The Long Version…
Disclaimer: Any perceived instance of ego contained within is not intended to be, linguistics being what they are, the need for being objective can sometimes be misconstrued as such. Also, this is lengthy post. It started out as a quick intro, but quickly began dictating its own terms to me… Read at your own discretion.
My name is Sam Boomer, I haven’t always been confident; I haven’t always been particularly skilled at anything. I’ve certainly never been the best at anything. But I have always been a doer.
I turned 30 last June, and since then I’ve been in a reflective mood, connecting the dots, pinpointing the decisions and events that have lead me to where I am now…
This is that story.
At the Crossroads
Eight years ago, my life was going nowhere. I’d not long been back from a 2 year trip around Australia and New Zealand, and had become disillusioned to the point of not wanting to return to my music degree.
I’d studied at LIPA, (Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts) a quite prestigious – I managed to get in through the backdoor – but very prescriptive arts institute. I never really fit the mold there, which is what ultimately lead to me travelling to gain some clarity.
Half way around the world and back later, I decided I’d write album.
I had all the gear, was already something of a bedroom producer, and full of ideas. I thought at the time it would be the making of me.
Oh, how wrong was I?...
One Step Back to Take Giant Leap Forwards
After plugging away for months, a twist of fate altered my course, irrevocably. I suffered a tear in my sternocleidomastoid, the muscle extending from the thorax to the base of the skull behind the ear, preventing any kind of vigorous arm movements.
It was excruciating, and meant I couldn’t play any instrument and struggled to carry out basic tasks. I was bummed out to say the least, but it set me on path to where I’ve ended up, now. So for that, I’m thankful.
I was already unemployed, and the accident put paid to any work in the immediate-term. I had time on my hands, and no creative outlet. Music was my life at that point, but I’d been shorn of that, indefinitely. I needed something, anything, to keep me sane.
So I began to write.
I’d always been articulate, and though I’d never put pen to paper much of my own intent, I threw myself into it like it was my last dying act. Everyday, as sure as there was still fresh air to breath, I scratched away, as far as my neck and shoulders would allow me.
There was copious amounts of tea, lots of Bob Dylan and equally as much pen chewing. I drew inspiration from his melodies, using them as the metre to write poetry (or what I thought was poetry at the time…). It was like having a set of training wheels on, safe, but you soon outgrow them.
It took me 18 months to fully correct my injury, and let me tell you, it was far from plain sailing. In fact, it was utterly demoralising. There were so many setbacks; it was like a noose around my neck. I was completely rudderless; writing was the only release I had.
The Call to Action
I was still recovering from my injury when I visited a friend’s house for a small New Years Eve gathering at the end of 2011. I remember scribbling down what I thought was an inspired piece of writing, and reciting it out loud.
It was met with polite encouragement – it was probably self-reverent trash, I was totally drunk – but it didn’t matter, I convinced myself to make a decision. I was going to be a writer, and gave myself permission to go for it. I was going to go back to Uni and study.
After returning home and regaining my faculties, I saw I had only a 2 week window to apply for the coming semester starting in September! I threw together a personal statement, dragged a few references out of old teachers, and submitted my applications, along with a sample of my writing – more in hope than expectation…
A little over 6 weeks later, I had an interview with Liverpool John Moores University, and I was in!
So, it was back to Liverpool, I was heading...
It was also about this time, that I decided to go vegetarian. My best friend had sent me a link to the documentary Earthlings, starting me on my health journey, which’ll come into play a little later. But initially, it was a moral choice. I still drank, and took drugs recreationally, which I was desperately trying to stop.
Summer of Discontent: Part 1
It was a recurring theme back then; self-destructive tendencies had a firm hold of me. I knew I was damaging myself mentally and I’d long since outgrown it all, but I couldn’t let go. It was like a rubber band reaction. Every time I was confronted with temptation, I’d snap right back into old habits.
However, my reputation for excess had never made a casualty of me; I was blessed to have friends stopping me from becoming too reckless. But that buffer wasn’t there to catch me at Benicassm Festival, summer 2012, two months before the start of my new degree.
