OPTIMAL HEALTH NETWORK BLOG

by Kristina Amelong

Saturday in May. Not sure the date. I know the waves in the lake lap against the shore. I know the wind blows the red rose bush next to the brick building. I know the swallows circle around the willow tree.

Pen to paper. Pen to paper. Again, I know nothing, nothing to write down, nothing to share with you, nothing in my mind. Nothing.

Back to what I know. Grass beneath my sandaled feet. Rivers of ink forming letters, now words, now sentences and,  maybe more importantly, now love. Do you hear it?

A lone Cedar tree welcomes the clouds as they arrive. I still do not know what the date is. Seems we humans constructed time so we could catch trains, go somewhere, do something.

A woman under a red baseball cap lies on a white woolen blanket, reading. She is still except her toes move about like a colony of ants or a school of fish or a chocolate Labrador rolling on a dead fish. I wonder what those toes are thinking, feeling, where they are going? She turns her page, scratches her nose. What is she reading? Moments before, she lay in the sun on the wooden pier covered in white, dried birdshit on that white woolen blanket. Now she lies against the slope of  a small grassy hill with her book, her blanket, her red baseball cap and her busy toes.

I still don't know what the date is. Did I think writing about what I do know, what I noticed, would place me back in time like a man might set his beer on a bar after a long, satisfying gulp?

I hope so. Where am I without knowing time?

The grass below this picnic table, below the white wool blanket, next to the lapping waves, below the circling swallows, adjacent to the waving Cedar tree, is not only one color green, but rather patterned in diagonal stripes – telling me a person with a lawnmower once came here, to this place I am in and moved this lawnmower across this grass, on a different date.

What date is it now?

Windy. Fat. Possible. White caps on the lake. Kale. Broken pottery sculptures. Shit. This shit. Birdshit. Bicycle chains. Ancient metal birdbaths – empty, no water. White woolen blankets. May. Motorboats. Six legs, translucent wings; now on my thumb; now gone. A red kayak. A yellow kayak. "I like that one," the woman in the red baseball cap exclaims.

Labels: creating writing, soul

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by Kristina Amelong

Back to the healing tool of my daily practice:
Contemplative Writing.

Today's Prompt: The Skin You Are In

Just today, I found myself talking about building the soul.

"Why do I feel as if I want to weep?"
"Grief can be so deep."

Even when my outer life is full of the deep red of tulips, the trill of red-winged blackbirds, the wet and cold of spring grass under my feet, I still feel such a deep grief.

"Hello?"
"Hello to you."
"Are you one of my souls?"

Just today, I heard the Tibetans think we have 3 to 5 souls. "Do you all live within me or are you that space between myself and the red-winged blackbirds amongst the marsh cattails? I do not know. Do you?"

Pause

"Whom I talking to?"

Seems my mother knew my brother was going to die, too. "What was she to do?" Seems she brought people into rooms with closed doors and consoled them with the story of it, "He knew he would die and he wants you to know he is fine," she would say.

"Exactly what does that mean? Did he have five souls? What is he now?"

One - A tin can kicking along a barren street?
Two - A kitten just learning the joys of a ball of red yarn?
Three - A blizzard atop of Mount Kilimanjaro?
Four - A shoe, purple, a high top?
Five - His sister's impulse to write?
Seems his body was so destroyed his organs couldn't even be donated,
not one of them. Seems he died a violent death.  Remember, it's okay,
he said.

"I'm glad to hear this, as I was just about to weep."

Just today, while doing yoga, the instructor placed his hands on me, both hands, right and left. I was sitting up, bent right leg over bent left leg. I was twisted; I was becoming a spiral. The yogi  lifted, supported, turned me more. My body merged into the expansion, into places I had never been before -- spaces within skin, muscle, beingness -- a new me. And, the voice, the feeling was -- can I just please die? can I just die now?

Laughing. Life isn't so serious. Now, joy.

Seems my presence doesn't end at my skin -- it flies with flocks of birds at sunset. It merges with raging rivers at snow-melt.

"Look up. Do you see color? It is everywhere. right now, as I write, as I read, my beingness swoops and turns and glides and lands and chirps and soars."

Mary Oliver says she knows one thing for sure – that in attentiveness we build our soul. I found this quote for the first time last night and all this time I thought I had just had a soul, was born with it. Little did I know I was building it like a Lego set -- yellow block on top of blue block on top of green block on top of red block -- a tower on a shag carpet. Watch out, here comes my baby brother to knock it over. Mommie!

