Preface

I herein intend to capture the sentiments of and pay tribute to the eloquence of Richard Pering, whose deeply resonant introductory address preceded his 1812 written work, titled A Brief Enquiry Into The Causes of Premature Decay, in Our Wooden Bulwarks.

The author is austere and bold in her convictions, hereinafter employing an exercise in storytelling to call attention to an intimate matter seldom discussed but of great relevance to her readership. For her tender-souled audience, she betrays herself through candid vulnerability; she unveils her journey not of her volition but in spite of it, yet reckons the decision but faultless for it pertains to the fulfillment of her overarching motive: to promote the redemption, reclamation, and restoration of man. She indulges in hope against hope to avoid scrutiny and condemnation for her delivery and methods herein, yet she is well-girded and fears neither controversy nor misconception. She bases her beliefs on the undeniable truth of God—should contested stances defame the author or pretense detract from her message, attribute them to her divinely-inspired passions and permit the waving of their follies. She rejects the use of well-polished fantasy to sow false expectations and instead fills her musings with the reality of years-long triumph and tragedy. She presumes to generalize and disregard neither the innumerable factors that dictate human experience nor the validity of a diverse range of approaches, goals, outcomes, etc. The author hereby submits to the reader the sum of her contemplations; she encourages all in receipt to cleave unto the narrow path of goodness and follow wherever it should lead. Moreover, she urges man to submit to the righteousness of God and repent—only then can he access his divine birthright: abundant health and vitality.

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Fruitful Musings

This piece—long-wrought and longer-awaited—has festered as an open sore upon my consciousness and degenerated into a source of well-nigh constant discomfort since November. Such affliction is a dis-ease of the spirit by which I am scourged and necessitates more tolerance than is at my disposal to bear. Even so, vital needs require identification and separation from follies and gratifying vanities to ensure any favorable outcome; my weak constitution need not compromise my sense or regeneration, for writing is optional, whereas my preoccupation with healing is not. Impassioned writing and excessive productivity were but two of the guises worn by these stumbling blocks. Distraction threatened the outcome of my regenerative process and thus required removal. My condition at present is such that it accommodates participation in nonessential pursuits; therefore, the day of completion has arrived. I have chosen to uphold my passion for stylized literature and honor my integrity as a creator; hereinafter shall the reader indulge in no less than a florid account of predestination, regeneration, and detoxification.

As are you, I am but one of the infinite creations of the all-merciful, almighty divine. The unerring hand of God created my inmost being and knit me together in the womb; He foreknew and predestinated me, and thus was I called, justified, and glorified in goodly time. My redemption commenced in earnest some six years ago, for I cried unto the Lord, and He heard. That very hand reached forth to offer deliverance and thus imbued hope within the still-sparking embers of my otherwise exhausted soul. So began my inspired involvement in raw foodism, to which I have since adhered; in adherence, I have found my earthly solution. He delivered me from brokenness, toil, and ruin to salvation. I was resurrected, and exist now as who I once was no longer.

Psoriasis once affected my knees, shins, elbows, forearms, spine, and back of the head. Psoriatic plaques concentrated at my joints, which the creaky ache of systemic acidosis had long beset. The wicked smiting of frequent headaches and migraines with aura tormented me without respite. Explosive acne later erupted across my face, back, and chest, thus marring once-clear skin during late adolescence and early adulthood. Emerging skin reactions then manifested as inexplicable dermatitis but were mistaken for acne and thus dismissed. The intervention of true naturopathy thenceforth demystified the acid principal and lifted the wreath of haze that theretofore cloaked its destructive potential. The aforementioned psoriasis, acne, and dermatitis have since cleared to reveal unblemished skin whose condition reflects the terrain below. Symptoms associated with psoriatic arthritis neither afflict my joints nor indicate my premature infirmity. I am bedeviled no further by the continuance of headaches or migraines, and nary an ocular disturbance has crept across my field of vision for years. Well-girded by conscious awareness, I have grown capable of managing my behavior to reduce or eliminate contact with acidic irritants. No longer is the lack of knowledge my destruction.

