The Good News, Mixed Media Collage, Marcia Carole
After a lengthy visit to a very nice naturapathic oncologist, I am taking a bit of time to process his particular way of tackling cancer. He is from the school of thought which uses one’s blood type as one of the most important components in determining diet. This was a new angle for me. I hadn’t come upon it in all my reading, nor was it in any of the ideas given to me by concerned friends. He said I need to eat like a caveman.
Fortunately, much of what he said to eat was what I had been reading or hearing I should eat with my form of cancer. Vitamin D, Vitamin C, veggies, some of the mushrooms, need to be high for me. Absolutely no sugar in any form, and fruits only in their whole form, no juices. No gluten. Very little grains, if any. No alcohol. (There goes the typical Italian meal, except for olive oil.) What about my Barley? Take it if you’d like. The piece that is a big change is this: I should introduce small amounts of lean meats because of my blood type. Buffalo and salmon, for example.
Just that one piece of advice flies in the face of everything, and I mean everything, I have been reading. He also said not to eat any animal fat. Uh, I think to myself, do chickens have animal fat? What to eat gets complicated.
Cancer patients are not experts on cancer, but we certainly have piles of information on the subject. We could get some sort of degree in it – if only we could sort through all the data. My experience at the naturapath was helpful in solidifying my thoughts on some of the things I am doing with diet, but left me with a few questions and doubts as well.
He did say to rest, relax, meditate, breathe deeply. No stress. And, go out and find a buffalo. Now, where did I put my spear?
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. —Isaiah 43:2 I must hold onto these truths while going through the wild “waters” of cancer. God is the only certainty.
Do You Hear Them? Mixed Media, Marcia Carole
Making visual art is a powerful, life-giving gift. Just to be able to sit down and draw something or place colored shapes next to each other to express an idea, a feeling or part of one’s story, is really miraculous. When I think of all the tasks I perform within any given day, from washing the dishes, taking out the trash to sorting through the mail, reading bank statements, swallowing a zillion supplements with carrot juice to stop cancer, watering the plants I hope to keep alive, feeding my collection of birds out back and walking for an hour, it is miracle time in my soul, when I make art.
Art makes visible, that which is invisible. It exposes the thoughts and intents of one’s heart. It can give “voice” to a part of one’s story that has been hidden when one has been unable to speak up. I think of a gentle woman in Hungary, who had lost her husband when a drunk driver had slammed into his car. As she softly wept and shared her sorrow through her art, we women sat with her, knowing it was a sacred moment, a miracle moment of healing. Later that day, she shared with me that making the art had lifted the heaviness, the weight of the sorrow, from her heart.
The piece above has been brewing in my mind and heart for days. I’ve been wanting to do something in response to the horror of sex-trafficking that expresses the woman, boy or girl’s sense of bondage or the feeling of being trapped. She is excluded from the beauty of life outside slavery. I want to give a voice for the voiceless, and end slavery, I think, as I lay down colors and shapes. The art is redemptive for me, and I pray, miracle making for the voiceless.
“These little ones believe in me. It would be best for the person who causes one of them to lose faith to be drowned in the sea with a large stone hung around his neck.” Matthew 18:6