My cousin, Cydney, cried two days ago while sharing with me her experience of my brother Jay's death as she ate my Aunts Ruth's lemon poppy seed cake. When I was a child I used to beg Aunt Ruth each holiday to always make sure that poppy seed cake would be there for the next holiday -- those black, tiny seeds suspended in sugar and flour, topped with wind-blown, snow-like frosting. Deep inside between the two round cake layers, a yellow layer of lemon ooze emerged. I love that cake. Yes, I love that cake -- even though I cannot eat it as I have Celiac Disease.

"There is really nothing else to say."

Labels: death, grief, metaphysical, soul, yoga

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by Kristina Amelong

As I share in my book, Ten Days to Optimal Health, I started my healing journey in the 12-step programs Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous. These resources were crucial in tackling my drug and alcohol addictions. Being  part of these programs was one of the best things that I have ever done. Yes, I worked the steps, read the Big Book. Another book that I was introduced to those 20-plus years ago was Louise Hay's You Can Heal Your Life. Reading her book, I was introduced to the concept that what I thought mattered, and not only mattered but might just determine how my life went, how good my health was, how good my relationships were, and how I was doing economically. Since my thoughts were consistently negative at this time in my life -- nobody likes me, I hate myself, I'd rather die than live this life, pain, pain and more pain -- I felt I would give these unlikely healing tools a try. After all, I felt life had to get better if I was thinking "I love myself'" rather than "I wish I was dead."

My body now restores itself to its natural state of good health.
My income is constantly increasing.
I do the work I love.
I am passionate about life.
I am well.

I did these affirmations and more hundreds of time a day. It felt silly but now, 22 years later, I offer here that what I think absolutely makes a difference to the quality of my life. I created OptimalHealthNetwork.com and the Optimal Health Center coming from an earlier life where my highest aspirations were to some day own a McDonald's. Yes, I recommend Hay's book, You Can Heal Your Life. And now you can watch her entire movie, You Can Heal Your Life, on YouTube, in which she is joined by many other healers such as Esther Hicks, Greg Bradden, Candace Pert, and Christian Northrup, who all share their own experiences with changing their thinking to change their life. Please watch it and post your experiences here or on our Facebook page.

Funny, but after writing this blog post, I realize that throughout my book, Ten Days to Optimal Health, and my website, I repeat over and over again: You Can Heal. Yes, Louise Hay's work has had a profound influence on my life. Yes, I have experienced tremendous healing on many levels in my own life, creating this business and recovering my body from a chronic illness of celiac disease, multiple chemical sensitivities, depression, and more.

Labels: alcoholism, chronic illness, depression, drug addiction, healing, life change

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by Kristina Amelong

“I used to think freedom meant doing whatever you want. It means knowing who you are, what you are supposed to be doing on this earth, and then simply doing it.”
– Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones

Back to the healing tool of the daily practice. Again, choose any daily activity that truly nourishes your soul, truly brings you a deeper sense of purpose in your life – playing an instrument, exercise like yoga, meditation, service in your community, studying a passion like How the Universe Began or Quantum Physics, or, one of my daily blessings – Free or Contemplative writing. 

Below, I share one of my ten-minute timed writings.

An earlier writing, What is Optimal Health?, can be found here.

Write one of those six-word life stories. Kittens. Pain. Expansion. Flowers blooming in the spring. But is that too many words? A black-capped chickadee flitting onto my wooden bird feeder, enchanting with its presence. A brother who rode his bike while a green car determined to meet him with fate or destiny, I'm not yet sure which. Could you tell me? Water – not drinking – but diving into, black – below a baby blue sky salted with tall, white clouds. I could hold my breath longer than the other children. Floating cold, but not dead like my brother. McDonald's as home, teacher, emerging self – not just flipping burgers and capping bubbly diet Cokes for the cars in the drive thru. Only six words, I know: Love, longing, beauty, animals, loneliness, effort. Six words. Now more words about those six words. I loved toads, baby pigeons, horses, muddy waters, and my brother Jay. I longed for love, belonging, being touched by anyone – later on I wasn't choosy. Beauty is now the name of my cat. Beauty is what my daughter breathes in with every movement. Yes, even as she rides her Ripstick, plays the piano, wraps her arms around me, and whimpers on the couch. Animals – have ever seen a mass of birds I'll move in unison? Loneliness – I was in Mexico on a Spanish class trip in sixth grade. I woke in the middle of the night with diarrhea. I hid my underwear deep in the garbage can of my hotel  bathroom. In the morning I was awoken by the same underwear swaying in my face. "Whose are these?" "Not mine," I maintained, wishing I could disappear into the black spaces between stars. Effort – what can I say except now I write.

If you wish to explore optimizing your health through a writing practice, read the work of Natalie Goldberg.

I invite you to share your writing with me, if you think it will benefit you or others in our combined endeavors for optimal health. If we both agree, your work can be posted here.

