October 2007 Archives
The detoxification theory has been the ideological mainstay and bread & butter of the alternative health movement since before World War One, and is just as popular today as it was then. There have been scores of books written about it, conferences and workshops given on it, and an overwhelming amount of information about it on the World Wide Web. The detoxification theory is based on the idea that we take in so many toxic substances via diet and environment that our bodies become toxic, and the only path to ideal health is through eliminating these poisons. Curiously, these poisons have yet to be identified by science. But this has not stopped the true believers from creating and promoting programs to get rid of these so-called invisible toxins.
I first came across this theory in 1972 while reading a book by Paul C. Bragg called Fasting. At the time I was quite obsessed with numerous health and new age religious fads. This may seem amazing for a 17-year old, but then again, my mother had a radical mastectomy due to breast cancer that same year. As this black angry cloud thundered across the horizon of my family, my personal search for longevity and perfect health intensified into a near religious frenzy.
As I read deeper into the books and pamphlets by Paul C. Bragg, Professor Arnold Ehret, and others, I discovered how these proponents said that the unidentified and invisible could be eliminated. The idea that fasting can cleanse the body of impurities goes back to the ancient Greeks, possibly before that. Present day advocates of the detoxification theory rarely promote a true fast (no food or liquid) for any length of time because it can quickly become life threatening. Most of these so-called experts recommend a water or juice fast supplemented with herbal teas. Paul Bragg recommended drinking 8-12 glasses of steam distilled water a day with his own concoction of honey and lemon juice added for the duration of the fast.
From the time I moved out on my own in the summer of 1974 until sometime in 1989, I was not only a true believer in the detoxification theory but engaged in many fasts myself. In the late seventies I went on at least a dozen 7-10 day fasts on nothing but steamed distilled water and a couple drops of lemon juice. In 1983 I decided to try the so-called "grape cure" made famous by Johanna Brandt in the 1920's. For 60-days I fasted from all solid food and drank nothing but organic grape juice. Most health faddists that went on the grape cure were typically in the throws of a major health crisis or age-related chronic conditions. Being youthful and in above average health I fell into quite another category. I was among those striving for perfection of health anf expansion of consciousness.
Fasts can last anywhere from three days to three months. Advocates of the detoxification theory, including Paul Bragg, often emphasized ten or more days. Although medical professionals claim that long-term fasting (more than 36-hours) can be dangerous because that is when the body starts to feed on itself. True believers of the detoxification theory even suggest that short-term fasting is safe for those diagnosed with kidney disease, liver disease, pregnant women, and even infant children. These proponents claim that fasting allows the body, especially the liver, to "rest." In this manner the emphasis of dealing with daily toxic intake is shifted to cleaning up past toxic accumulations that will eventually cause disease and premature death.
The body doesn't know the difference between fasting and starving. According to modern scientific ideas in nutrition and anatomy the body is never at reast during a fast, but is working overtime to prevent starvation and death. The liver most of all is heavily taxed during a fast, converting fat into energy for the body to use. And during a prolonged fast, like the 60-day grape cure I took in 1983, the liver is working at a fever pitch regulating dangerous by-products from muscle and tissue breakdown as the system searches for protein stores.
According to Bragg, fasting also increases the process of elimination and the release of "impurities" from the colon, kidneys and bladder, lungs and sinuses, and skin. This toxic elimination is supposedly so powerful that it can cure and prevent cancers as well as slow the aging process dramatically. Medical conditions, such as headaches, coronary artery disease, diabetes, and even mental illnesses, are often signals from the body for the need of a dexofication fast, according to both Ehret and Bragg. Ironically, fasting often exacerbates these same health concerns. Fasting can also initiate these same problems in otherwise healthy people. Fasting for more than 36-hours often results in headaches or depression; cardiac problems can arise; and glucose regulation for the diabetic will be difficult or impossible and perhaps even lethal.
When I went through the 60-day grape juice fast in 1983 my expectations were rather unrealistic and my motives selfish. By the end of the last week of the fast I was experiencing short periods of euphoria throughout the day and the feeling that the universe lay before me as an open book. I was also experiencing irritability, nausea, weakness, headaches, and lightheadedness. I also started having strange physical sensations in my spinal column. It was as if a line of ants were crawling up my spine and disappearing into my brain followed by blinding headaches. I also had a series of very strange dreams during this phase of the juice fast. I thought at one point that I was becoming psychotic. My blood pressure dropped below the normal 125. On three occasions I fainted and then woke up not knowing who I was or where I was at for several minutes.