I often dare not be vulnerable nor disclose weakness for my aversion to the consequences thereby wrought, yet conviction hereinafter takes precedence over restraint. My service unto God began with a choice between life and death. I live today as a testament to illimitable divine possibility; if I have prevailed, so too can you. Much of my anguish involves internal strife of the mind: obsession, compulsion, and rage appeared first, then depression, mania, disordered eating, dysmorphia, delusion, and suicidal ideation. These agonies were my jailer, and I, his caged wretch, whose fitful thrashing and pitiable cries pleaded for salvation, but all to no avail. Prowling death reveled in my grave condition and beckoned me from captivity with his sinful hand outstretched. I resisted and yielded not to temptation but submitted myself therefore unto God. Nigh did I draw, and He to me; He forged my path, guided my step, and delivered me from evil. Spiritual maturation and development of mind, body, and soul through faith and raw foods followed and bore the fruit of sanctification in goodly time. My adversaries met utter destruction, be it by smiting with the edge of the sword or inflicting the indignation of resistance. God broke the yoke of subjugation from my neck and tore my bonds; thenceforth did I stand firm therefore in liberty, with afflictions abated, condition elevated, and loins girded.

Gastrointestinal inflammation, however, is the true blight on my existence. A lifetime of near-daily war has raged against it; often has it emerged as the victor, and often have I cried, bled, starved, purged, and longed for death as its victim. Intense pain, cramping, spasming, nausea, constipation, diarrhea, bleeding, constant fissuring—medical professionals dismissed my harrowing symptoms and offered neither a consolatory diagnosis nor an explanation beyond “That’s just how some people are.” My specialist exhausted all non-operative measures before identifying and confirming my “good [candidacy]” for surgical intervention. She set forth an approach, met my questions with feasible lies, and encouraged me with false outcomes. Desperate, suicidal, and twenty years old, I succumbed to her influence and chose to proceed, thereby accepting damnation. I underwent pelvic floor surgery and colorectal cauterization and awoke in a fit of sobbing hysteria, stricken with “uncommon” complications. Incontinence, nerve damage, postoperative brain fog, and potentially compromised reproductive function—later research revealed heightened complication risk in cases wherein gastrointestinal inflammation is present. Surgical intervention altered my circumstances but failed to address my symptoms. The interference of fallen man instead desecrated my earthly temple; by the workings of his accursed hand was its perfect design twisted and natural divinity robbed. I repent my involvement.

Strife and tribulation pepper my twenty-six years, during which anguishes, both relevant and irrelevant to the discussion herein, struck often and without mercy. It is my lot to suffer well, in sorrowful acceptance, whilst subject to the punishing scourge of penance. God is my sole certainty, and I trust the role of tribulation in His grand design. There is glory in suffering; pain motivates growth, ignites faith, strengthens resolve, and fans pious flames: without it, my steps would have remained unguided, my condition dire, my disposition poor, and my life unfulfilled. I would be confounded at present and delivering myself to destruction for my sustained lack of knowledge.

All regenerative progress herein proclaimed must be credited to strict, monomeal-based fruitarianism. I attest to the viability thereof as a curative measure and affirm its superior potency even amongst comparable raw foods diets, for raw veganism alone was incapable of facilitating my cellular regeneration and dynamic healing of mind, body, and soul. At the time, my diet was high raw and well-maintained, as I often sifted the dietary wheat from the chaff and retained only the most tolerable. It comprised fruit, vegetables, sprouts, seeds, a myriad of dried spices and powders, fresh herbs, fermented foods, mushrooms, and occasional indulgences such as mustard, vinegar, etc. My approach soon underwent refinement, wherein next culled were dried spices, vinegar, mustard, sprouts, and seeds. Although the omission offered incremental improvement, my affliction remained detestable.

