Kimberly Steele

Supposedly doctors are a vanishing breed, or at least this is what is claimed by the latest issue of the AARP Bulletin. In an article called Where Have All the Doctors Gone? a reporter bemoans the 70 million Americans on Medicare waiting 30 days for medical appointments. Catastrophic collapse of the system, of course, is just around the corner. OK Boomer.

I have not seen this shortage of doctors in my corner of suburban Chicagoland. Throw a coin out of a car window at any random time during the journey and you’ll hit a medical clinic, a drug store, or a medical equipment distributor. The hospitals around here are the size of entire cities elsewhere in the country, with multi-mile walks being required to transverse the entire boundary. Medical care has, if you’ll pardon the pun, metastasized into a huge, unrecognizable blob that has sucked the majority of the real economy into its maw. Every other person in every other family works in some part of the medical field. Those who are not actual doctors are insurance underwriters, pharmacy techs, and EMTs. Medical metastasis is what we have instead of a functioning, sustainable economy. The economy is fake. The sick people, unfortunately, are real enough. It is far more common these days to be chronically ill than well, even if you are a child. There are plenty of doctors, nurses, and nurse assistants to be found, at least in my area. The ones who are missing are the actual healers.

 

Where have all the healers gone?

The reason there is not much healing available these days is because all healing comes from the etheric plane. Allow me to repeat myself: ALL HEALING COMES FROM THE ETHERIC PLANE. For those unfamiliar with occult science, the etheric is not a place, it is a condition of being. The etheric refers to that layer of existence that we call energy, force, chi, prana, animus, vitality, or cosmic breath. Another good term for it is “vibe”. If you’ve ever walked into a room and found everything to look perfectly fine but the vibe to be off, congratulations, you’ve just had a direct encounter with the etheric plane. All electricity, including light energy, is etheric in nature. Heal the etheric and the physical follows suit. If the etheric is damaged and is not repaired, the physical will remain damaged as it is one level less subtle than the etheric.

 

Women are better stewards of the etheric because they tend to be male on the etheric plane. I have discussed this in previous essays such as this one, this one, and this one. Our civilization, being mostly ignorant of etheric phenomena, tends to undervalue women as chefs or decorators. For every one Giada De Laurentis, there are a dozen Gordon Ramsays and Bobby Flays. Women are etheric males and etheric maleness, like sunshine, is a potent healing force. I talked about the Nurse with a Purse trend where older women are retreating into happy, permanent singlehood while old men literally wither away and die as a result. In a time of rampant etheric starvation like ours, an etheric male is looking at a seller’s market, even if she is old, gray, and fat.

 

How many yoga studios does one town need?

I live near the town of Naperville. My working guess is that there are at least a hundred yoga studios in Naperville, a town of 150,000 people. The type of yoga practiced in these studios is highly Westernized, often incorporating Pilates or “aerial”, which means students swing from pieces of cloth moored to the ceiling. In other words, it is glorified flexibility training with pseudo-Eastern religious pretensions. These yoga centers are almost always run, staffed, and frequented by women, making them vortices of etheric maleness. Often there is a reiki practitioner available, and there tends to be cross pollination with the kind of bastardized Eastern meditation I call “empty mind” meditation. Empty mind meditation is problematic and often leaves the people who indulge in it laid bare to astral inculcation and hijacking by corporate forces seeking recruits for their own astral pyramids, but I digress. Yoga studios are not just having a moment — I think they are here to stay. These places are picking up the pieces while Christian churches slowly die. The primary advantage they have over Christianity is their connection to the pulse of the Earth via movement and breathing. Combine their physical, direct approach to spirituality with the etheric restoration they offer through direct manipulation of energy flows via the human body and it is no wonder they proliferate wherever women are wealthy enough to spend their money on classes.

