The Journey: A Practical Guide to Healing Your life and Setting Yourself Free

Embarrassed and ashamed, I couldn’t admit my fears to even my closest friends. Here I was, “an expert,” teaching others how to take charge of their health, yet I couldn’t even zip up my loosest-fitting slacks.

For over fifteen years I had been in the natural healing and alternative health field, and now, faced with a serious health issue, I felt lost at the prospect of going to a “regular” medical doctor. Though I knew I urgently needed a proper medical diagnosis, I had no idea of where to start or whom to call.

Not having the guts to call a friend, and with nowhere else to turn, I decided to check out the local book shop. I scanned the shelves and found a book written by a surgeon who specialized in women’s health issues; one who was known for not taking out all your organs as the first option. I figured she might be an intelligent place to start, and when I called the number at the back of the book I was surprised and thrilled to get an appointment in only six weeks’ time.

During that time, however, it seemed as if my tummy just “blew up” in size, and, oddly, my period began long before it was due. The night before my appointment, I plucked up the courage to tell one of my best girlfriends, Catherine, what was going on, and asked her if she would accompany me on my visit.

When we arrived at the doctor’s office, I felt sick at the thought of what might be diagnosed. As Catherine and I sat chatting away, waiting to go in for my examination, I broke out in a cold sweat as fear washed through me in waves. After an hour and a half, the nurse finally came and called us in. The forty-five-minute examination was painstakingly thorough and seemed to drag on endlessly. The doctor said virtually nothing as I waited to finally hear what I feared most.

When she finished she quietly turned to me and looked me straight in the eyes. In a kind but unemotional voice she said, “Brandon, you are equivalent to five months pregnant with a tumor the size of a basketball.”

It seemed as if everything started reeling inwardly as I tried desperately to somehow grasp what she had said. I made an awkward attempt at being lighthearted, saying, “Oh come on, Doc, aren’t we exaggerating a bit here—a basketball—isn’t that a bit over the top? A basketball is this big!” (indicating with my hands the size of a basketball), smiling incredulously and immediately feeling foolish.

Not warming to my attempted humor, she became firm and almost cutting, answering, “Would you rather I called it a beach ball? It’s this big (indicating a beach ball). And not only that, it’s crushing the rest of your organs. Haven’t you noticed you’ve been out of breath lately?”

I nodded and mumbled feebly that I figured it was due to the bloating and weight gain. She said, “It’s because this tumor, this ‘pelvic mass,’ has grown from your pubic area all the way up to your rib cage (touching my body—­showing me exactly how much space it occupied) and is pressing against your diaphragm, making it difficult for you to breathe. It’s grown so large you need to go into the hospital today to have further tests done so it can be surgically removed.”

I felt as if someone had knocked the air out of me. I stupidly made a few more feeble attempts at lightening things up before I found the nerve to ask if I could speak to her in her private office.

As we walked down the hall, Catherine was chattering away, firing questions at the doctor. I presumed she was trying to buy me time to pull myself together and get my wits about me. We sat down together, and I asked the doctor what exactly it all meant and what my options were. It seemed the more she talked, the more dire she made things sound. Surgery was my “only option”—and immediate surgery at that.

My heart started to pound as the pressure began to build inside. I felt like a trapped animal. I finally had to come out with it: “I can’t let you do that, Doc—I’m in the mind-body healing field. I’ve got to be given the chance to walk my talk, to try to heal it my own way . . . How much time can you give me?”

She became even more intense and replied that this was not something to take lightly. “You don’t understand, Brandon,” she said. “It’s not just the size of your tumor. My immediate concern is that I could lose you within a few days because of the amount of blood loss you’re experiencing. This is not your period. You are bleeding internally.”

I began scrambling, negotiating from any angle I could think of. Everything the doctor was saying I was considering intelligently and logically, and I didn’t want to do anything to risk my life, but I felt a strong pull—somehow I just had to buy myself some more time. I had to have the chance to undergo my own healing process, to give it my best shot.