I’d made a mess of my first stint in Liverpool, thinking I could get away with the party lifestyle, and still come out on top. I was determined to do it differently time around.
So what did I do? I went to Barcelona and took the strongest MDMA you’re ever likely to find – and believe me, it was – everyday for a week straight. Utter lunacy…
It got to the point where I was so blasé about it, I took a full gram in about 45 minutes, because I wasn’t paying attention to what I’d already taken. And that’s not a dealer’s gram at 0.6g, that’s a full gram! I was watching Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds, waiting for the Stone Roses to come on when it dawned on me.
Needless to say, I was just a tad bit nervous. I knew immediately, what I’d done. It was a bit of a fear and loathing moment, and all I could do was brace myself. I was shown no mercy, and I honestly thought I was going to die.
It was beyond intense, and ironically, I only believe I got away with it because I’d built up such a tolerance over the week.
The guys I went with were friends of friends, total stoners, and didn’t really appreciate what sort of state I was in. But in spite of my fear, I couldn’t bear to go to med tent. I was in a foreign country, and I DID NOT want to be found in possession! It would have been futile anyway; they wouldn’t have done anything other than look down on me disparaging. It was probably all I deserved, really. It served me right.
So I rode it out - just. But I felt altered from the experience. It was day 6, the last night, and I didn’t bother with anything else after that. It was like something had popped in my brain. I felt weird… Really weird.
A Not So Fresh Start…
I arrived back in Manchester, with a head that was quite literally scrambled. I experienced full on night terrors for 2 weeks. I became afraid to go to sleep, and my concentration, cognition and short-term memory were all shot to pieces. Right before I was due to be making my ‘fresh start.’ Well done me.
As far as self-sabotage goes, it was decent effort, but the best was yet to come…
I managed to level out somewhat by the time September rolled around. I was back to about 80% of my capacity, but nothing could get me back to my original baseline. I experimented with nootropics, my diet and stepped up my mediation practise. But in the end, I accepted my lot. I even carried on with the drugs, not content with the hole I’d already dug myself into.
Yep.
The first year went well enough. I had a few friends, but I felt isolated at times. I’ve always been self-sufficient. But I’m an ambivert: I like my alone time to recharge my batteries after being intensely social. However, there just weren’t the connections there to make.
I was between 5-7 years older than most people on my course and in halls, and the age gap was widened further by the fact I’d always hung around with people older than me, anyway. I was into experimental music, spirituality and meta conversations about life and morality. I wanted no part of the hedonism and cheap memes of mainstream Uni culture.
I was fortunate though, that I was paired with a couple of older guys in halls, as they try and place the more mature students together. I had a great friend in Adrian, but even so, we had our own agendas.
Summer of Discontent: Part 2
I left that summer to go home, feeling relief at getting through my first year, but slipping into a depression. I’d suffered on and off for years, but always kept it to myself and just got on with it.
I decided on a whim to visit my friend Amy, who had just moved to Bristol for my birthday. It breathed so much new life into me! I jumped at the chance to move down there for the summer, after the idea was floated to me.
And in flash of spontaneity, my summer prospects shifted from the humdrum plod of Manchester, to Bristol!
For those unaware, Bristol has a renowned art, and music scene, with a strong thread of multiculturalism running through it. The mid-nineties there spawned the Trip Hop genre with Massive Attack, Portishead and Tricky, and it still has a thriving drum n bass and dub reggae scene, today.
It’s a cool city. And when it was great, it was. Really it was, but the familiar trappings were still there, and I allowed myself to fall back into their orbit.
It’s said of Bristol: ‘It either makes you or it breaks you…’
It certainly did make me, or at least parts of me. It opened me up in ways I’d never allowed myself to be before. But it broke me as well, just for good measure… This time it was ketamine. It was absolutely rife.
A lot of my friends were full-blown addicts by their own admission. I never quite plumbed those depths, but whatever boundaries I’d set up for myself had soon turned to rubble. I binged out massively, and generally just made a mess of myself.
I started experiencing panic attacks, anxiety, more depression, began isolating myself and took all these wonderful new skills with me back my second year of Uni. Once there, I really hit the self-destruct button, and this time, I did it with gusto. I didn’t care. I wasted the first 2 months back completely drunk, catatonic and ketamised out of my mind.
