I have two Blogs, this one and the other one. The Cancer Blog is the other one and is supposed to be that story. The story of the Hero who almost doesn't make it and is constantly getting deeper in trouble before he miraculously escapes just in the nick of time, running off into the sunset with his sweetheart. This Blog is suppose to be about Art, so really it can be anything I want. They overlap. A book within a book. They are both story telling. There is a commonality to them. So, you want to hear my "Faith healer" story? It is Art, I promise.
This all happened over thirty years ago when I was very sick. I never knew what was wrong with me. I developed diarrhea like you wouldn't believe. It was like water, about twenty times a day, and all through the night. I lost over twenty pounds in a very short time. I have forgotten every single detail. I did go to my doctor who preformed a lot of tests on me, drinking barium, x-rays, lab culture stuff, the whole lot. He couldn't find the cause and wanted to do experimental, exploratory surgery on me! I told him that I really needed to delay that decision!
I was put on a diet of eating stale toast. I would toast the bread and leave it on the counter and eat it the next day, plain. That is a diet for constipation but it didn't work. This all went on for at least ten days with no improvement. I drank lots of liquids and they ran right through me.
A friend of mine is a Rosicrucian and I am not really sure what that really means. He stopped by one day and wanted to take me to a friend of his, a Mr. Dumount. He was also a Rosicrucian and had been so for years and years. He was an old guy in his late eighties. I went to the bathroom before we left and upon arrival at Mr. Dumount's house. Watery, watery, both times!
He lived in a small nondescript house on the edge of a nearby town. I remember sitting in his living room and talking about his rock collection and his explaining to me that the Earth was alive.
My friend had told me lots of stories on the way to his house. Mr. Dumount could levitate. He could hold a light bulb in his hands and turn it on. He had a book in his living room full of signatures of people that he has helped over the years. People who arrive in crutches and left on their own. I told my friend that I didn't believe in any of this. "You don't need to" he said, "he does."
After about half an hour of small chit chat and using his bathroom twice with my watery deposit, we went to a back bedroom with a little couch and I was told to lay down. Nothing weird here, I was fully clothed and he was standing over me. He never touched me. He began with his hands at the top of my head and ran them slowly, about three inches from my body, all the way down to my toes. This whole thing took about twenty minutes and the sweat was pouring off his brow. He said nothing but was very intense. His sweat was dripping on me.
When he was done he said he was very tired and needed to rest and would I please sign his book on the way out. I am thinking sure, this was a waste of time and could I please use his bathroom before we left!
This is the part that is unbelievable. Totally inexplicable. Weird. I used his bathroom and everything was normal!!! For the first time in almost two weeks I had a normal crap! There was no gradual improvement. It was instantaneous.
He would take no money although I offered it to him. Just to please sign his book. It would have been nice to have known him while I was fighting cancer but he must be long since dead. I think.