I asked, “What if I could stop the bleeding through medical hypnosis or homeopathics or something? Then how much time could you give me?” She shook her head in what appeared to be pure exasperation, and dropped into a kind but resolutely firm tone that seemed softly patronizing. She said, “Brandon, you seem like a very sincere person, and I even believe in alternative natu­ral medicine when the diagnosis calls for it, but your pelvic mass is just too big to even consider it.”

Indicating the shelves and shelves of books lining her walls as if they were conclusive evidence, she continued, “There is not one case history in all these books of a woman who has healed naturally from a pelvic mass the size of yours. So even though you may have the best intent in the world, I can’t in good conscience let you out of here in the condition you’re in. As a doctor I’m in the business of saving lives, and you need to check into the hospital this afternoon.”

“What if you had to give me time; how much time could you give me?” I pleaded. And so the negotiation continued, until finally, after another thirty minutes, we reached an agreement that if I could somehow get the bleeding to stop over the next couple of days, I would have one month to do what I knew how to do—to give it my best shot. If the symptoms worsened, I would call her immediately, and if after one month the pelvic mass was not completely gone, I would come back and let the surgeons do what they knew how to do—remove it surgically.

As I left her office, I looked back into her concerned eyes, and at that moment I saw that she really cared. Yet I could also see that there was no doubt in her mind that I would fail at healing myself. Quietly, with a knowing tone in her voice, she said, “I’ll see you in one month’s time,” absolutely certain that surgery was my destiny.

My heart still pounding, I stepped out into the Los Angeles sunshine and felt that I had been let out of prison. Though I’d never been very fond of L.A., that afternoon somehow it seemed the most beautiful place on earth. The trees seemed to scintillate with color, the air was intensely fragrant, and I felt incredibly lucky just to be alive. My senses were so aware—so keen, so sharp. Life felt so very, very precious.

At that moment something radical happened. It seemed as if time stopped altogether. In that moment, all fear subsided into a deep calm, and a quiet but certain “knowing” arose from within—a knowing that I had been given a big wake-up call and that, in fact, this tumor was a gift, that it had something important to teach me, and that somehow I would be guided to heal myself.

It wasn’t even a question of if I would heal, but how.

Though I didn’t know what my healing journey would be, somehow I realized that the same part of me that had been responsible for creating the tumor would also be responsible for un-creating it. And in this recognition I felt a childlike innocence and trust that somehow I would be guided to discover what it was this pelvic mass had to teach me.

And so my healing journey began.

Chapter 2

As I stood in the L.A. sunshine for that brief moment when it seemed as if time stood still, I felt that the whole of my life had been lived to bring me to this very point. Snatches of memories of the various spiritual and mind-body healing teachings I’d experienced through years of study flowed through my mind.

I felt a welling up of gratitude for all I’d learned, for all the teachers I’d learned from, and for all the case histories I’d studied of people who had been diagnosed with illnesses more serious than mine, people who had, with great courage, been successful in healing themselves. Not only had I read, studied, and learned of hundreds of these cases, but also over many years I had been privileged to therapeutically help others as they successfully underwent their healing journeys. I realized that their experiences had been a real-life example for me, and their courage had kindled my own. I knew that if there was just one person who had been successful in healing at a physical-cellular level, then it meant that every human body was capable of cellular healing. So I knew without doubt it was possible; I just didn’t know what my healing journey would be.

I turned around, realizing that I had been immersed in my thoughts for some time, and that my dear friend Catherine was still standing next to me. I gave her a look of incredulity, and said, “Well, at least I’ve got a month’s time. Let’s go get some juice. I’m feeling a little shaky—I need to pull myself together.”

From the Good Earth health food restaurant I called my husband, Don, who was out of town, giving seminars as Head Trainer with Anthony Robbins. I tried not to let my voice sound overly concerned as I relayed the news—“Remember that appointment I had with the surgeon to check out why my stomach was getting so fat?”

“Oh, yeah, how did it go?”

“Well, I’ve been diagnosed with a tumor the size of a basketball, and I’ve been given one month to sort it out.”

There was a long silence over the phone—Don was speechless.

