Clean as a whistle

I love my colon

My wife and I just got back from a wonderful cleanse, the idea being that living where and as we do in the midst of sundry poisons, a good wash and brush-up was a good idea. We were right.

The place we went, the Temple of Peace, calls itself a “cleansing spa and spiritual retreat,” a sensible combination, as it turns out. The 10-day cleanse comprised several approaches to eliminating physical and mental toxins. There was a spa with a dry sauna, a steam room, a hot tub, and an outdoor shower, and cold plasma and enriched oxygen therapies for specific conditions.

We also did a couple of kirtans, a séance with noises and odd voices in the dark, an 11-11-11 celebration, and three eclectic church services, none of which were directly related to the cleanse and that we just gravitated toward while we were there.

Mostly, though, we had daily colonics. Every morning I got to stick a tube in my butt and poop for an hour and a half—major bliss. When I first heard about colonics, I thought them a mild form of torture to be endured only under the direst of circumstances, but not anymore. It was a very gentle process and a fast way to detoxify.

Growing up in the fifties, I suppose I was as squeamish about feces as most Americans. Now I think that squeamishness about feces is squeamishness about life, and that’s no help at all.

Every morning my innards were soaked and flushed while I listened to a wide range of spiritual and inspirational audio. What a good idea! Relaxation and inspiration without guilt—I’d just be lying there anyway—a big deal for me. I want all the encouragement and loving reminders I can get. You probably don’t need that kind of stuff.

The latter half included a liver cleanse, which I won’t try to describe and will say simply that it was startlingly educational, and my days of not even knowing where my liver is, much less what it does and how it’s getting along there, are over. I love my liver, and I don’t care who knows it.

I love my colon, too. I was aware of my colon, because I know a guy who once had colon cancer, and a pal of mine had a colonoscopy last year and told me all about it. Now I have a whole new relationship to my colon: If I fend off the media, it’ll do the rest. I’ll live with that. I’m going to think my way through my body, loving all of it—especially the flab.