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Kefir is some strange stuff. It tastes like what I used to drink when I was a kid that my mother simply called clabber. She made it from the raw milk I got from the Jersey cows we kept. I had read a little about kefir and how it's made, and I even briefly subscribed to an e-mail discussion group about it. Since raw milk is no longer available, unless you or some of your neighbors own a dairy cow, making it myself seemed a little beyond my interest.
When I saw it on the refrigerated shelf at the Harris-Teeter grocery store, however, I bought a quart container of it to give it a whirl. It came in various flavors, and I chose blueberry because I sort of know what to expect. I grow blueberries myself. I waited until I returned to my car to taste it. Mmmmm... it was mighty good. It reminded me of being a boy again.
We don't have a Harris-Teeter here in this small town, so the container I got of it would have to last me until I went back to the big city. I've been taking a small gulp of it once a day for the last week, and it grew on me even more fondly. This morning I actually read the label to make sure of what it was composed of. To my utter surprise, it's filled to the brim with the friendly gut bacteria I've been taking in capsules.
I'll probably go back to Fayette-nam sooner than I expected to, and I'll buy more than one container. Feeding my gut bacteria has real appeal to me. I stopped taking the methotrexate prescription drug to see if I could get a handle on these mouth problems I've been having, and I'm surprised to find out that the pain in my hands hasn't returned in full force due to my not taking the drug.
Some of the articles I've encountered in regard to the benefits of "balancing" one's gut bacteria is how it affects autoimmune diseases. Some claim achieving a balance of the friendly gut bacteria and the evil gut bacteria can eliminate them altogether. That seems to test my belief system a bit, but the proof of the pudding is that my hands don't hurt... yet.
The soreness of my tongue and the swelling of my lips seems to be abating. A lotta that has to do with the prednisone I've begun taking to alleviate it. I'm hoping to take prednisone for that purpose and hope that not eating any more cinnamon will come to the good end I prey for. I don't know how long the effect of a food allergy, in this case cinnamon, takes to wear off after the cessation of eating it.
I can't keep taking prednisone for an ailment I don't know the cause of. I can't keep taking prednisone for any reason unless I wanna croak. I don't know exactly what the consequences are on my body except that it removes my subcutaneous fat.
The people I know that do know the ill effects of taking prednisone for long periods do not encourage a constant use of it, including the doctor that prescribed it to me on her supervisor's recommendation. Personally, I think he'd get a big laugh outta watching it melt my bones. Weirdo.
The more I deal with them, the more I believe most medical doctors are in it just for the money, and that they'll hurt you in order make money off giving the appearance of helping you. I don't think all cops are my friend either. The childhood propaganda about who to turn to when you need help wore off a long time ago.
I don't know how much my new attitude toward food and health has to do with my third puberty that's about spiritual matters. I've written about this before and explained how that works in astrology. Twelve years after each Saturn Return a person goes through some sort of matriculation into the next level of be-co-me-ing.
The spiritual puberty that is reputed to bring about spiritual power, in the same sense that reaching the average age of twelve years old brings about physical puberty is a deep mystery for me. An enigma that seems to offer hope, but in a manner that's as weird to me as suddenly being possessed by sexual urges when I was an early teenager.
The mental puberty that I underwent at the age of 42 was less difficult for me to grok, because I've always lived in my mind anyway, even as a kid. I didn't have a real good way of grasping the insights that came my way until I acquired the lingo I needed to express it, but when it did arrive I made huge changes in my life to accommodate it, and it wasn't love at first sight. Not for me. Not for any of the significant others who were assaulted by it. Sorry, my dears.
Life is a tragedy,
but I am a dream,
and my home is
one heartbeat away.
This is my story,
and this is my song,
sung by the dreamer
until death comes along.
fmp ~ Early '70s
Edited today
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I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
