Tag: Holistic Health

HUNGER AND HEALING

by Maasaisis

To celebrate the beginning of my 49th cycle and the new year, I gifted myself the opportunity to turn inward and honour my body with a cellular reset through a three-day water fast. I was intrigued by how fasting has been practiced across nearly every spiritual lineage as a means of quieting the mind and attuning beyond the physical. Only in recent times has scientific research begun to explore how fasting may also ignite the body’s innate capacity for self-healing.

The timing felt especially meaningful. The fast followed a wonderfully indulgent holiday in Mexico over the Christmas season, where I gave myself full permission to release my health routines. I spent my days taste-touring taco stands with my family, filling my belly late into the night, enjoying decadent desserts, savouring fresh, vibrant foods not in season or readily available in Canada, and even getting drunk on tequila—laughing and belting out classic Prince songs on the beach with old friends—all completely free of guilt. That conscious enjoyment, in itself, added to the richness of our holiday.

We returned home just in time for our annual New Year cleansing ritual in the frigid waters of Kootenay Lake. A large group of enthusiastic polar bear dippers gathered, many familiar faces from years past.

At the inception of this rather wild ritual over two decades ago, our bare feet stood on stacked snow, the cold biting fiercely at our gooseflesh. It took every ounce of courage to move once the go-time horn broke our frozen spell and ushered us forward. The first step into the grey, seemingly lifeless lake delivered a shock so sharp my breath and brain seized until I completed the task of dunking my entire body and head. Then, every ounce of energy that wasn’t frozen was sent to my extremities, motivating my rapid retreat back to shore.

I haven’t felt that kind of cold in years. Standing there on the first day of 2026, I couldn’t remember the last time there had been snow on the beach for this event. It was bloody cold, but a far tamer version of what I had experienced back before cancer marked me and before the effects of climate change became undeniable.

I reflected on how much can change in the short span of time, both in the world around me and within my body. Last year, on this very beach, facing the same lake at the same time, I stood with a singular prayer to live. Then, I was at the peak of survival—thin as a rack, my hairless head bare against the cold, my breast bandaged and sealed beneath layers of waterproof dressings to protect an oozing wound. My iron will to uphold our New Year ritual was stronger than how I felt. I refused to let the disease take away what made me me, even as I felt vulnerable, not only to the elements, but to how I might be perceived by others. And yet, my family held me up then, as they do now, ready to run together into a new year.

This year, I faced the lake vibrant and strong, crowned with a thick, unruly mass of wild curls, my bones supported by healthy muscles built through dedicated strength training. So much can change in just a year. I celebrated all of it, screaming in glee as I ran into the lake with my family. I emerged feeling purified, deeply connected to the life force that sustains me, and inspired to gallop forth into the year of the Fiery Horse.

I’ve been in a relationship with cancer for over six years now. Like any challenging relationship, it has been marked by trauma, conflict, and resistance. But time is a wonderful teacher, giving me the opportunity to choose another way and to recalibrate what it means to be in relationship. I’ve made peace with what I once wanted so badly to end, accepting that chasing the ending of things would have cost me the miracle of all that I have now. Over time, amplifying the gifts of the present is revealing a way forward that does not feel like sacrifice.

For the past few years, my focus has been primarily on my spiritual life, allowing it to guide me through the adversities I faced. Earlier in my diagnosis, I devoted myself to healing my body through strict and intense physical protocols that eventually proved unsustainable. Even though I aspired to be spiritually attuned, the core reason was to heal the malfunction of my body—to gain the knowledge to fix what was broken. Despite all that effort, I only became more confused. I overcompensated, doing so much for my body, yet Lump stayed and grew.

When things became especially difficult a couple of winters ago, I turned my attention and committed fully to nurturing my relationship with God. I had nowhere else to turn, so I invested in the highest order. I went all in, holding fast to the belief that true healing begins in the mind where God resides, and that as a result, may even ripple out into the body. It is a paradox to live in a body that can feel unreliable and vulnerable, yet its limitations inspire me to know myself beyond it.