My thinking became so distorted, I stopped attending a lot my lectures. I even ran away to Bristol for en extended period, having no intention of ever returning to Uni. Writing this now, I can scarcely believe I used to be that person.
Fortunately, I was touched by a moment of clarity, and managed to pull it back together. I completed my second year, now focusing only on creative writing, having dropped English, and left for the summer feeling pretty good about life.
The Final Summer of Discontent
But of course, I was on the lookout for the best way to sabotage myself going into my final and pivotal year of Uni. What would a summer be like without making life as difficult as possible for myself?
I didn’t have to wait long, as I went to the first edition of a new music festival called Balter. It was 3 nights of drug fuelled, banging hard dance music in the grounds of an old stately manor. I was inebriated throughout, and on reflection pretty strung out, and not a very nice person to be around.
I left feeling more broken than I had at any point in the recent past and fell out with Amy, my best friend at the time in the aftermath. We shared a lot of same friends in Manchester – my hometown – so I spent that summer alone. I was completely sick of the way I was feeling; I needed a solution. I was done with all these negative behavioural cycles ruining my life.
Iboga…
On one of my many aimless trawls through the Internet during that period, I stumbled on the plant medicine Iboga. For those of you who aren’t familiar, it’s a plant native to West Africa, containing DMT (N-Dimethyltryptamine), the same active alkaloid that gives ayahuasca it’s hallucinogenic and therapeutic properties.
I came across reams of anecdotal reports of it solving depression, anxiety, alleviating all kinds of addictions and restoring a sense of purpose and vitality to the users life.
It sounded like exactly what I needed; I’d found my ‘magic bullet.’ I ordered some from Holland ‘for research purposes only’ and did my due diligence, researching the do’s and don’t. All the accounts I read had people taking 4-5 grams by themselves with positive results.
For doses any higher, you needed supervision to ensure you didn’t choke on your own vomit during the purging stage, as one of the side effects was an inability to move. Me being me, I decided I’d be absolutely fine taking this powerful hallucinogen by myself, as long as I kept the doses low.
Yeh… It was a visionary experience, but only in so far as showing me what a shortsighted stunt I’d pulled this time around. The effects crept on to me like the most skin curdling arachnid you can imagine. I took it at 12pm in the afternoon, and by 7pm I was forcing myself to go to sleep to escape the effects. I was nauseous, disorientated and paranoid.
The fall out was even worse. And, as always, my timing was impeccable; I was due to go back to Uni in 2 weeks. I felt foggy for a couple of days, which I expected. However, those two days turned into a week, and that week into a second. Then, all of a sudden, I was back at Uni for my final year, and things were very, very bad.
Rock Bottom
What at first had been the hazy after effects of the Iboga, by that point, had developed into full-blown psychosis. I was fucked – proper fucked. Cognition, concentration, short-term memory, processing time, mood, they were all way, way gone. So far gone, it’s hard to adequately put it into context, but I’ll try. It outstripped anything I’d put myself through previously by some distance.
I essentially had the processing time of an autistic person with the mental age of two. Yes, that is correct. It was about 4-6 seconds. That’s a long time. You could ask me something as basic as: ‘Do you want to go to the shop?’ and I had to let that information properly register before answering.
I couldn’t take in any of my lectures, I couldn’t concentrate on my writing, had crazy anxiety, and I was so schitzed out, I could barely sit still. This was the crowning glory, my masterwork of self-sabotage. I knew intuitively I shouldn’t have taken the Iboga, but I was in such a low place, so desperate for change, I did so anyway – a cruel irony.
But it was the crisis I needed to shock me into re-evaluating my habits. This was my watershed moment. I had to hit such a massive low; in hindsight it was totally necessary, because from that point, I started making real changes in my life.
Rising from the Ashes
I went completely stone cold sober; there wasn’t even a second thought. No two ways about it. I was done with all intoxicants, all stimulants, and anything else that didn’t serve me. It didn’t solve my problems, but at least they weren’t going to be exacerbated any further.