Then, “Shit, one month?”

Though an articulate, erudite Ph.D., he seemed utterly at a loss for words. Mumbling something unintelligible he handed the phone over to Tony, who was also my boss. I hadn’t expected that. I felt very exposed and on the spot, but tried to sound chirpy and confident as I gave Tony the news. Stumbling, I said, “Hey, Tone, I don’t know if you’d noticed my stomach has grown kind of fat in recent months.” (I thought I’d been successful in covering it up in long, flowing, romantic dresses.)

“Yeah, Brandon, as a matter of fact I had noticed . . .”

Embarrassment washed through me, and I suddenly felt at a loss for words. After a long, awkward pause, all my words came rushing at once—“Well . . . I’ve been diagnosed with a tumor the size of a basketball, and I’ve been given just one month to sort it out . . .”

Another long pause seemed to hang in the air, as I waited in anticipation for what I feared would be a humiliating response. But, unexpectedly, he replied in a breezy, encouraging tone, “Not a problem, Brandon, you’ll get it handled—I’ll see you at Mastery” (a seminar taking place in Hawaii in only one month’s time).

Tony passed the phone back to Don, and I gave him a condensed version of all the medical details, assuring him I’d get the blood loss problem handled immediately, and I got off the phone.

I stood by the phone box mildly stunned, mused over the conversation with Tony, and thought about his response. “Not a problem, Brandon, you’ll get it handled.” I realized the absolute confidence he had in me, and also the certainty he felt about how quickly healing can take place in the body—cellularly. I thought, “He’s right, it can and does happen that quickly, and I need to make sure I only tell people who have this knowledge and certainty. I can’t afford to invite the negativity of well-meaning people who project their own doubts, fears, and ill-judged sympathy onto me. I’ve only got one month. It’s precious time.”

At that moment I made a silent promise to myself that I would tell only those people whom I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt would wholeheartedly support me in a positive way—who were certain that I could and would heal.

I ended up telling only eight people.

After lunch, I immediately went to our local homeopathic pharmacy and spoke to the pharmacist about my condition. He suggested a few herbal and homeopathic remedies, including one to help stop the bleeding, and cautioned me to stop all caffeine intake, as there are statistics that indicate that caffeine can increase tumor size dramatically.

I then went home and did a simple neuro-linguistic mind-body healing process on myself to stop the bleeding. A day and a half later I was surprised and relieved to discover that, except for occasional spotting, the bleeding had stopped.

I then called the doctor. Upon hearing the news, she sounded skeptical but somewhat open, making sure she cautioned me before ending the conversation with “. . . if any of your symptoms worsen at all, call me immediately.”

It wasn’t until after I put down the phone that I realized I’d actually succeeded in safely buying myself an entire month. I relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. Then it began to dawn on me that now my real work lay ahead.

Chapter 3

In one way I felt an almost childlike curiosity and an openness as to what my journey might bring. And yet I was all too aware that I had been given an urgent wake-up call, and that one month was a very short period of time. I could not afford to squander even one precious moment of it. Though I didn’t know where to begin, I felt this constant, insistent inner knowing that somehow I would be guided. So, all I could do was TRUST.

I made a simple promise to myself that I would surrender completely into whatever I was guided to do, and TRUST in wherever that would lead me. I would give it my best shot, no matter what the results. I had no doubt that part of my journey would involve uncovering and discovering what it was the tumor had to teach me. I knew I would need to find out what past unresolved emotional memories and patterns were residing in the cells, learn whatever lessons were there, and finally resolve and release them.

I had the belief, after years of work in the mind-body healing field, that everything happens for a reason and a purpose. Once you learn what the disease or physical block has to teach you and you finally let go of the emotional issues stored in the cells, then, and only then, can real healing begin on all levels—emotional, spiritual, and physical. Only then does the body go about the process of healing itself naturally. I knew my journey would have to include letting go of whatever emotional issues were stored inside the tumor. I just didn’t know as yet what those issues were.