As my birthday approached, I felt deep gratitude for my regained vitality and the abundance of love in my life. I’m convinced that love is the only medicine that works miracles, reciprocated in ways that seem to defy the laws of the world. I remind myself not to cling too tightly to anything but to honour balance: to tend to the body as the vessel that allows me to be here without letting it define my identity, and to care for it lovingly so it may remain an open conduit for what serves us all.

I received a wink from the universe in the fall when a woman at my gym insisted I read a book about fasting. I barely knew her, yet her conviction, paired with my own readiness to be guided by the Holy Spirit, urged me to listen. So I did. I bought Fast Like a Girl by Dr. Mindy Pelz and devoured the book.

Fasting itself was not new to me. I’d completed a month-long grape fast in response to a fresh diagnosis, an action I could take to give me a sense of control in a situation that felt completely out of my control. I understood fasting as a primal, natural phase of survival from the time of hunter-gatherers- a powerful state in which the body functions at its peak when food runs out and it is time to hunt. At the cellular level, when the body is not busy digesting, its innate ability to cleanse damaged and diseased cells becomes optimal.

My last MRI still showed remnants of the disease in my right breast. Eating to keep my hormones balanced, avoiding the sugars that cancer cells thrive on, and fasting to activate my body’s innate “superpower” didn’t feel like a sacrifice—it felt like an empowered way to keep my peace.

In the months I spent resetting my system using Dr. Mindy’s metabolic switching approach, I noticed an increase in energy and a return of my menstrual cycle to a steady 28-day rhythm, reminiscent of my younger years. Her research deeply resonated with me. The practice involves shifting the body’s primary energy source from glucose to ketones derived from healthy fats, while varying periods of eating and fasting to support the unique symphony of female hormones throughout our lunar cycle, even in seasons of life when we no longer bleed.

The keto diet that many claim is the best for fighting cancer never felt right for me, as it limits many of the nutrients and vitamins found in fruits and vegetables that feel integral to health. What was missing, I discovered, was not only what I ate, but when. Dr. Mindy’s ketobiotic approach prioritizes healthy fats, moderate protein, and low sugar intake, while drawing from macrobiotic traditions that honour seasonal foods, thoughtful preparation, and the body’s natural rhythms.

For women, intermittent fasting lengths shift depending on which hormones are predominant throughout our cycle. Longer fasts and ketobiotic foods are encouraged when sex hormones are at their lower points, during the first ten days of the menstrual cycle and again after ovulation. As hormones rise in between these phases, the focus turns to hormone-feasting foods that nourish the body with complex carbohydrates and fermented foods, while fasting windows are shortened.

Being part Japanese, I’ve had a complicated relationship with sugar, raised in a culture that lovingly celebrates refined carbohydrates like rice and noodles, which quickly convert to sugar in the body. In Japan, sweets also carry deep social meaning. Omiyage—the custom of gifting beautifully packaged treats—is a gesture of respect, gratitude, and care. These offerings are woven into daily life, making sugar not just a food, but a language of connection and appreciation.

It didn’t take long to not only metabolically switch, but to also shift my relationship with food with the understanding of how it would positively affect me. My brain fog began to lift, my energy blossomed, and knowing that I was caring for my body created more space to focus on what fuels my spirit.

Knowing what my body would be doing during days without food, as taught in Dr. Mindy’s work, helped me stay the course. I’d learned that fasting triggers the body’s repair mechanisms in stages. Around 16–18 hours without food, the body begins cellular cleanup and repair. By 24 hours, the gut benefits from a pause in digestion, creating favorable conditions to reduce harmful bacteria while supporting beneficial microbes and immune function. By roughly 36 hours, the body shifts more fully into fat-burning, drawing on stored sugar and fat that can accumulate around organs. Around 48 hours, dopamine pathways overstimulated by our instant-gratification culture move toward homeostasis—perhaps the restoration of balance holds clues to the rising prevalence of anxiety and depression. By 72 hours, stem cells may become more active, supporting regeneration and repair by responding to areas most in need of healing. This was where I aimed to arrive and offer my body the conditions in which it could express its innate intelligence and capacity to self-heal.

I didn’t use a glucose or ketone monitor, so I relied on paying attention to the signals my body gave me during the fast. In this way I felt like I was in a healthy relationship with it. Thirty-six hours in, on my birthday, I received a clear message to eat a small, intentional snack—one that wouldn’t break my fast. This willingness to listen and soften my iron will felt like another sign of healing. I became extremely lightheaded and shaky, and no amount of electrolytes seemed to help. Wanting to be fully present for the beautiful day planned at the hot springs with my family, I ate a tablespoon of almond butter.

