our skin, creating microscopic cracks for bacteria to thrive in, excrete in, and make us stink. Healthy skin, allowed to do its natural thing, can heal those microscopic cracks, giving bacteria no easy home.
After that, I needed to decide whether to stop my daily face regimen. Since I was a teenager, with excessively oily skin, prone to acne, I’d used a dermabrasion treatment every day of my life. My skin stayed smooth and very young looking, because it had to constantly renew itself. I tried replacing the product with a scrubbing glove, but that seemed to require enough pressure to made me worry I’d stretch my skin too much. So I quit using the glove and returned to my daily dermabrasion – until I was a nomad and quit taking daily showers. Then I used it much less, but still used it.
I tried to quit using shampoo on my hair, as many women have successfully, and as was the norm before advertising, but I soon returned to it, enjoying the sensation of stripped locks. I satisfied myself that I was using it less.
My face and scalp were the only parts that did not go totally product-free; and to this day, my face and scalp have been the hardest to rid of Lyme Disease.
40 years, no soap.
I wish everyone could know how easy and inexpensive it is to heal their illnesses and irritations on their own.
While saving money on lotion, soap, laundry, medicines and doctor visits.
And be free of the fantasy that our medical, media, and education systems are actually working for our health.
Garden Healing Church 