Much time passed, and the divine breath of inspiration thereafter blew from high, filling my lungs and rousing my soul. It travailed within my bosom, pregnant with future blessings, and thus birthed an age of newborn thought. I contemplated both the frugivorous design of man and the nature of fungal decomposition and was long rapt. My fruitful musings led to an epiphany and impelled me to act; thenceforth, vegetable matter, nutritional powders, all agents of decomposition (mushrooms, fermented foods, “nutritional” yeast, etc.), improper food combinations, and unnatural meals (smoothie bowls, elaborate salads and sauces, etc.) were removed from my diet. I clave unto simplicity with eager resolve, stalled by neither hesitation nor misgiving and embraced monomeal eating to much advantage. I sought to reclaim the sacred feeding experience for which man was designed and thereby access my divine regenerative capacity.

On raged that very tempest of inspiration, whose astounding gusts blew with great force. The winds thereof were mighty and indeed reoriented my course. Thenceforth to discovery I thus sailed, but from these travels would soon divorce: true naturopathy loomed before me, as well as tutelage under one Robert Morse. His work was revelation spake unto my soul. I hungered for such regenerative experiences and therefore devoured all introductory material to establish a basic familiarity with the concepts of detoxification; soon thereafter formed my intention to undergo a grape fast. Yet amidst this radical newness existed blessings far beyond physical health. I seized the opportunities presented and charged myself with spiritual betterment; without development, expansion, a departure from worldliness, and the abolition of conditioned thought, my efforts would be impotent and unable to facilitate regeneration.

I entered that very detoxification limited by inexperience which my rudimentary preparation could ill pardon. Would I could avow to having learned as the process went and adapted with ease, but such would be untrue; detox offered precious few mercies during its ten-day duration. It was but brief, miserable, healing crisis-stricken hardship wherein preconception, misconception, and neurosis stifled the voice of my inner guidance. I elected to gorge on grapes until discomfort and engage in physical exercise daily, thereby impeding myself. As great were my failures, however, greater was my suffering. Woes beset around and afflicted me with nausea, stomach upset, dizziness, malaise, and depression. Swallowed by unutterable anguish, my condition remained pitiable throughout the fast.

Spiritual regeneration was the blessed yield of the seventh night, whereon came epiphany in the immaterial dream state. Theretofore was my rest restless, and peace compromised by the decade-long occurrence of trauma-induced, pituitary-compounded sleep disturbances and night terrors. I abated my torment with diverse management techniques, but curative measures long eluded me. That night, however, my very mentor established contact with my subconscious mind and made his incorporeal appearance. Our subsequent interaction empowered me and prompted my realization of self-agency. He thereafter departed and left me to redirect the dream as it unraveled. Thus, as never before, I thwarted the impending tragedy and saved myself. Astonishment jolted me awake, and I lay motionless as if stricken dead—not by trauma, but by shock. Upon recovery, victory electrified me, and I basked in its serene glory. My fitful episodes subsided without return, and thus my torment was therefore abolished.

My errors posed substantial complications to detoxification but did not diminish the potency thereof. The process produced regenerative events in bounteous abundance, including light menstruation, the eruption of wisdom teeth, the resolution of postoperative nerve pain at the coccyx, and the aforementioned spiritual restoration. Wracked by the onset of emotional turmoil on its tenth night, I broke fast the afternoon that followed, and at once was my malaise remedied by ambrosial persimmons. Mangoes next wrested away my gaze, but they were an ill-received affront to my palate. Repulsion-stricken for the remainder of their season, I sought refuge in persimmons and celery; such reorientation of my dietary focus was intuitive, and thenceforth did the daily integration of vegetable juice diversify my intake. I found enjoyment in celery until my extensive use of its stimulatory properties plunged my innards into enervation. My departure from vegetable matter followed, and thus I returned to fruitarianism.

The year ahead was invigorating and dominated by contemplation, research, and growth, wherein my perspective sharpened, scope widened, and insight deepened. Rapid, exceptional regenerative progress elevated my mind, body, and soul condition. Unobstruction from burden revived my energy, which poured forth as a flowing channel into true naturopathy. Within me surged fulfilled ecstasy where theretofore existed but bereft agony; I vowed to attain mastery as a healer and was thus self-actualized by discovering my purpose. Renewed momentum thence roused me to begin preparations for the impending grape season.