The immediate sense of grounding I felt from that single spoonful revealed something profound: that even such a small amount, the right food at the right time, could entirely change the state of the body.

By the third day, close to the end of my fast, all I could think about was what I’d eat. Dr. Mindy stressed the importance of breaking the fast in stages- to take it slowly, intentionally and gently, to transition back into eating mode. Even though I could have scarfed down a three-course meal, I held back, patiently taking time to honour my body that felt charged from the experience.

I concluded my birthday with a deeply nurturing massage, during which I was visited by a friend who had passed on. Perhaps my fasted state allowed the veil between the physical world and infinite reality to join for that holy instant, or perhaps the trauma of loss, confusion, and regret stored in my body was finally ready to be released. I hadn’t realized it was still there; like remnants of disease that linger, emotional wounds can persist even when they are unconscious.

She had purchased an original painting of mine that I was ready to release, as it carried the weight of painful memories. I had titled the piece Transcendence. It depicted a woman leaving her broken body, liberated into her light body, and returning to her essential nature, guided by her ancestors. I was in the midst of completing this painting when I learned that a close friend, who had been on a similar healing journey with cancer, had been found dead alone in her apartment. The timing tethered the image to shock and grief, mingled with an eerie sense that I’d created some kind of visual premonition. What was meant to be a depiction of embracing our true identity became a constant reminder of the regret I carried for not checking in with her sooner. Grief likes to blame and point the finger, trying to convince you that you could have made a difference.

When the friend who later purchased the painting ended her life, the piece took on a darker presence in my psyche as the link to death and the fear of whatever lies beyond it. During the massage, she appeared in my field, imbued with a soft, luminous light. I instantly got the download that the reason she chose the painting was because it reflected her truth. It was an expression of herself unable to fully inhabit her earthly body and the longing to return to who she really is, which she is now.

In that moment, something within me released. A knotted vortex of suppressed emotion unwound, leaving me with understanding and compassion. What mattered was not whether the experience was real or imagined, born of a fasted state or a deeply nourishing massage, but that in receiving the gift of forgiveness, an old wound was healed on my birthday.

LESSON: FORGIVENESS LIBERATES US ALL

“Transcendence” – Acrylic on Canvas by maasa.ca

POLKA DOT ORANGE LIGHTS

by Maasaisis

“I’m happy about your results,” my oncologist says over the phone. She’s relaying the radiologist’s report from my recent PET scan. I’m surprised by the felt sense of release, even though I had convinced myself that this time I wouldn’t let it get to me. I wouldn’t let the anticipation of the result become an invisible weight I carried. But it was still there. The difference is, I’m stronger now, and I can carry it without letting it drag me down.

Still, my light-as-a-feather release moment was short-lived. My quick translation of what she said was, “I’m done, I’m cancer free! Whoopee! Finally!!” But then she proceeded with what I didn’t want to hear which meant: it ain’t over yet.

The Coles Notes version is that there are lumpy remnants of disease bound up in my scar tissue. There are still a few small nodules left over from the breakdown of the big tumour. I focused on the positive: it’s no longer in my other breast, sternum, liver, lymph nodes, or in the suspicious activity that showed up in my right lung several months ago.

“There is a new lesion in your spine at T4 that we are going to have to keep an eye on,” she continued. It’s a game of give and take, and what is left over is where I have to count my blessings. My mind quickly grasped for an explanation.

I had two terrible falls last year where my heels went over my head and I smashed hard onto my back. Both involved slipping and landing on solid slabs of wet rock. The first time, I broke my fall with my left arm, which fractured my humerus and left me with a frozen shoulder I’m still patiently thawing out.

The second time was a classic ass-over-teakettle slip down the stone steps to my garden. That time I remember lying there motionless, afraid to move, praying that I hadn’t broken my back.

“Could a fracture or major trauma in that area cause a higher glucose uptake in the scan?” I ask. I can hear the desperation in my voice and feel my heart squeezing around panic. “It could,” she replies, “but the formal report says that it is likely a metastasis.”

