Cure,for,Cancer,wildest,imagin health A Cure for Cancer

The technology behind listening devices has improved dramatically in recent years, giving new hope to those with impairment. While still far from a perfect replacement for the natural ability to hear, these devices give those with a disabili If the vagina is not offering the firm grip to your male partner, he expresses displeasure in lovemaking. You need to tighten the orifice and regain lost elasticity. You can make use of herbal remedies for loose vagina treatment naturally. H

In my wildest imagination, I never dreamed of helping someonekick cancer over the phone!One evening in 1985, the telephone rang. It was my brother Johnwho lived in Washington, D.C. A call from my elder sibling washighly unusual. A year my senior, John hadn't connected with mefor several years. It wasn't that we disliked each other; weloved one another. We simply didn't have much in common and,therefore, little to talk about. He was a big city, governmentlawyer, married with a family. I was an ex-hippie acupuncturistliving the single life in Boston.When I answered the telephone, it took me a moment to recognizemy brother's voice. John was crying profusely, his voiceconveying a feeling of terror and extreme loss. I'd never heardmy brother in this condition. He was ordinarily a bastion ofmacho strength and bravado."John? What's wrong? What's happened? The boys? Sharon? Didsomething happen to Mom?""I'm dying, Keith," John choked out between sobs.My brother had developed a cancerous tumor the size of a golfball in the center of his brain stem. Most of the left side ofhis body was already paralyzed. Within a few weeks doctors saidthe paralysis would reach his heart. At that point, he'd die.I was stunned. "Can't they operate or something? Did you get asecond opinion?"The answer was no, they couldn't operate because of the size andlocation of the tumor. Yes, he'd seen a slew of doctors. All thecancer specialists he consulted concurred: because of thelocation and size of the tumor, his condition was beyond helpthrough surgery, radiation or chemotherapy. There was nothingmedical science could do. My brother had approximately threeweeks to live. John had been sent home to die. His wife Sharonand our mother were immobilized with grief and anxiety."What can I do, John?""Nothing, Keith. I just need to talk to someone. I've tried totalk to Sharon and Mom. Every time I do, they just break downand cry. The doctors can't help me, so they don't want anyfurther contact with me. My friends, well, they don't know whatto say, so they avoid me. I just need someone to talk to, Keith.Will you talk to me?"John had never asked me for any kind of assistance our wholelives. He was the big brother who always had everything together.I was the younger brother, the nonconformist who espousedstrange philosophies, made weird career choices and had all thesocietal problems. Talk to him? Of course I would talk to him! Iwas willing to do anything I could for him. I immediatelyoffered to catch the next plane to Washington."No, that's not what I need, Keith. There's nothing you can dofor me here. I just want to talk to someone.""Okay, John," I answered.We conversed for over two hours the first night. I quicklyrealized that despite my accumulation of so many varied,alternative healing techniques, nothing in my bag of trickscould help my brother. It was too late to try acupuncture,macrobiotics, yoga or rebirthing. The cancer was too faradvanced. He was paralyzed. He was being fed intravenously. Itwas too late to change his diet or lifestyle. I'd never felt sohelpless.What use is all my healing knowledge, I asked myself, if I can'thelp my own brother in a life and death crisis?Again, I offered to fly to Washington. Again, he refused. Hesimply wanted someone to listen to him and be with him rightwhere he was-in pain, fear and despair. He didn't want to bealone in his terror. Death was stealthily approaching, and mybrother had surrendered to the inevitable. He asked me to makesure his two young sons had a strong male presence to supportthem as they grew up. Although barely staying afloat in theocean of life's emotional challenges myself, I assured him I'dbe there as a caring and reliable father figure for his sons.When we hung up, I was emotionally drained.John called the next evening and, within minutes, again begancrying and expressing his fears. I listened helplessly, offeringsuggestions based on my beliefs and experience as honestly as Icould without causing him even more pain. After he spent himselfand broke off the connection, I meditated late into the nightsearching for some