I tried everything I could think of to alleviate the after effects of the Iboga: acupuncture, meditation, a specialised brainwave machine for treating addicts and green juices to name a few.
By extension, I’d heard a lot about this thing called the ‘raw foods diet’, and its potential for healing. I was intrigued, but felt it was something I needed to build up to over time. I liked fruit, but had never even had a single salad before in my life. I’m not kidding.
I read the book, ‘Life Force’ by Dr Brian Clement, detailing the clinic he’d set up in the states, treating people with late stage cancer, tumours and other terminal ‘dis-eases’ with this dietary approach, and, with great success, as well. Could it help me, I wondered?
I didn’t care what it took; I was going for it. My first raw meal was a mock ‘stir-fry’. It was basically chopped up bell pepper, grated carrot, cauliflower and some beansprouts, drowning in soy sauce, and way too much garlic. I struggled to get it down.
But as I was lay on my bed afterwards, I felt this pleasant sensation sweep up my body from my feet to my head. At first I was confused, as I’d completely swore off all stimulants by this point, even caffeine. It took me a few minutes to figure it out. It was the food! I felt more grounded, and altogether with it than I had in years!
That was it for me, right then and there. I became a raw foodist overnight. Nothing else made more sense to me in that moment. To say it was a game changer is putting it mildly. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying the raw foods alleviated every single symptom I had, but the amount of respite they provided was massive. I wasn’t back to full capacity – whatever that even was anymore – but I was back in the driving seat, again.
When I was at my lowest ebb, I honestly and truthfully reckoned I’d gone to a place I couldn’t come back from. I found it so hard to function, I thought I’d have to quit my course, and be institutionalised. I considered it a very real possibility at the time.
There are lots of people in far more dire circumstances than me, who’ve been ‘saved’ through raw foods, but I don’t hesitate an inch in saying they saved my life, too. Not just for what it did for me then, but path it’s allowed to keep on, and what I’ve been able to achieve, since. I wouldn’t have got through my course without making that change.
Time skip…
180 Degrees
Come the end of Uni, against the odds and despite the massive handicap I placed on myself, I came out with a 2:1 (69), one mark off a first. I should have been happy given the uphill struggle I had, but to come so close, yet just miss the mark…
Well, whatever, you don’t let these things define you.
From this point on, a quickening began for me, and my course in life really started shifting. By chance, or as I would more accurately term it, by synchronicity, I met an esoteric astrologist giving a talk in Liverpool. He was an impressive speaker, and when he mentioned he offered readings, I knew Immediately, I had to have one.
After finishing my degree, my intentions had been to pursue a career as a fantasy writer, but during the course of my session with Ted, my mind was turned. He said, being a Cancer rising, I needed to go and care where caring is need, and if I were to do this, my life path would open up greatly before me.
Now, you might be thinking: ‘What woo-woo nonsense is this?’ But I’d long had an interest in the metaphysical and was further building up my spiritual practise at the time. He’d given me a very accurate personal reading, and I already wanted to work with homeless until I got my writing off the ground. This was just confirmation I should follow through with that intention.
One week later, I’d got a place volunteering in a soup kitchen on Saturdays and Tuesday and Friday working in an office, supporting young homeless people with their issues. I didn’t even need to look for it; a friend put me onto it. It just fell in my lap.
Three months go by, and I think it’s about time to start applying for full-time work. I got an interview for the first position I went for, and got the job the next day. I found out very quickly just how true Ted’s words were. When you say yes to the right path, the universe will conspire unrelentingly in your favour.
Fuck it, I’m Moving to Thailand!
In between waiting for my training, and the start of my job, a video pops up on my Facebook feed. ‘Come and live in Chiang Mai, it’s a raw vegan paradise’ ‘Alright,’ I thought. ‘That sounds like a pretty decent idea.’
There was nothing keeping me tied to England, all my friends were either coupled up, had serious jobs, kids or all of the above. I was unshackled, fed up of the current climate, and the allure of all the tropical fruit I could eat definitely had its appeal.
