Recently, as part of the spontaneous bonfire of un-interrogated long-term beliefs that’s come over me as a result of living through the covid swindle, I’ve stopped worrying about sugar and salt, as also about animal fats, etc. I eat all of them to appetite, which nowadays is quite modest anyway.
Amongst other things lately, I’ve shrugged off too my long-term anxiety about the climate: into the bonfire with it! (And what a weight off the shoulders that’s been!) I realised that I’d accepted the alarm-sounding by authority-figures years ago without any in-depth investigation; but when you DO look carefully, and actually listen to the climate-sceptics’ reasonings, the whole ‘AGW emergency’ thing all turns out to be highly iffy moonshine, despite all the shrieking certainties of the still-convinced…
As it happens, I’m being wound right now into a drastic - and yet apparently now rather routine - surgical process. The next catheterisation to try to see close-up my aortal heart-valve, via my radial (wrist) artery, in preparation for a valve-replacement via key-hole surgery (sic! astonishingly enough!), is scheduled for tomorrow, Wednesday.
All the investigative tests that the good folk at my local hospital have run on me so far have shown a system that’s holding up pretty well, despite my free-wheeling attitude lately to all the shibboleths and taboos of current official ‘clean living’ prescriptions: Salt, butter, sugary ‘fecky’ (as my workmates in a local bread-factory where I worked as a vacation-time student used to call confectionaries! ) - I eat as much of all of the tabooed stuff as I fancy, and apparently take no ill effect from it. So all the run-up-to-surgery tests seem to show, anyway.
Mind you, I have been doing daily shamanic practices for about six decades now, which include regular magical work to promote the well-being of all my nearest and dearest, with my own overall health tacked on at the end of the daily workings.
It works! Resolute mind definitely governs the behaviour of matter generally, in my long-extended experience. And that includes the doings of personal biology, so long as you do it all in an unwaveringly white-magic way: “…with good intent to all, and none left out…”
So - if they manage to get a close look at my valve tomorrow (the previous attempt to look, through my femoral (groin) artery had to be aborted because - as the surgeon said - when he got to the aorta it was “so curly-whirly” that he didn’t want to push the catheter any further, for fear of causing a tear) I shall be scheduled for the full-on valve-replacement at the regional hospital’s specialist unit, some time in the next few weeks. Tomorrow, they’re trying another route to get a close look…
I notice, with a certain wry amusement, that you have to sign an acceptance-form outlining a remote risk of possibly needing major open-chest emergency surgery, if something goes amiss; yet it all strikes me as something to just go into with a serene mind, on the hugely liberating principle that ‘che sera, sera’, and ‘all will be well, and all manner of things will be well’ - no matter what happens; death included, natch!
If you don’t hear from me for a while after tomorrow, you’ll know that something Interesting must have happened. Que sera, sera…