I also knew I needed to support my body physically in a very practical way if it was to start dumping a huge amount of degenerative and toxic cells! So, the first thing I decided to do was to support my body with a vibrant and clean diet, using well-known natural hygiene therapies I had learned over the years.

I already ate extremely healthful foods, but now I decided to eat in an optimal way, to create the highest levels of energy. I boosted my vegetarian diet from 65 to 70 percent fresh and raw fruits and vegetables to 100 percent completely live food, including lots of freshly squeezed juices. I added food enzymes and increased my mineral intake significantly, and took herbs that I knew would help with the cleansing process. Additionally, I decided to keep my lymphatic system flowing with massage, and my colon cleansed with colonic irrigation, so that when the emotional letting-go was complete, my body would be in top condition to do the physical letting-go. But these were just practical physical supports that were easy to do. I knew my real work lay in discovering what was emotionally stored inside that tumor.

Don was in Canada, unable to leave the seminars he was giving. So I decided that day that, given the importance of what was taking place, I should be by his side and that we should take some time out to have a short vacation together, slow things down a bit. Then perhaps the inner guidance might reveal the next step. So I booked a flight to join him in Quebec.

I instinctively knew that my healing journey lay in becoming still, being open, and TRUSTING, TRUSTING, TRUSTING, allowing the next steps to be revealed to me. I somehow understood intuitively that I, the personality of Brandon, was not in charge, but the infinite intelligence inside would be taking the driver’s seat. I knew that the part of me responsible for making my hair grow and my heart beat would be doing the work—and that it would take great courage to surrender and relax into the stillness inside, so that the inner guidance could reveal the next step.

So, a little holiday seemed like the best next step.

Chapter 4

As I sat on the plane to Quebec, I realized I wouldn’t be enjoying all the glorious French food there—I’d be dining on crunchy salads and carrot juices and fresh fruit and colloidal minerals. A part of me grew restless and stubborn at the thought; yet I reminded myself I had only a month, and it was the least I could do to support myself.

As Don and I leisurely strolled the quiet, picturesque streets of Quebec, I felt a heightened awareness—my senses seemed so alive and acute. The trees appeared somehow more vibrant, and the smells from the street cafés so varied and full. The cobblestones were rounded from years of people and carriages and cars, and the clouds seemed to stand out vividly against the crisp blue sky. I felt so blessed just to be able to look and smell and feel—even the biting wind seemed somehow rare. It was almost as if my soul itself was tasting life as it really is.

A hush fell over me. Once again time seemed to stop. I found myself resting in a sharp stillness that was somehow both utterly unmoving and scintillatingly alive. The awareness that I was being “guided” arose strongly from within. Outwardly I must have appeared pensive and quiet, but inwardly I was near tears with gratitude for this knowing revealing itself so powerfully.

I looked back at Don; I didn’t know how long I had been standing there, but I noticed he seemed unusually quiet. When I probed deeper, Don admitted that he didn’t want to share his feelings with me as he knew it was essential for me to be with people who would support me positively with the certainty that I would heal, yet he had to admit that he was scared.

“It just seems so big . . .”

Long pause . . .

Quietly I answered, “It is big.”

I didn’t know what else to say. He’d stated the obvious, but somehow the obvious seemed at once incomprehensible and yet so stupidly apparent.

Another long pause . . .

Then I said, “I sometimes get scared, too. And I have to remind myself to be open and trust at those times. No use fighting it. I wish I could somehow explain to you this quiet certainty that keeps coming up from inside, but somehow no matter how worried my mind and personality seem to get at times, something deeper—from within—seems to know different. And this knowing is what is carrying me through this extraordinary journey. So, let’s just enjoy our time here, it’s such a romantic city.” We slipped into a café, and I encouraged him to enjoy the lovely French cuisine, even though I was only eating salad. Reluctantly, he agreed.

Day by day the peace deepened, and after three or four days in Quebec I knew it was time to move on. To what, I still didn’t know, but something inside seemed to be urging me onward.