This is how it starts: fear finds a crack to get in. If I look away and let it in, it will take hold—and that is what metastasizes and spreads. That is what alters my experience from being free to becoming a prisoner. I know I have to nip it in the bud—not with denial, but by shifting my awareness to a greater Reality that will guarantee my safety.

This is the thing: the radiologist is commenting only on the supposition in cases like mine. The last PET scan was done over a year ago, when the orange glows of sugar uptake in my report were polka dotted in too many places. Assuming that cancer “spreads,” all the orange glows led to the presumption that it was all cancer — even though healing tissue also takes up sugar. This is my own disclaimer on these super sensitive machines that pick up everything. I was never completely sure that was the case, but I didn’t want to biopsy bones and organs, so I went along with it, hoping it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. It was most likely denial, but at the time, it was the only defense I had to keep going.

The radiologist comments on my scarring as a “surgical site,” which it is not. The scar tissue was not from a clean cut surgery. I wanted him to know what I endured—that I didn’t have the option for a quick and easy removal of my problem. It’s more like a mesh of healed tissue from a decomposition site. I find it mildly annoying that the guy writing this report has no idea what I’ve been through and writes without considering my falls as a possible explanation for the T4 light-up. I recognize my annoyance is guarding what I want to keep safe, so I let it go with my next out breath.

My oncologist is thorough and pulls up the last three PET scans, spanning two years, to compare them on her screen. “Maasa, you really should see the changes in the imaging. You can literally see those orange globes of light around your body dissipating with each scan. I think you would feel really encouraged if you could see what I see,” she says. I love this woman, especially because she wants me to just keep doing what I’m doing. And even though there is no real end to talk about in terms of treatment, I decide that this is good news—because really, it doesn’t change anything. I can keep living the way I am.

I had decided I wouldn’t live suspended on “what ifs.” There will be more tests, and the only constant is change in whatever direction life flows, so I’m training my mind to anchor to what is steady and forever. It’s ongoing daily work — practicing permanence in a world that only guarantees impermanence.

I was nervous when I signed up for a workout class that I used to do in my twenties. I’d been feeling the nudge to get strong, to push healthy oxygenated blood through my system for a house clean. To feel those endorphins combat the restrictions in my body, to be told what to do by a guy that inspires me.

Coach tells me not to ask questions and just do what he says. That is exactly what I need: just show up, do the work, and get on with it. I survived the first week of a strenuous, sweaty workout, which confirmed for me that so much of how I feel depends on the limits I place on myself. Sure, I have to modify here and there, but my body followed the state of my mind that chose not to let anything get in the way.

My monthly treatment in the chemo lounge was right after class on Friday. My veins were so pumped that, for the first time, the nurse couldn’t get an IV into me. It gave me a funny sense of satisfaction—even though it hurt to have her poke and prod until I finally relaxed and let her in.

It’s helping my mindset to know that the cocktail of two drugs for my targeted therapies does not damage my healthy cells. Instead of attacking fast-dividing cells like chemo, they target and block the receptors that fuel the cancer cells. The hope is that, without fuel to grow, those unruly cells will weaken. With me strengthening my own immune defense through everything I’m doing—mostly mindset, herbs, supplements, and exercise—they may eventually remember their true function and return to behaving like healthy cells.

My life can easily be defined by tests and the shifting statuses of this disease. What I’ve learned from the latest PET scan is that I’m still reaching for the finish line — and I don’t want to be in a race. My path is the one I’m on, and anticipating it to be any different will only cause me grief.

Tests come in three-month increments. Thankfully, the next one is an MRI, which I requested because I need a break from the radiation of these nuclear medicine machines. Rather than reaching for a different kind of life or pinning my hopes on a better scan result each time, I’m practicing being here now — finding perfection even in the nooks and crannies. To be an expression of the good stuff I want to share — and for the rest, I place the future in the hands of God.

LESSON 194 ACIM: I PLACE THE FUTURE IN THE HANDS OF GOD.

MIRACLE SHIFT

by Maasaisis

“Your CT scan shows that you’ve responded exceptionally well to treatment,” my oncologist said excitedly over the phone. “There doesn’t appear to be any tumours in either breast although, It’s hard to assess the right one due to extensive scar tissue from the ulceration. What spread into your chest wall has receded, the thickening in your upper sternum is stable, and your lymph nodes look clear.”