An acquaintance of mine during this time, a naturopathic student, claimed that these negative symptoms I was experiencing were a sign that poisons were being released into my bloodstream. The real causes of these symptoms, I found out much later, were well understood by medical science. Lightheadedness, for example, is caused by decreased blood flow to the brain, and nausea can be caused by hunger or fasting-induced hormonal changes. Bragg and others speak of fasting as an opportunity for enlightenment, claiming that it brings about more emotional and mental clarity. But studies have shown that cognitive abilities actually decrease during a period of fasting. Maybe decreased cognitive abilities equal enlightenment?
The detoxification theory holds that putrefaction of the stool causes disease and premature death. This urban myth dates back to ancient Egypt. The belief was that fecal matter would be absorbed into the body as a poison, which leads to chronic illnesses. The proponents of this theory have never identified or measured these invasive poisons. This whole idea of putrefaction poisoning the body has long since been disproved. What I find utterly bizarre is that many present-day proponents of this theory still rigidly rely on late 19th century anatomy and medicine. But these fanatics still persist, claiming that a slow or unclean colon will cause everything from a common cold to coronary artery disease. And if anybody tells them different they cry "government cover-up."
These putrefaction zealots insist that we need to have a bowel movement as often as we take in food--at least three times a day for most people. Who has the time? These colon cops claim that having a bowel movement less often than this will result in "ancient meals encrusted on your colon walls," poisoning the body and preventing nutrients from being absorbed. The longer these meals are allowed to accumulate, the more likely they are to cause illness, and so they must be cleaned away regularly. These claims, of course, are entirely bogus, with no scientific basis whatsoever. With today's technology, we can see inside the colon, and no such toxic goo has ever been documented clinging to the inside of the colon. Like any urban myth the detoxification theory has a rigid and ideological corps of true believers that keep it going decade after decade, even in the bright sunlight of modern science.
When I first bought into the worldview of the detoxification theory as a youth, I found myself in a world of enemas, colonic irrigation's, and high colonics, on a quest to remove the "ancient meals" that were supposedly poisoning me. Some of my so-called mentors at that time, and I use the word mentor very loosely here, even claimed that my intestines were filled with creepy crawly parasites that should be flushed from my body. While I never personally crossed that line into colonic irrigation or the magical high colonic, I had a best friend at the time that did.
He was nine years my senior and hailed from Perth, Australia. Not only was he a true believer in the detoxification theory but a student of the so-called occult sciences. For the whole time I knew Staffen he was on a quest for perfect health and enlightenment. At least once a week he gave himself a coffee enema to clean out his colon. He got this idea during one of our many road trips up to Calistoga Hot Springs Resort in Napa County. One weekend when I drove him up for a two-day "cleansing session" at the spa, he remarked wryly, "You won't find any anal retentives here!" While an enema irrigates only the rectum with a small amount of water, a colonic flushes the colon with many pints via a tube inserted into the rectum. A high colonic is even more extreme, flooding the colon with 20 or more gallons of water and usually via machine. How my friend Steffen endured I'll never know.
Throughout long-term detoxification fasts Paul Bragg recommended enemas every other day and a colonic as often as three times. This sort of behavior is completely unnecessary and can be dangerous. My friend Steffen is a good example of how good but misguided intentions can damage your body. After years of these disgusting coffee enemas and colonics, Steffen suffered some permanent damage to his colon and never did achieve that perfect health he so jealously wanted. In the end his stomach pain was so severe he resorted to high doses of painkillers and alcohol, and became addicted to both. Colonic irrigation is not well regulated--anyone can market the procedure. Pain, severe cramping, infection, perforated bowels, heart failure, and even death have been reported due to colonics. Neither enema's or colonics detoxify the body, and they are not needed to maintain health.