What began as but an intention to hold steadfast and persist until mid-autumn found structure and emerged as an eighty-day grape fast. With momentum sustained into late summer, the detoxification proceeded as planned and commenced on August 7. Grapes were my sole sustenance—and the grace of God, my soul sustenance—until the process was completed on October 26. I sourced organic, often dark, and sometimes Concord, grapes for the duration and amplified their potency in latter weeks with low-temperature brewed herbal tea, which comprised dandelion, marshmallow, and comfrey leaf and root; neem and papaya leaf; stinging nettle and valerian root; juniper and chaste tree berries; slippery elm; uva ursi; yarrow flowers; goldenrod; mullein; cleavers; oregano; and rooibos. Intermittent water fasting peppered the days to facilitate heightened renal function, promote kidney filtration, and enable regeneration. I no longer sought to listen to the mind or body; I deferred to inner guidance and girded myself with the truth.

Ease, balance, and stability took the place of lamentable discomforts for the first month of detox. I was unstricken by the recurrence of the strifeful healing crises of yesteryear and regulated my intake without upset. I ate in moderate amounts well befitting my intuitive sensibility, but neither hungered nor thirsted. Regenerative events commenced during the first week, wherein light menstruation preceded building soreness at the jaw; by the end of the week, the crackling tune of sinus congestion compromised my hearing. Phlegmy, but otherwise unburdened, I began to fret, for I agonized over the worrisome dissimilarities between past and present detoxifications. Were such ease, balance, and stability indications of impending failure? Were my efforts for naught? Would nothing come to pass?

I allotted time claimed by neither grapes nor unwarranted fret to the pursuit of writing. The written word occupied—if not consumed—my mind; intense inspiration came at all hours, and whole days I spent enraptured, plucking artful prose from realms beyond. Detoxification ignited my fiery passion, clarified and sharpened my perception, and made boundless my energy. My soul soared whilst my body clave unto the earth. It was unmitigated glory and persisted until daybreak on the sixty-fifth day.

My muffled hearing worsened that morning, and albeit painless, it grated my senses with incessant crackling. Inversion—attained by swinging my head upside down—offered an inventive solution and proved capable of producing success where sinus steaming failed. The day degenerated into an afternoon during which phlegm and foreboding intestinal spasms did assail. These initial woes were but a paltry introduction to what loomed in the darkness of the evening. My intestines were soon ravaged, stricken, and smote by plague-like inflammation, whose searing pain was my defeat. Bowel movement during the episode produced a stool that appeared unlike any other; it was dark green-tinged brown, banded by alternating grooves and ridges, shone as if lacquered, and carried the smell of death. I peered at it in the water, horrified and bewildered—could this be mucoid plaque? My head spun as I gathered the gall to assess its consistency and found it resistant to disintegration upon contact. The sight appalled me, but sated my curiosity. As the potential mucoid plaque slipped down the drain, so too escaped my momentum.

Hellfire broiled my intestines and scorched my hope to cinder; I wept sore in bitter lamentation, bereaved by the loss of painlessness. My grief staled and tears faltered in time, and reassessment, recalibration, and recommitment to the process followed. I strategized and concluded that success first necessitated my return to the now and rejection of distraction. Furthermore, I was to transition to liquids for the remainder of detoxification; the fast would thenceforth rely upon juiced grapes and find enhancement in twice-daily herbal tea, topical guava leaf-infused castor oil application, water fasting, and rest. Alit with pain-fueled zeal, I amended the plan to include abstinence from excessive intake and thus commenced its execution. The lattermost fifteen days comprised five days of water fasting and the remainder spent in restriction. I observed increased kidney filtration, expelled excessive amounts of foul-tasting mucus, was stricken with severe diarrhea, developed a burning itch deep within my intestines, and passed another mucoid plaque-reminiscent stool. My inflammation and the associated symptoms thereafter subsided and faded into dormancy.