Chapter 5

From Quebec I decided to give our friends Mark and Elaine Thomas a ring. They were living in a spiritually based community in upstate New York, and I figured I could visit them, have some good bodywork done, and get their advice on what to do next. It was with Mark and Elaine that Don and I had undergone much of our training in natural hygiene, iridology, acupressure, herbal healing, and so on, as well as a process called body electronics. Mark and Elaine had seen us both through a time of great spiritual and emotional transformation in our lives, and even though it was years later and we’d moved on to different aspects of mind-body healing, somehow they seemed to be the right people to be around. I knew they’d be supportive.

When we arrived, Elaine offered us all a cup of herbal tea, and said in her forthright and intuitive style, “So what’s up? Something’s going on!”

“Well, I’ve been diagnosed with . . .”—I laid the whole story out, including the physical things I was doing, and finished by saying, “So I’m letting myself be guided.”

Shrugging, she said, “Brandon, I don’t even see this as an issue. You’re going to get this handled . . . no problem . . . it’ll be a breeze. . . . I just know it. . . . Really, I mean it, Brandon.” And I knew she did.

Once again someone was hearing the news for the first time and using the exact words Tony did—“No problem, you’ll get it handled.” It was beginning to feel like the people around me were a mirror of that same inner knowing that was arising in me! The outer confirmation of what I felt inwardly to be true was somehow very reassuring.

I did manage to get some good massage bodywork while I was there, and also found a herbalist who suggested several herbs to aid in the cleansing process. As I prepared to leave, the massage therapist handed me a small slip of paper with a phone number. “I did some research for you and found a good cranial-visceral massage therapist in Santa Monica. That’s not far from Malibu, is it?”

“No, just down the road,” I replied. “Thanks, that was very kind of you.”

“Not to worry, Brandon—I really see this thing leaving you easily. You’ll get it handled.”

There it was again—third time! This time my hair stood on end. It really was beginning to feel as if the universe was trying to tell me something. If I ever believed in such a thing as a sign, then I was getting signs from all over the place, and they were all pointing to the same thing—YOU’LL GET IT HANDLED!

Holding the slip of paper, I thought, “Hmm, maybe this guy is one of the bread crumbs, the signposts along my path. I’ll give him a ring as soon as I get back to Malibu.”

Chapter 6

On my way home from the airport, holding the slip of paper in my hand, I felt an unexpected anticipation building. I could barely wait to see where this new signpost would take me next.

With a spring in my step I bounded through my front door in Malibu, reached for the phone, dialed the number on the slip of paper, and got the massage therapist’s secretary. She apologized profusely, but he didn’t have a single opening for one month. Did I want to schedule for then?

A month? I didn’t have a month! I had less than three weeks left.

I felt as if someone had stuck a pin in my balloon. How could it be that he couldn’t see me? I was just so sure he was part of my journey—one of my signposts. So far everything had flowed so perfectly, so gracefully—as if I was somehow in “the zone” that so many athletes speak of. This couldn’t be right. I asked her if she was absolutely certain.

“Yes, I’m sorry—he’s completely booked.”

Deflated, I put the phone down, still somehow unconvinced. Two minutes later I redialed—“Could I at least speak to him?”

“He’s with a client.”

“Well, could you pass on my message?”

“I’ll let him know you called.”

That night at 10:45 I received a phone call beginning with a flurry of apologies for calling so late. “My name is Benjamin—I’m the cranial-visceral massage therapist you phoned.”

We talked until 11:00 P.M., and he said, “Listen, if you don’t mind coming at 7:00 A.M. I’ll fit you in for as many sessions as I can between now and your time to go back for tests. Can you make it that early?”

“I can’t afford not to. I’ll be there at 6:45.”

Though early mornings have never been my best times, I was thrilled to be actively working toward physically healing myself, and glad that things once more seemed back “in the flow” and on track.

At the end of the first session, Benjamin turned to me as I reached for my coat, and said, “You know, I don’t get the feeling that this is really going to be a problem for you; I almost get the feeling it’s already healing itself. I know it sounds crazy, because your examination is less than three weeks away, but I get the feeling you are going to get this thing handled!”