When I look back on those years of being a true believer in the detoxification theory I must shake my head in wonderment. How could I have believed so much junk science and lived my life by its claims? Maybe my mother's breast cancer had more of an effect on me than I realized at the time and it steered me down a path of fear instead of a path of rational, scientific inquiry. I do know one thing for certain, and that is that when I completely removed myself from the claws of this pseudo-scientific theory, I lost so much in my life. I lost a community of supporters who had nurtured me over the years. I lost many good friends. I basically became unmoored from that world and for years afterward drifted without compass nor bearing. I have concluded that it is far easier to live an untruth but so very damn hard to even begin to find the truth!
I first discovered cemeteries at the age of thirteen. This began a life-long passionate hobby of exploration and research into the rich history and the lives of those underneath the ground. From that very first cemetery experience I started a spiral, three-ringed notebook that I titled "Grave Concerns." I logged important grave marker data into this notebook, as well as sketchings and rubbings.
On that first day of discovery in January 1968 in a town called Hayward, California, I was walking the one-and-half miles to Bret Hart Junior High as I did hundreds of mornings before. It was unlike any other January day. The sky was a solid steel gray with long, deep and heavy chasms of threatening black clouds. Every now and then these clouds would let loose with a torrent of ice pellets. What was left of the brown, crunchy autumn leaves were being scattered about by a very chilly wind that cut through my clothing like sharp little knives. On this day I was running late for school. I decided to take a shortcut through what we kids called the Plunge Park Cemetery that lay directly behind the school. Calling it an old cemetery would be a gross understatement! The crumbling markers, overgrown foliage and two big partially toppled trees cleary showed that no one really cared anymore.
I managed to crawl safely through a break in the dilapidated fence and made an attempt to quickly pass to the other side. My attempt failed. I would end up completely missing my first period class. This was my first time in the place and it made me feel quite uneasy, not because of the dead people buried there, but of being caught by park officials in a place surrounded by "no trespassing" signs. I found the neglected and crumbling grave markers with their exotic symbols and inscriptions, fuel for my over-active imagination and passion for history. It was on this day that my true education began in earnest. What I learned from the many visits to this cemetery, and the side visits to my local public library, eclipsed anything I was taught in public school. This alternative education process would have a dramatic and life-changing effects on me as an adult.
As I walked among the various markers I noticed that the cemetery was neatly divided up into sections based on religion, ethnicity and trade. The smallest most neglected section was Jewish. The Star of David still showed prominantly on all the markers but the names and dates were unreadable. The other smaller section was a mixture of Freemasons, Rosicrucians and Catholics. This section had the only three above ground crypts in the whole cemetery. All three were in a state of absolute disrepair and had been noticeably vandalized time and time again.
The biggest and most colorful section of this place had been reserved for the "Woodsmen of the World." The names and dates on these markers were still fairly readable with few exceptions. The dates were from the 20's and 30's. These markers were not your typical, everyday rectangular stones laying flat or standing upright, but mostly granite shaped into the form of a tree trunk about four feet high. I didn't find out until months later at my local library what this "Woodsmen of the World" inscription meant. This is when I started my notebook so I could keep all this newfound knowledge straight in my head.
"Woodsmen of the World" was a common inscription put on grave markers of those who were called "Wobbly"--a nickname given to workers who were members of the Industrial Workers of the World trade unionist movement. It was started in Chicago in June of 1905 by Big Bill Haywood of the Western Federation of Miners, and others who were dissatisfied with the lack of progress of the little old craft unions under Sam Gompers' American Federation of Labor. They were a defiantly radical group mostly anarchist-syndicalists of a sort, and they argued bitterly with socialists as to the value of trying to elect working-class congessmen. Their idea was to ultimately sign up all the workers in One Big Union, improve their conditions, and eventually call a general strike to decide who was going to run the world--the workers or the bosses.
It was at one of these "Woodsmen of the World" granite stumps that I had an experience that cracked open my little provincial world of dead people and history. In the spring of 1969 as I walked through the cemetery on my way to school I noticed a classmate sitting cross-legged against a Wobbly marker. As I got closer he was just staring straight ahead, glassy-eyed. A thin syringe was inserted into his left index finger, just under the skin. After pausing I quickly moved on, my heart racing and butterflies dancing in my stomach. Later that day other classmates educated me about "skin-popping herion." The sight of my classmate that day was so disturbing that I buried myself even further into my world of books and arcane knowledge. The classmate I encountered on that day in the cemetery died two years later from a drug overdose.