way to help this man who was such an integralpart of me. The answer I received didn't seem appropriate, but Iwas determined to trust my inner coach. It had never let me downbefore.When the telephone rang the next evening, I listened to hisalready familiar litany of fears and angry tirades. Finally,taking a quivering breath, I put to him the question my innercoach had suggested, "John, do you want to die?""No, damn it!" he yelled into the receiver. "What a stupidquestion! What the hell's wrong with you! Of course, I don'twant to die!"Drawing on my abiding faith in my spirit, I responded with totalassurance, "Well, you don't have to. You can decide to live."I told him about people who'd been diagnosed with terminalcancer. Many I knew personally and some I'd heard of. Like him,the medical profession had abandoned them. Like him, they weresent home to die."But they refused to accept the verdict of death, John. Theyhealed themselves."There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Finally, heasked, "What kind of cancer?""All kinds," I answered. "Through the power of meditation andthe personal power of intention, the disease went into remission.The cancers simply disappeared without any medical explanation."I knew the concept was hard for my brother to accept. The notionof self-healing was difficult for John to understand when he washealthy, let alone while looking death in the face. Meditation,spirit guides, angels, other dimensions-those things didn'treally exist for John. He loved me. I knew that as fact. But hefelt I was a kook. I asked him to think about it. He said hewould. The conversation ended shortly thereafter. I worried thathe would dismiss me and not call again.The next evening, I hung around the telephone. It was gettinglate. It was past the hour my brother usually went to sleep. Iwas getting up my courage to call him when the phone rang. Itwas John. We talked about the practical and physical worriesthat had preyed on his mind throughout the day. Would there beenough life insurance money for his family? Would his earlydemise emotionally scar his sons? He cried. The paralysis hadspread. He didn't think he had much more time.Once again I was prodded intuitively to ask, "John, do you wantto die?Again, his anger crackled across the telephone line. No, he didnot want to die. How could I even ask such a ridiculousquestion? This tumor in his brain wasn't something he wished for!As before, I told him he didn't have to die. He could decide tolive. I listened to him rant on about my irrational beliefs andeccentric lifestyle. I held my tongue."Do you know anyone who has beaten terminal cancer?" he demandedangrily. "Personally, Keith! Do you personally know anybody who's survived advanced cancer after the doctors gave up on them?"Pausing first to fortify myself, I then began sharing thestories of every acquaintance I knew personally who had curedthemselves of terminal cancer. Like many people facing a medicaldeath sentence, my brother didn't want to hear about anysecondhand examples of cures. He was only interested in thosecase histories in which I personally witnessed people withtangible, visible complications directly linked to medicallydiagnosed cancer. In addition, the examples were only valid forJohn if the people had gone into remission and been cancer-freefor at least a year after the healing. John basically eliminatedevery story I had in my arsenal except for five people. But thatwas enough. He was listening.Fortunately, in regard to my story telling, John's memory wasslipping fast. So, I could get away with repeating the same fivecase histories over and over again!I even got him to meditate with me over the phone. Together, weasked for assistance from-as John put it-"whoever was listening."After two months of nightly, intensely emotional talkingmarathons, John awoke one morning to find his paralysis gone! Hecould move his whole body. His wife rushed him to the hospitalfor a magnetic resonance imaging test. The tumor had completelydisappeared! Within weeks, John's health returned to normal.My brother decided to live. He cured himself. John is alive andkicking today. And he's now decidedly more open to possibilitiesbeyond the limitations of the tribal collective consciousness-the arbitrary societal beliefs he took on from his family,friends, school and society.In fact, he's begun his own exploration outside the boundariesof mainstream cultural conditioning. John is enjoying being a "househusband," driving the kids to soccer practice and musiclessons while his wife Sharon gallivants around the globelecturing as a tenured professor. Article Tags: Next Evening