Labels: chronic illness, daily practice, healing arts, optimal health

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click on image to enlarge

by Kristina Amelong

It is December 18th, 1920. Imagine sitting in a well-worn armchair next to a wood-burning stove, snow just beginning to fall outside the window. On your lap is a Saturday Evening Post, America’s most influential and beloved magazine. You spent a nickel to secure your copy.

First, you admire the fine artwork by Ruth Eastman - a woman donning a red hat made of feathers, looking down at her watch, ice skates tucked under her left arm. Yes, the Norman Rockwell illustration of the boy pushing the baby carriage while being teased by two other boys in red and white baseball caps was your favorite, but the reds in her hat and on her cheeks and the grace of her fingers and gaze were admirable.

Instead of lifting the cover to view the table of contents, your thumb slips into the center pages of the magazine, igniting your imagination with the potential for a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald. You had loved Bernice Bobs Her Hair in the May issue of the magazine. After all, it was about a girl from Eau Claire, Wisconsin, who sneaks into her cousin Marjorie’s room and cuts off her pigtails, throwing them onto the porch of a boy. You were also hoping for an article on prohibition, a new serial, or more pictures of the Essex automobile, an affordably priced enclosed passenger car you were hoping to soon own.

When you open the magazine, however, you find more of the color red: a full-sized ad from the Faultless Rubber Company. You recognize the familiar fountain syringe because you have seen it in your neighbor’s bathrooms, but you have never "cleaned" your body. Yet, you have been feeling a bit run down lately, so you read the ad:

"Because keeping the body clean inside will prevent much of the sickness in every home..."

"Protects the health of all the family from Baby to Baby’s grandparents..."

"Known from one end of the country to the other for the splendid satisfaction it gives its users..."

You make a note to pick one up at the druggist the next time you are in town. You
turn the page, eagerly beginning Lizard by Rita Weiman.

Labels: enema, hot water bottle

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by Kristina Amelong

Use high-quality water. Always remove the chlorine: reverse osmosis, carbon filtering, and distillation water filtration systems are a few choices.

Learn more about safe and unsafe enema solutions

Use a thermometer so you know that the water temperature is between 96 and 103 degrees Fahrenheit. If the water is too cold, you are more likely cramp. If the water is too hot, you could burn the tissues of the colon.

Add sea salt to your enema water to assist the body to maintain healthy electrolyte levels. Use 1 teaspoon of Celtic Sea Salt per quart of water. To assure adequate levels of electrolytes in your body, have a hair tissue mineral analysis (HTMA) done seasonally.

Add essential oils to the your enema water. Using essential oils in your enema water will improve your colon cleansing experience; ample scientific evidence exists that the colon is a more effective delivery system for therapeutic agents than the mouth.

The colon can hold up to 4 quarts of warm water. When filling the colon with water, go slowly - close the enema clamp often. However, if you find your body can only take in 1 quart of water, that is just fine too. The smaller your body is, the less water you will be able to take into your colon.

To learn more, view Small Volume Enemas and Large Volume Enemas.

Labels: Celtic Sea Salt, enema, enema solutions, essential oils, hair tissue mineral analysis

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by Kristina Amelong

Recently, while answering the phone at work, I discovered that some of our happiest customers are veterinarians.

The phone rang. I answered it. "Hello, Optimal Health Center,” I chimed.

“Could you please help me place an order for some of your enema equipment?” the caller asked.

“Sure!” Upon finding her customer number, I noticed she had ordered from us multiple times and that her orders always consisted of 10 to 20 infant bulb syringes, 5 to 10 two-and-a-half quart clear enema bag kits, and 5 to 10 flex tip enema nozzles junior.

“Hmmm, thanks for your past orders. What can I help you to order today?” I offered.

“I would like 10 infant bulb syringes, 10 two-and-a-half quart clear enema bags, and 10 small enema nozzles,” she told me.

“Do you own an alternative health clinic?” I asked.

“No,” she said, laughing. “I am a veterinarian. We use this enema equipment with some of the cats and dogs that come to the clinic, especially the cats.”

“Wow, cats and dogs get enemas at veterinary clinics?” I asked in surprise. I thought I was up on the many regular uses of enemas, but I was abruptly realizing that there was a whole area of enema use that I wasn’t familiar with.

“Yes, pets become constipated for many reasons and respond well to enemas. As I said before, especially cats. We give enemas daily to pets here.” Her matter-of-fact tone on the issue of giving pets enemas and my inner awe made me laugh out loud.

“Well, I will have to let others know that cats and dogs sometimes need enemas too.”

It turns out that a handful of veterinary clinics order enema equipment from OptimalHealthNetwork.com.

Labels: cats, dogs, enema, veterinarians

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