So I’d planned my exit strategy before I even begun my job! Ultimately, I didn’t end up working with the homeless, but took up a position supporting young adults with learning difficulties, autism and challenging behaviours. I stayed for a year, and it was hands down the most rewarding experience of my life. I learnt a hell of a lot, and really grew as a person.
The Forgotten Healing
Not long into this stint, another synchronicity chimed. I had another reading. This time with a man called Andrew Bartzis Aka ‘The Galactic Historian’. Now, this guy’s something else. There are psychics and then there are psychics. This guy is a super psychic.
It was over 18 months since my Iboga escapade, and like with all mis-adventures, I tried my best to pull myself back to shore, but there was always a part of missing, which I just came to accept as my new normal.
Andrew picked up on it right away. I didn’t even ask about it, I’d totally forgotten. He said that as I’d taken the medicine in a non-ceremonial setting, I’d experienced a spiritual haunting. There traditionally needs to be shaman present when using plant medicines to ward off negative entities and spirits.
His recommendation was I seek Cranio Sacral Therapy. I took a course of treatment for 8 weeks, and it didn’t just get me back to where I was previously, it re-invented me. It removed all social anxiety, any trace of self-doubt, gave me my memory back and more. I was beside myself with what a dramatic affect it had on my life.
It showed too. People commented on a ‘change’ in me, I began to hit my stride at work, even winning employee of the month – not an easy feat in a company with of hundreds of employees. It was a quantum leap in my personal growth, and I resolved I would learn this amazing modality myself one day.
Lets do another time skip…
The Land of Smiles
I turned in my notice December 2016, after saving for the entire year, and off it was I went to Thailand.
It was my first time in Asia, but I was so ready to be there. People speak about the feeling of being overwhelmed when they step out of the airport for the first time. It’s an assault on the senses, the heat, the noise, the vying for you custom by the mass of taxi drivers. It didn’t faze me one bit. I’d been transported to another world, and I soaked it up like sponge.
Bangkok was my port of entry. I got over my jet lag for a couple of days, and got out of there. I don’t like the place. It’s a polluted, sprawling metropolis. Sorry if Bangkok’s your jam, but it just ain’t mine.
Chiang Mai, however, is the antithesis of that. As soon as I stepped off the plane and got into my taxi, I knew I was home. It had that strange air of familiarity about it, despite having never been there before.
It is the second largest city in Thailand, but comes in at only 15.527 square miles with a population of 131,091, compared to Bangkok’s 605.693 sq mi and 8,280,925 – quite a disparity.
As you’d expect, it shows in the difference in attitudes. Thailand is an incredible country to visit, period. Thai people are amongst the most welcoming I’ve ever come across. But Northern Thai people, I feel, just have a special charm about them. I’d highly recommend visiting Chiang Mai, or one of the surrounding provinces, if you ever get the chance.
I’d signed up for a retreat for my initial 10 days there, Fruit Winter Festival. I figured it’d be a good way to meet like-minded people at the start of my trip. I went with the assumption that it would all be about diet and lifestyle. What I got instead was lots of fruit, but there was a focus much more on personal growth and building authentic relationships. A lot of the teachings were based around the tenet of ‘non-violent communication.’
It’s run by a couple of YouTubers: Connor McMillan & Brittany Taylor, both amazing, high-energy people, who really put on an incredible 10 days of public meet ups each year.
It took me completely by surprise, but in the best possible way! I made a lot of connections there, many of which have held strong 18 months later. It was a hugely inspiring experience, and the first time I felt I could let go around and express myself; talk about the things that were important to me without being looked at like I was weird.
Although, I am a bit weird, really. It’s another story, and post unto itself…
Meeting the Mentor
After it was all said and done, I decamped to the island of Koh Phangan. Unfortunately, the smog caused by hack and slash agriculture envelops much of northern Thailand during Feb-Mar each year. It’s possible to stay and tough it out, but it’s not what you travel to the tropics for.