I persevered, resolute in toil and trial, and tasted penultimate victory at even of October 26, whereon the grape fast came to completion. Neither depletion nor exhaustion could impede my fulfillment of the final objective, as triumph replenished my vigor. The detoxification process was thus sustained and extended into the next day. I enjoined myself from ingestion, thus abstaining until sunset, and thereafter broke the fast with herbal tea and subjection to key lime juice. As purgative as they were electrifying, the limes flushed my intestines and discharged what debris remained—only then was the body cleansed and primed to receive solid sustenance. I presumed to reckon detoxification done and the chapter closed, but my conclusion was premature and soon proved misbegotten.

My eyes feasted with more enthusiasm than my mouth at the break of fast on the afternoon following, wherein my complete disconnection from hunger made itself apparent. Apathy soured my plans and left my box of Hachiya persimmons to fall flat. They were local, organic, ripened to perfection, and without flaw, yet neither did their consumption elicit delight nor simple relief to have transitioned back to solid foods. I feared the fate of my deadened appetite and became seized by grave concern. Would it be impossible to continue eating fruit? Had this experience been for naught? What if I had not only failed to vanquish anorexia but raised its bony carcass from the dead? I warred against the mind, but no amount of fierce combat thwarted its advance; I fled therefore into the now, but even shelter therein did not restore my appetite.

Amidst the battle emerged digestive distress and intestinal inflammation. Searing pain ripped and tore at my innards, thereby hastening my descent into hysteria. Were my appetite not already deadened, the agony caused by waste elimination would have been its demise. I pushed past physical pain and internal resistance to acknowledge my intuitive distaste for persimmons and looked with reluctance to mangoes. Neither taste nor aroma repelled me, contrary to the visceral repulsion I suffered yesteryear; however, their succulent flesh conferred no cure to my apathy: no sliver of my mind, body, or soul harbored the desire to consume. With persimmons and mangoes now in my system, the war raged on.

A greater separation than that which parted my reality from elated summers long past was inconceivable. Sunny memories thereof scourged me without reprieve, for recollection of seasons spent feasting on Korean melons struck as but bitter, swinging cords against my heart. Wistful longing eclipsed my turbulent history of harsh immune reactions triggered by other melon varieties, and thus was my foresight blurred; so perished both hesitance and sense, and with eyes next cast upon that very melon, I proceeded. Amidst my meal emerged impending doom, which arrived as a familiar adversary whose fretful condition well suited my own, and therefore I questioned not whence it originated. It seized me with great violence and raged without explanation; I plunged into boiling panic, and thus became blanched white and enfeebled: my breathing was impaired, my skin tingled, and lightheaded dizziness befell me. On went the sharp gallop of anxiety for some harrowed minutes, until my throat tightened, thereby exposing the true nature of my affliction. I was subject not to fitful anxiety, but to an adverse immune reaction! Clarity softened the impact and induced sober reflection, to which I abandoned myself. How many past incidents of acute immune response were provoked by my consumption? How many had I dismissed as panic or instability? Albeit staggered by calamity and realization alike, I was uplifted therefrom my ignorance and thus enabled to guard myself against its damnation. My recovery was sure but tedious; it trudged at a pained pace and bore the burdens of edema, dermatitis, dizziness, malaise, persistent tingling, etc., for the following week.

My heart emerged wicked even from recovery and balked at my intuition, for it could not bear to consider that the persimmon had perhaps fallen from grace. It rejected logic and spurned my intuition by disregarding the gastrointestinal distress punctuating persimmon consumption, and out from it proceeded deceitful lust. I resisted temptation, clave unto my inner guidance, and sought to confirm my suspicions. Was my winter staple responsible for agitating my inflammation? I tested my theory with a final persimmon meal and received cathartic confirmation. Success necessitated I cull the persimmon, but my reluctant heart paralyzed me. I grappled with the grim conclusion to our enduring bond and grew gloom-stricken in view of my self-inflicted suffering. My compliance soon increased, and thus did good sense prevail over gratification; I removed the persimmon from my diet, and my inflammation therefore subsided. Later research revealed that persimmon consumption may cause the formation of diospyrobezoar obstructions and gastric distress in individuals who exhibit impaired digestive function.