 

Me love you long time: prostitution’s new front

Speaking of common sights in the suburbs, in my corner of Aurora, a much larger and poorer suburb of Chicago, massage parlors populate nearly every strip mall. I used to rent commercial space for my private music studio, and oddly the renter before me was a shady Asian massage parlor. Its owners got booted out for illegal activity before they were able to open for business — they did a big renovation job for absolutely nothing. Imagine my surprise when I was eight years into twelve years of leasing and a shady Asian massage parlor opened next door to my lesson studio. If you want to know whether a massage parlor is offering happy endings in your area, simply look it up on Rubmaps and see if it is listed. The site consists of johns reviewing various massage parlors across the US. I looked up the parlor that landed next door to me and it was there, complete with saucy ads of big-busted, bikini clad Asian girls and a price list for a service that ended in a table shower. Hilariously, my husband happened to be working in a strip mall where he too was next door to a happy ending massage parlor. Like my Asian massage parlor, his was run by shifty, seldom seen Chinese mafia types. Arguments were frequently heard between the complex’s flimsy walls and the smells of cooking constantly emanated from the store next door. Both places were open very late at night and on holidays. The only people who ever went in besides the madam owner were men. I knew there were trafficked women being shunted around by van. Sometimes I think they forced the girls to stay overnight. I sent tips to the police about the place several times; predictably they did nothing. The neo-prostitution arrangement of housing girls in a massage parlor is now so reliably common in decaying American retail hellscapes that I would guesstimate that 4/5 massage parlors are not the old fashioned, non-happy ending kind.

It’s a trap!

Men suffer etheric starvation more acutely than women. The easiest, quickest fix for this form of depletion seems to be getting their rocks off with a pliant, nubile young woman. This is where they get the etheric rug pulled out from under them. When an etheric female (biological male) orgasms, his etheric body is laid bare and open, expecting to take in etheric energy from the etheric male. This is the reason why a man is obsessed with a woman’s orgasm and extremely frustrated when she fails or he found out that she has faked it. He is a lock that remains empty, expecting a key that never arrives. He cannot exactly fake his own orgasm, so he is left to ponder the mystery of whether or not she is lying if he feels unfulfilled after he has spent himself.

What about rape?

As you can guess, rape is not fulfilling on the etheric for the rapist unless the rapist manages to get an orgasm out of the victim. The sinister part here is that children of either sex are also etheric males until the age of puberty, and that is why men tend to be the primary groomers and abusers of children. Children also are more potent on the etheric than their adult counterparts due to excessive yang life force. Polarizing a woman or a child of either sex via rape is a form of theft that some seek out like a drug, and I suppose part of the addictive aspect lies in the polarization itself, which is mainly astral. At any rate, when a man masturbates while alone or with other men or if he comes without his partner doing the same, he will feel an infuriating emptiness that feels like an itch that cannot be scratched.

The world’s oldest profession is at the ready like a bed of poison ivy. Prostitution tends to involve a small number of etheric females in the form of pimps, usually mature men, who exploit a harem of etheric male. The sultan’s harem is a similar construct. The etheric female gathers and exploits the etheric males (women and children) to service starving etheric females (men) and to use an etheric bait-and-switch (women who do not orgasm) to bring the men back for more. Etheric starvation may be worse in our time, but it has always been around, and therefore it goes the same with prostitution and its business model.

Modern medics like to denigrate the old practice of escaping the city for the country to take in the waters and to heal in a rustic environment. Not all that long ago, it was a custom to attempt to heal tuberculosis and other dread diseases by going to a faraway spa, preferably in a place that was warm and with plentiful hot springs. The milkmaid trope of the 1700s came into being as the industrial revolution was underway. Milkmaids were seen as wholesome, healthy, lovely, and uncorrupted. Every noblewoman, including Marie Antoinette, installed working dairies at their estates so they could pretend they were the virtuous, innocent stars in an idealized, bucolic paradise. Maybe they were on to something: didn’t Edward Jenner discover the smallpox vaccination by innoculating an eight year old boy with the pus from a milkmaid’s cowpox sore?

Before most doctors were bought and paid for, they too recommended taking the waters, getting fresh air, enjoying sunshine, and eating quality homemade food. All of those things repair the etheric. In our current age, when illness strikes, the patient is offered two choices, often in combination: amputate it or drug it. Sometimes amputation and/or drugs work; most of the time they are at best a quick fix and at worst ineffective and damaging.

I know I have besmirched massage in this article, but one of the primary ways of healing one’s own etheric body is via massage. My husband is a 65 year old type two diabetic. Diabetics, including my husband, tend to have problems with infection. My husband had severe athlete’s foot which completely went away after about a month of nightly foot massages. I am the masseuse because he is not comfortable with massage otherwise. Massage may very well save his feet from amputation. I find it interesting and sad that no doctor of his has ever suggested massage. Personally, I get a massage whenever I can afford it, which is not very often. Massage is tremendously beneficial.

