The better I eat, the better I feel.
Healing the disconnect.
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(Disclaimer: I’m not a doctor or medical pro. This is my personal opinion of what keeps me healthy and creates a happy body. Always consult your medical/holistic/mental health pro.)
I watched farm after farm being plowed under for ugly strip malls and it scarred me.
There’s nothing like growing up in the suburbs to watch farm after farm, forest after forest being plowed under for housing developments and ugly strip malls. Even as a small child, I knew something was terribly wrong and I’d cry and ask my mom why they were doing that. It bothered her, too — but that was the price we paid for living in the ‘burbs. Ugly homes, ugly stores — ugliness everywhere. For some, it was a new form of beauty — for me, a nightmare, like living in the old Joni Mitchell song, Big Yellow Taxi.
In the maw of the modern Industrial Age — the only thing I could do was flee when the opportunity presented itself. After school ended, I moved to NYC because it was a place of destiny but would escape to Central Park and other lovely locations whenever I could. I had to figure out the balance of country/city and at the time, I wanted city life. I’d move out, then move back in. I wasn’t ready to be the country girl I am now.
What I didn’t realize? I had to adjust my vision to wherever I landed.
If I viewed something as ugly, then ugly would present itself — and man, did I live in some trashy hoods — pre-gentrification because they was the only ones I could afford (they’re all bougie now, of course). My version of beauty could be found anywhere but my internal story required a reframe, an adjustment to the internal goggles — just like I didn’t have to live out the vision of suffering artist unless I wished.
I could run — but what I viewed as ugliness would find me anywhere. PNW clear cuts. The poisoned Hudson River. McMansions. Massive fields drenched in glysophate - and the next door neighbor, spraying her lawn with the same. Littered roads, wilted veggies in bodega bins, burned out cars, hateful humans.
Vibration — as the woo people say — attracts the same vibration.
Beauty was all around me, reemerging from the past — gorgeous brownstones covered in grime, exquisite stone and woodwork. Museums and libraries. Dance and theater. Cheery flower pots and girls dangling paper hearts out of 5th story tenements. Scraggly ginkgoes in their brilliant fall colors, waving outside of my bedroom window. Urban gardens and mothers demanding better food, creating a healthier future for their children — and all of us.
Or I could choose to be frustrated for eternity, only notice the ugliness and wait for the entire world to catch up to my particular vision and the way I expected them to live.
Eventually, I realized that wasn’t a winning play.
That’s nice, Raven — you might say — but what does this have to do with eating habits?
Well, being angry or viewing the world as ugly/sinful = stress = higher cortisol levels = digestion issues = unhappy life. It isn’t possible to separate one from the other. It all connects because it’s our daily reality. I could hold onto the sorrow of my childhood or find ways — even now — to thank my problematic parents for eating healthy, regular walking, no smoke/no alcohol, preferring daily black tea (I swear those tannins preserved them), Mom cooking most meals instead of processed food (though I loved those salisbury steak TV dinners!), a clean house, not overeating, encouraging reading and the arts. She started to recycle when I was in j.h. and trained us to care about sorting trash. All of those things led to my healthier life, regardless of a painful upbringing in other ways.
I’d never be a successful intuitive if I didn’t adjust to the needs of my sensitive nervous system.
Guaranteed I would have crashed and burned years ago if I ate junk/non organic/GMO, smoked, took drugs and unhappy with body weight. There are many healers who do those things and I’m not judging them. Jane Roberts channeled Seth while in an unhealthy body. Edgar Cayce was warned by his guides to stop channeling but he didn’t listen and died. My mentor said years ago that many channels died young because they didn’t know how to work with the energy and it fried them. I had to be careful and clear myself after every session because I used to hold onto my clients’ issues, carrying them around like a dead weight. My hypersensitivity in play, thinking I was responsible for figuring out their problems, another nod to my dysfunctional childhood.
There’s always something I can change to make my body happier. That includes giving up rice and adding eggs.
I gave up all rice products months ago (inflammatory for me) and watched extra weight drop off. I regularly go through cabinets with my pendulum, asking Does this food cause inflammation? Of course, that meant I had to be creative and change baking habits because most GF flour mixes are brown rice. It took time but now I exclusively bake with freshly ground oat flour, coconut flour and a mix of cassava flour (LOVE — how did I not know this?) Organic oats are the only grains I eat and my body definitely feels happier. I won’t repeat earlier essays on eating habits but you can find plenty of info there on how to make organic dairy-free milks, nut butters and the like. The more homemade and organic, the better.
Since 2021, I haven’t eaten eggs — but earlier this year, I asked my body if she wanted them and it was YES. I was stoked! It makes baking so much easier and I adore eggs and missed them terribly. Yet whatever my body wants — or prefers to release — I will listen and follow. It’s not an ongoing argument because she is my best friend and will provide a long and happy life. It’s not worth losing my health, focused mind or flexible joints to go against her needs.
Healing the disconnect is appreciating the beauty I see and create around me. It’s always there — and always will be.
Fresh spring water. Unsprayed organic fruits and veggies. Rivers and mountains, eternal and forgiving. The rain, pounding the roof as I worry about the power going out, then realize, Hey, put a pot outside, girl. It’s water. The generous orchards and overflowing gardens. Visions of the enormous pollinator fields and fruit groves I’ll plant before I die, to honor those plowed under and heal the little girl in me, so wounded by the destruction.
The beauty is there, all around and in me — and always will be. I simply have to notice it.