Leaving Chiang Mai is emotional experience. I feel like every time I have to go, I’m leaving a piece of myself behind. I’m not an overly sentimental person, but for me, it’s a special place. I’ve never felt that way about anywhere else. That was, until Koh Phangan also took me to its bosom…
I was still integrating the experience of Fruit Winter when I arrived, but it wasn’t long before there was another seismic change about to shake me. I attended a cacao ceremony, facilitated by, Dr Mario Alam (an allopathic doctor) and his wife Ajna. It was special experience, lasting 4 hours, using high grade Guatemalan Cacao – not the crap you’d find in health food stores – which was brewed into an amazing coconut milk broth.
As the evening drew to a close, Mario mentioned his upcoming retreat: RESET, and it pushed all the right buttons with me. I didn’t even know exactly what it entailed, but I knew I liked him a great deal, and wanted to see what else he could offer. I signed up immediately when I got home.
Come the day of the retreat, I had zero expectations going into it; I really had no idea the experience I was about to have. Again, it’s a side story deserving of more spotlight than just a footnote.
And I realise I’m in danger overusing this phrase. But, it was a life-changing event. It transpired the 12 attendees would be facilitating healings on each other, by using a regressive form of guided meditation/hypnosis. I was all in!
Over the subsequent 5 days, I met with my spirit guide, realised my purpose in this lifetime, and cleared myself of so much emotional trauma, I felt like someone had taken a jet washer to my soul. I felt brand new!
Lofty claims, but it is what it is. That was my experience.
More importantly though, besides the healing I received, was that I now had the skills to facilitate this treatment for others. I’d fantasised about travelling around Asia and studying to become a healer before coming away. But I wrote it off as a romantic daydream at best. However, here it was, manifested in my reality without even looking for it.
Were my thoughts foreshadowing my future, or were they manifesting it? Maybe a bit of both...
I had wondered how I was eventually going to make ends meet long-term in Asia, and here was the answer. The work fascinated me. It involved the clearing of past emotional traumas, starting at the most recent, related to a given emotion, for example anger, and working your way back to the root cause, whether it be in this lifetime, past lives or ancestrally.
By tapping into the Higher Self/Sub-Conscious whilst in the Theta brainwave state, you could reconcile these past traumatic events and also bring forward great insights. I learnt a lot about psychology, the ego, and how our inability to communicate leads to the storing of pent up emotions. I facilitated sessions for everyone and anyone who would take me up on the offer.
There was a burning passion inside of me, although eventually, it became tempered by my inability to promote myself. But I continued the work regardless, honing the craft further.
I’ll go into much greater depth on this, and post case studies in the future.
History Repeating?
The following months saw me take in Bali, a big oppurtunity squandered, another stint in Chiang Mai, Durian hunting in Chanthaburi, another brief stint in Chiang Mai and then the Bao Sheng Durian festival in Penang, Malaysia.
There was a lotta, lotta Durian. AKA ‘The King of Fruits.’ For those of you unaware, it’s a large spikey fruit native to South East Asia. It gets a bad rap as being the smelliest fruit in the world. But if you’ve ever tasted one – a good one that is – you’ll be hooked. You don’t just like the stuff; it inspires devotion on an almost evangelical scale. Those of you who have tried it will relate, I’m sure.
But, despite my infatuation with all things fruity, after 2 ½ years solidly raw, eating super clean, my head had been turned by all the Thai cuisine on offer. Passing through many parts of Chiang Mai is like a sensory overload. The aromatics that drift through the air are temptation personified.
It is a total foodies paradise, and literally caters for everyone from raw vegans to die hard carnivores. I’ve always appreciated good food, and been a huge curry aficionado since I was young, so, it was kind of inevitable I would cave in at some point.
But why does it even matter? Surely, I can just eat a curry every now and then. What’s the big deal? The crux of it is, if you remove all cooked oils, grains, salt and sugar from your diet for an extended period of time, and switch to over raw foods as well, the body can no longer handle these things the way it used to when reintroduced.
I’d been eating super clean, and detoxing the body for quite while. So it was like playing with fire.
I’d long since ditched the drugs and alcohol, but food had become my new drug. I turned into a binge eater. I’d built up such a huge stomach capacity eating raw food due to the volumes it takes to get adequate nourishment. When I jumped back to the cooked stuff, I didn’t know when to stop.