Another thing I suggest to alleviate etheric starvation is to expose the spleen area — the patch of skin just beneath the heart — to direct sunlight. When I am in a sunny parking lot, I will duck down in my car so I can lift up my shirt to soak up the sun’s rays. I am not a happy exhibitionist. In my own case, I feel better the moment I expose my ribcage to the light.

Possibly the best remedy of all for etheric starvation is to walk slowly through a wild or semi-wild space, taking in the sights and sounds and at least attempting to communicate with the spirits of trees, grass, animals, and the elements themselves. The Druid Tree Ritual, which is a fancy term for sitting with your back to any given tree and soaking in the tree’s energy while letting it soak in your energy, is as restorative as mutual orgasm sex, at least in my own case.

As most of my readers know, I have recently finished my second draft of a book that will talk about the rejuvenation of the etheric via connection with land spirits and the construction of a net of spells, this book is called Sacred Homemaking. Wish me luck as I will soon pitch it to a small publisher.

The etheric plane is so damaged in our iteration of the Kali Yuga, I am not sure it is possible to fix it. I have often said that I look forward to a future incarnation when the last plane has fallen from the sky and the last car has sputtered to a halt on the last paved road because the etheric plane will finally have a chance to mend from the Industrial Revolution. For the time being, miracles of healing here and there won’t do much to stop the constant pain and the litanies that arise around it. I will be talking about those litanies in a future essay.  

I don't have health insurance.  Like an increasing number of Americans, there is no way I can afford it.  Luckily for me, the last major health event I had was in the year 2002 when I was in my late twenties and came within thirty minutes of losing my life.  I had good health insurance at the time provided by my husband's employer -- this was back when he had a salary class job.   I had suffered with genetic gall bladder disease, but as an adoptee with only one (hostile) known birthparent, it was a total wild card.  The intense pain I suffered for nearly two years before the emergency surgery remained a mystery despite the consultation of two different doctors in my PPO.  There was also the fact that I don't like to tell people, not even loved ones, about my health problems.  I have always had the habit, for better or worse, of masking my health issues as I find it unbecoming to constantly complain about pain.  Pain, after all, is a sign of my approaching death, and complaining about the inevitable is annoying.   

Not long after that, the salary class company my husband worked for went belly up.  Never again was he able to land a salary class position, and he spent the better part of three years holding out for a replacement.  At the end of the three years, which was marked by depression, loss, and poverty, we had been pulled from the bottom-feeding part of the upper middle class to the lower middle class.  For me, it was a new experience: I grew up in the upper-middle class, and though my parents were bounced out of it in the 1990s, they never landed in the economic abyss where I found myself.

Somewhere along the way, I went vegan.  I was a vegetarian when the gall bladder thing happened.  I'll always at least partially blame my consumption of dairy products for exacerbating my gall bladder disease (the night it happened, I had eaten a cheesy Italian pasta dish at a restaurant and a créme brulée for dessert).  Though I went vegan for the animals, the health benefits for me were astoundingly obvious.  My digestion became regular for the first time in my life and my ability to concentrate became markedly better.  Adopting a plant-based diet does not help everyone, however, there is a preponderance of evidence that animal products are highly inflammatory and that eating less of them lowers one's risk for lifestyle diseases such as type II diabetes and cancer.  Would I have had gall bladder disease if I had been vegan my entire life?  Probably.  Would my gallstones have nearly killed me at age 28?  I don't think so.  

Dance of the Doctors

Long before I ran around trying to find a doctor to diagnose my gall bladder pain, I had my doubts about doctors.  As a college student, I suffered two different bouts of pneumonia.  This was back when nobody cared if a college student was hacking their lungs out while still on campus.  I was not quarantined -- I was expected to show up for class.  If I could go back in time and be my own doctor, I would have told my younger self to quit smoking immediately, to get two solid weeks of rest at home, and to complete a regimen of zinc lozenges after healthy, protein-heavy vegan soups and fruit juice along with daily bouts of mild exercise the second I felt up to it.  Even now in the age of COVID paranoia, there's no doctor I can name who would suggest such a logical routine.