I was surprised by how calmly I received the wonderful news—perhaps because it simply confirmed the profound shift I’ve been feeling lately.

Three months ago, my CT scan showed disease progression from my right breast into my chest wall, in the sternum, and in my lymph nodes. The tumor in my left breast was also evident. Due to my chronic infections, I was able to forgo the chemotherapy portion, which would have depleted my immune response, and instead gave my body the chance to fight back against the infections. With stage four metastatic breast cancer, the recommended treatment was aggressive. My unique situation gave me the chance to stumble upon a miracle.

After two targeted immunotherapy treatments with minimal side effects, all four of my tumor markers dropped below the normal range for the first time in five and a half years. I requested a CT scan after my third treatment, knowing I’d likely be recommended to add chemotherapy for the following round since my infections had cleared. I needed to know if my insides reflected how I was feeling—and they did! My doctors believe that the targeted immunotherapy was solely responsible for this miraculous turn of events. I have my own belief, which I attribute to a higher order I’d placed my bet on.

“I still advise you to do chemo and take advantage of this window to clear out whatever may be left of the cancer,” my oncologist continued. I’m incredibly grateful to have been matched with an oncologist who respects my decision-making process. For now, I declined the chemo, as my body is relishing the vitality that had been absent for so long. The thought of compromising my entire system, just as it was moving towards homeostasis, felt more like a risk than a benefit. However, I’m careful not to cling, as I need to remain open to pivot when necessary.

The only “barometer” I’ve put my faith in is the level of peace I feel in the choices I make. I’m talking about the kind of peace that can’t be manufactured for safety’s sake—the kind that is all-encompassing, a ‘yes!’ that I can fall into and feel held by. That’s what I felt after I declined chemo for my next round.

I’m learning that the only power worth giving is the Power I lovingly surrender to. Time and time again, I’ve been shown that when I do this, I’m being taken care of. I know when I’m not doing this because I feel a tightening around the reality I want to control. So, when I notice, I let go again and again, praying to be shown the way. The way has at times been scary, painful, confusing, and messy- it’s only from this vantage point that I can see the meaning in all of those experiences. This is what I need to trust as I keep following the way. This is what Da calls a miracle shift.

I hadn’t disclosed to my doctors the other ‘therapies’ I believe contributed to my ‘exceptional response.’ A fringe protocol, showing great promise as a cancer cure, came onto my radar last year. I began it as a last-ditch effort to make a difference on my own before seeking help from the conventional system. However, I didn’t use it long enough to give it a fair trial. The use of repurposed drugs—existing drugs originally developed for one condition but used to treat another—was gaining momentum and showing great promise for healing even the most aggressive and untreatable cancers.

The research I’ve done has given me enough confidence to test these therapies on myself, especially since, based on what I’ve gathered, they won’t interfere with the efficacy of my treatment and are relatively harmless. I’ve also been taking Artemisinin, derived from the sweet wormwood plant, often referred to as ‘herbal chemo’ due to its potent anticancer properties. Alongside this, I’ve maintained a steady regimen of herbal tinctures, teas, vitamins, high doses of anti-inflammatory supplements, and antioxidants to neutralize free radicals.

I also take time for my daily ritual of forest bathing and prioritize having meaningful, heartful connections. I can feel the power of the prayers from those who pray for me. I’m sure all of these have contributed significantly to my current state, but what I give the most credit to has nothing to do with what I put into my body.

My day begins with aligning my will with the greater will of God. It is only from this place that I can live fully and flourish, even with this disease. I need to recalibrate throughout the day because it’s so easy to get lost in our mortal predicament. So, I keep coming back, and I keep placing my faith in what I can never fully understand but can trust. I trust because I keep finding my way.

LESSON: PEACE IS THE CONDITION OF ALL MIRACLES- ACIM

Banner painting “Of The Same” by Maasa. In the spirit of our Sameness, we celebrate what can’t be threatened or taken away. What we thought we forgot is redeemed in the remembrance that was never lost. More of my art mine may be seen @ http://www.maasa.ca