I gained a lot of unnecessary weight, experienced chest pains, bad skin, inflammation in my joints and ultimately slipped into a depression, all from the noodles and curries I was eating on my ‘cheat days’. (Which was only once a week by the way) Hard to take to that cooked food does this, but I speak from experience. I felt like crap.
Try going raw for 21 days and flipping back to oils, grains and processed foods. It’s quite scary. I was in need of another reboot.
Enter Andreas
We met at the Bao Sheng Durian festival, and it was one of those cases of the right person, at the right time with the right information popping up in your life. We roomed together, and hit it off immediately. He was also a raw foodist and into many of the same educators I’d learnt from: Dan McDonald, Dr Robert Morse and Lou Corona etc.
However, he was much more into detoxification than I was, and spoke with a lot of confidence about the 108 day master fast and the results he’d achieved on it. Essentially, it is a grape and lemon juice fast, combined with herbal tinctures, intermittent dry fasts and daily enemas.
It’s purpose it to strip away the mucoid layer in the colon, preventing proper absorption of nutrients, and also promote kidney filtration to get rid of the stagnant lymphatic waste in the body.
I knew straight away it was the answer to my problems.
I bought all the paraphernalia, and got straight on it when I landed back in Chiang Mai. I fasted for 63 days in total, and it was one hell of rough ride. The emotional turmoil it brought on, the hunger the cravings, the sleepless nights – it was intense, but ultimately worth it.
I’d initially wanted to go the full 108 days at the outset, but in the end I had to listen to my body.
I woke up one morning in mid October last year, and I was done. I’d pushed my body to its absolute limits. I got up and went straight to the supermarket and bought a huge pile of fruit. I broke my fast with gold kiwi, and it was like a religious experience not having eaten for so long!
But despite not going the distance, the fast definitely did its job. I re-centred myself, got clearer on what I wanted to do, and was back to where I was pre my mis-adventure back into cooked food land. Gone were the depressive thoughts, the aches, pains and binging out. I was back in the driving seat. (I think I’ve already used that one…)
Fasting is a miracle cure, which I can, and will attest to it in greater detail in the future.
Steemit
I resided in Pai for several weeks at the beginning of December, where I was taking a Cranio Bio-Dynamics course, the same modality that had such a transformative effect on me 2 years prior. I had originally intended to learn it before coming away travelling, I was so in awe of the effect it had on me.
But it was a 2 year commitment, and at the time of considering it, my heart was already in Thailand. I had to follow my excitement. As is the recurrent theme though, it popped up in my field at just the right time.
It was delivered by Rosemary Wallace, an incredible teacher and practitioner of over 40 years, and cost me the equivalent of £300 for 2 weeks intensive training. I was looking at paying upwards of £8k back in England; it was practically a gift! The experience itself was not cheap though, far from it.
It was also in Pai that I was first put onto Steemit. I got speaking to a Canadian guy about why I was there, and what I was doing etc. – the usual old shtick. His story was incredible.
He’d undergone a heart transplant, and then resolved to travel around the world, using his story as a message for overcoming the odds. He now partners up with businesses, hotels and other brands, which he advertises in his Vlogs to fund his travels. I wish I could remember his name, so I could shout him out here…
My story, was, by all accounts comparatively bland compared to his, but nevertheless, when I mentioned I was a writer, he jumped right in and mentioned Steemit. Steem-what?
I gave it the once over, but I had a lot going on at the time. I made a note of it and promised myself I’d return later.
My interest was most definitely piqued.
Why the Hell Am I Going to India, Again?
Despite it being only midway through December, my attention was already turning to where I might base myself for the coming ‘smokey season’ in Chiang Mai. I had considered staying there for continuities sake, as the smog wasn’t meant to be as bad as in recent years, but I quickly discounted it as still not being in my best interest.
However, it wasn’t long before synchronicities fired up once again – and in quite obtrusive fashion truth be told. India, India India! Everyone who I spoke to had either just arrived from the place, was going there soon, or just plain loved it there and wouldn’t let it rest.
I was asked if I wanted to go by 3 different people in a 2 week span. So, I relented. I know when I’m being pushed in a certain direction. India it was, then… I booked my ticket for the start of February. But I had no idea why I was going other than I’d been asked to, and it felt right.