The medical professionals of our era are professional buck-passers who have lost any power to heal to the corporate interests that have the entire medical profession in a death grip.  To become a medical professional in the US is to join a game of musical chairs for which the speed of the music is always accelerating.  As far as salary class professions go, medical doctors have the worst of all worlds: for their mouse-find-cheese unoriginality, they are rewarded with life-ruining debt and the threat of being sued into oblivion at any moment. 

People who chose medicine as a career are no longer the essential worker heroes they were prior to the nothingburger flu: they are now the dancing villains of TikTok, hated for their arrogance when they are not avoided for their pricey incompetence.  Unless it has to do with setting a broken bone or amputating a gall bladder, doctors no longer have a function.  They do not cure diseases -- their Big Pharma corporate overlords won't allow it.  They prescribe antibiotics without a thought about antibiotic resistance.  They force chemotherapy on people who don't want it and imprison them "for their own good" when they do not comply.  They wouldn't know a Plantago major if it managed to bite them on the leg, let alone its medicinal uses.  They have become worse than useless.  There are good doctors and nurses, of course, but until the few genuinely good ones grow a spine and start treating patients completely off-grid and away from the prying eyes of Big Pharma and Big Insurance, I'll be steering clear.  Not that I could afford to see one anyhow.

A Predicament for Those Who Enjoy Staying Alive

I am perfectly aware that if my gall bladder had waited until I didn't have health insurance, I would most likely be dead.  Perhaps some heroic physician would have saved me despite my lack of health insurance -- but remember, I had no time to wait.  A bit of bureaucratic back-and-forth would have sealed my doom; my gallbladder was gangrenous and this was not discovered until the moment of the surgery.  I am fine with the thought of dying.  I was fine with dying at 28.  Of course I'm glad that didn't happen.  Though I love my life, when my number is up, it is up.  I would feel much more angry on a daily basis if I had a kid.  The uninsured families of the US are in the horrible position of their child's lives being threatened because the US health system is broken beyond repair.  To add insult to injury, the Derp State's Potato-In-Chief has resurrected the Obamacare penalty for people who cannot afford health insurance.  For this he says, "You're welcome," or at least he does when he remembers his own name in-between adult diaper changes. 

The real cherry on the cake is the attempt of Bill Gates and pals to vaccinate the planet with an RNA hijacker with either a trans-humanist or post-humanist agenda.  Nobody is sure whether the point of the vaccine is to debilitate/kill most humans or to colonize their bodies with self-replicating tracker nanotechnology, but all not taking it seem to agree that those who opt in are playing a game of Russian Roulette.  Who stands idly by, nodding their heads to the government's beat?  People in the medical profession.  Like in the case of the church leaders who could not have found a more ideal time in history to stand up to tyranny by re-opening churches on Christmas Day, medical professionals have largely taken the path of least resistance and cowardice.  

What I Do

If you're a lower middle class American like me, you have no choice other than to take your healthcare into your own hands.  For me, this means I have learned to recognize and combat the little inflammations of my body before they become big ones, and also the Stoic acceptance that I will likely die of what is considered a treatable malady such as cancer or an accident because I cannot afford even the most crucial forms of American healthcare.  

I can only speak for myself, but I make it a priority to minimize my consumption of processed food, to grow at least a small portion of my own food, and to treat all food as medicine.  The phenomenon of etheric starvation is real; I'm planning an essay on it not too far down the road.  I believe I can avoid disease by eating etherically-rich food whenever possible.  The bulk of my diet consists of fruits, vegetables, bread, and rice.  

I prioritize my mental health as well as sleep -- time in wild spaces, i.e. "nature" helps both.  

I mostly avoid over-the-counter drugstore remedies.  Though they are necessary every now and then, I only use them when I feel I absolutely must.  I take an array of herbs to bolster immunity and to relieve pain.  I take herbs in the form of capsules or teas. If I have body aches or trouble sleeping, I take white willow.  For constipation, I take slippery elm.  For urinary problems, I take uva ursi and cranberry.  I drink a variety of teas with gentle medicinal properties -- for instance, Alfalfa Mint as a general health tonic or Chamomile Anise to relax.  I take a Vitamin D supplement every day. 

In short, I try to avoid trouble, but if I die, I die.

It's the best I can do with the situation I have been given.