The summer following my awakening to the real world of herion abuse, I spent inside the public library researching everything I could find out about the Wobblies and other related topics. I eventually discovered Marxism. One day at the library I took down a huge condensed version of Das Kapital by Karl Marx, and attempted to read it. This was quite an undertaking for a 14-year old boy. I managed, however, to read the inside book jacket and most of the introduction. Most of what was being said went way over my head but the passages about the "working-class revolution" fired my imagination even more than the science fiction I was reading at the time. This heralded the beginning of my political activism later as an adult.
The other area of the Plunge Park Cemetery that became prominant in my notebook as well as my heart was the Freemason section. the names and dates here were often worn off the stones but the Masonic symbols and inscriptions stood the test of time. Symbols such as the "pyramid with the all-seeing eye", the letter "G", and the "compass" intrigued me enough to start a search in the public library. One of the local librarians claimed to be a Freemason and gave me some useful information and books to read. He even invited me down to the local Scottish Rite of Freemasonry church but I never went. He told me that Freemasonry is the oldest and the largest fraternal order in the world. It is a universal brotherhood of men dedicated to serving God, family, mankind and country. The heritage of modern Freemasonry is derived from the organized guilds or unions of stonemasons who contructed the beautiful cathedrals and other stately structures throughout Europe during the middle ages. The skills and architectural genius of these craftsmen and their commitment to the highest standards of moral and ethical values were universally applauded, and unlike other classes of people, they were allowed to travel "freely" from country to country. Thus, during this period, the word "free" was prefixed to the word mason, and these craftsmen, and generations of masons who followed, were referred to as Freemasons.
In 1971, about the time I was filling up my notebook with Freemasonry data, another dramatic and disturbing experience happened to me that shattered my small, bookish, provincial world forever. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and had to undergo a radical mastectomy. This hung over my little world like an angry black cloud for quite a long time. This experience petrified me to the core of my being, because I saw some outside force, which I had no control over, trying to take my mother away from me. All of this exotic and seemingly important knowledge that filled my notebook lay impotent before this force.
I found myself spending more time in the Plunge Park Cemetery. Often I would sit by one of my favorite grave markers and look up in the sky and just think. I would think about the people buried there and what kind of lives they lived and what tragedies they may have survived. I also tried to imagine life without my mother. It was impossible! On more than one occassion the tears would flow down my face. During this intense time of my life the Plunge Park Cemetery became the one place that was eternal, that did not change, that always remained stable like a rock.
It has been too many years since that first day I discovered the Plunge Park Cemetery. Even now as I write this I have the urge to revisit that place of my boyhood with its many mysteries and crumbling history, and once again walk those same steps. But of course, now the view would be profoundly different, almost tragically different I fear. The memory I have of this place and the spiral, three-ringed notebook that documents this memory, will always have a place in my heart as a monument to my boyhood, my alternative education, my classmate's death, my mother's near-death experience, that catapulted me upon a lifetime journey of finding the truth.
I have been thinking about expectations most of the afternnon today. When I set up my new blog recently I felt quite nervous. Even though I have large amounts of essays laying about ready to transcribe onto this blog site, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. Where do I start? What subject matter do I start with? Should I start with material from my recent vacation to California? Should I comment on the various and sundry ways the Democratic Presidential candidates show us their lack of spine? Oh, what do I do?
I could procrastinate further. By the way, I have mastered the art of procrastination to such a degree that I'm still waiting for recognition and that revered presidential medal of freedom. But I went to the trouble of setting this blogging software up through my domain host provider; I just better get off my lazy butt and do it.
When I do publish an essay you dear readers will be the first to know. I am not going to put unrealistic expectations on myself and crank out an essay every day like a 1930's hack writer. No. I am going to plan and think about what I publish. Just because the space is here and a potential of 500 million readers may be waiting with bated breath for my nuggests of wisdom, I am certainly going to take my time. If I published daily for awhile that would be great. But the reality is that my publishing efforts will be mostly hit and miss, so my devoted readers will have to come back often so that nothing is missed.
The first duty of a personal essayist is to write when the mood is there and not before. If my writing efforts ever get to the point of triviality and banality then I would hope that a kind reader will respond and tell me so.