My toilsome apathy ceased with guava fruit consumption, whereupon supreme bliss enrapt my mind, body, and soul. The marriage of their vital force to my own uplifted me; our assimilation was elating, and our union was the pivot whereat divine symbiosis between man and fruit manifested. Heady and medicinal, they beamed the sweltering sunlight of their ripening and bathed me in the adoration of my longsuffering mother, who sowed her love and intention into the very soil from which they came forth. My spirit warmed, my agonies melted, and my woes fell away. The days subsequent to epiphany hosted comparable events, wherein tomatoes on one occasion and durian on another elicited deep internal resonance. My appetite was neither deadened nor the sore victim of irreparable damage—however, detoxification dismantled my palate and raised it anew.

Not until the passage of one month was my readjustment to the intake of solid, non-grape foods completed. Whereupon completion, an additional month was required to establish regularity and settle into a routine. Misjudgment by sore underestimation distorted my expectations of the fast-breaking process and ill affected my preparedness to withstand the adversities and trials associated with re-feeding. I persevered amidst tribulation, for I was made resilient by virtue of conscious awareness, conscientious determination, and faith. I rested under the yoke of God and therein found repose. God heeded the pained quaver of my supplications and made my yoke easy and burden light: my appetite restored, and so commenced reinvigoration.

Over three months of adjustment, contemplation, and recuperation have elapsed since my detoxification process came to completion, yet still am I awe-stricken by the breadth, length, depth, and height of my blessings. I hereby proclaim and declare the revolutionary impact of regenerative detoxification upon my healing journey and present condition, which has improved in livability and elevated in mind, body, and soul. My core processes now operate with replenished vigor and thus feel renewed. The removal of hardened mucus from my intestinal walls has strengthened my digestion, lessened my malabsorption, and bolstered the eliminatory function of my bowels. I am subject to fewer incidents of undigested food waste, aberrant or painful stool, spastic colon activity, and intestinal inflammation; so too have my weak peristalsis been remedied, colorectal lymphatic stagnation abated, and recovery rate quickened. Similar progress pertaining to metabolic elimination has heightened my kidney filtration and improved my ability to sweat. Cellular hydration and proper waste elimination thereafter cut a swath through my obstructed transverse colon to open the embryonic pathway, whereupon lymphatic drainage from the head commenced. Awash with flowing spiritual lifeblood, my sensibility sharpened, and my ear fine-tuned to the divine music of intuition. I exist at ease, for I have neither possessed greater clarity nor felt more stability than at present. Eyes starry and aglint with the light of hope, my gaze looks now to the future in eager anticipation of the many grape seasons to come as my journey unfurls.

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Worldly iniquity and wicked innovation besmirch the divinely-created mind, body, and soul of man. Regenerative detoxification is his holy rebellion, in which he defies the widespread rejection of God and embraces abundant health, vitality, and goodness.

He is fallen but repentant; man prostrates himself in tearful penance for his self-wrought defilement and blasphemous perversion of free will. He thus removes iniquity from his midst, cleaves to a prayerful life of natural piety, and therefore makes a spiritual pilgrimage to the source of his origin.

Alongside his continuous growth, development, and expansion, conformity to divine likeness and sanctification in truth burgeons. The encrusted walls and sullied interior of his earthly temple are astringed and cleansed of sordid degeneration by his adherence. His wanton heart turns from gratification, and his agonies reverse, as though he were again but a child.

For his contrition, conversion, and faith, fallen man is delivered from hellfire and redeemed; from thenceforth and evermore, man turns himself unto God, and God thus unto man.

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Ezekiel 18:32 — “For I have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth, saith the Lord God: wherefore turn yourselves, and live ye.”