4 weeks, a miserable time in Myanmar, rejection at the Bangkok airport and land crossing later, I was back in Chiang Mai, and at a major crosswords at the beginning of this year.
I’d acquired a ton of new healing modalities, and honed them well beyond competency. But there was still a disconnect between my ability, and being able to draw clients. I knew I was good enough. But climbing the mountain of self-promotion looked an insurmountable feat. I allowed the fear of uncertainty to rule me a little at this point.
It was a bit of a strange time, as I was on the cusp of transitioning into another phase of my journey, and felt the weight of self-expectancy, with that nagging feeling of doubt chipped away at my moral.
In retrospect though, nothing has never not worked for me in the past, even when it doesn’t appear to be. Invariably, it is. The universe is always conspiring to get you to where you need to be. It is only due to the fact our expectations are so often subverted, that we give in to fear.
And I allowed it to take hold, despite the benefit of hindsight. I lacked the faith I so readily espoused…
India proved to be an enigma. What was I doing there? I had no real idea. I became slightly apathetic. I was missing Chiang Mai, and struggled to form a consistent routine. Each day bled into the next, and the present rolled on, regardless of my participation.
What on Earth should I be doing?
Eventually it hit me. Get off you arse, flyer the shit out of the main drag in Arambol, build your website and start making things thing happen! Nothing is going to happen, until you make it happen!
‘Er, yes sir…’
I complied. I hit it hard, and started getting the clients I knew my ability warranted. I repurposed everything I’d learnt, furthered my studies, figured out how to market myself and finally completed my website. I was relentless. The time for inaction was over.
I lived a 3 minute walk from the beach, yet barely used it. That perfect bronze tan still eludes me, but it’s superficial, an irrelevance. What I got was what I needed from India – the fire back in my belly that saw me so inspired a year previous, but unable to translate it into anything tangible.
Rapping it all Up… Finally
And so back in Chiang Mai, present day, eight years on from when I started my journey to carve out a better future for myself.
Am I there yet? No, not by a long shot.
Does it matter? Not one bit. It’s always more about the journey than the destination. I’m damn sure not wealthy, but I’m abundant in so many other ways. I’m content, fulfilled, healthy, and have truly supportive friends around me who foster my growth.
I know where my next meal is coming from, there’s a roof over my head, and that’s all that really matters. I’ve given up the chase. At the stage I’m at now where I prefer to allow things to unfold of their own accord; there’s a real joy in just letting go. Attachments lead to misery.
So what am I actually doing here?
I’ve been bitten by the writing bug once more. After the fallow post graduation years brought on by burn out and work commitments, the blue touch paper has been lit.
I have to write; it grounds me. But the creative process is also a huge draw. My mind is like a cage full of unrequited ideas that have to come out of me one way or another. Spilling them out onto a page or bashing them into a keyboard is no more of a choice than it is a necessity. It’s my therapy.
I mean, who writes a 7,000 word plus introduction of themselves? Really?
That’d be me…
I’d be doing this regardless of the Steemit platform, and I’ll be doing it long after – if it ever – becomes defunct.
I guess the real question is: ‘How do I define myself?’ aside from the obvious arms length list of anecdotes that I’ve just trawled through. What am I actually all about?
My main passions, unsurprisingly, are: personal growth, healing, spirituality, psychology, raw foods and detoxification. But I have so many more interests, that tying myself down to a single niche just seems too limiting.
I also like dipping into: philosophy, contextualizing, revisionism the paranormal, the unexplained, history, travel, poetry, photography, films, literature and on the roll call goes…
Am I trying to do too much? Will my feed be a jumbled assortment of random articles? Yeh, maybe. But it’ll be my jumbled assortment of random articles.
And hopefully, if any of you are able to extract something useful from them, I’ll consider it a worthwhile endeavour.
If you’ve actually had the stamina to endure this far, then thank you. This is probably one of the more unorthodox steemit intros, I imagine. But once I get my teeth in something… Well, this kind of ramble tends to happen…
Thanks again,
Peace.
Sam
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