Chapter 3 – The Body, Temple of the Soul

The Living Miracle

The human body isn’t just a pile of flesh and bones.
It’s divine engineering, a perfect blend of matter and energy. It doesn’t need tricks or extras to show its beauty.
Its natural harmony is enough.
No makeup, no fake changes, no useless protection: all it takes is being, fully accepting who we are.
The body is a temple.
And like any sacred temple, it deserves respect, care, and love.

And it’s the only one we’ve got!

Water, Thought, and Intention

We often underestimate the power of our thoughts.

They feel immaterial, invisible, like random echoes in our heads.
But their reach goes way beyond that.

If you still doubt their influence, let me tell you about a researcher who shook things up: Professor Masaru Emoto.

This Japanese scientist focused on something simple yet vital: water.

But what he showed goes far beyond chemistry or physics.
In his experiments, he exposed water to human intentions, words, thoughts, music, then froze it to observe the crystals that formed.
The result?
Mind-blowing.

When the water received gratitude, love, or peace, the crystals came out beautifully shaped, almost geometric in their perfection.

But when exposed to words like “hate”, “war”, or “I’ll kill you”, the crystals turned chaotic, broken, even painful to look at.

One picture says more than a thousand words — look them up online.
They whisper something essential: our thoughts and intentions are never neutral.

They either build up or mess up everything around us.

Now ask yourself this: if our bodies are made of about 78% water — as modern biology confirms — what are our thoughts doing to our inner structure?

Every emotion you feel, every word you speak, every look you throw at yourself or others changes something in your body, in your cells, in your vibration.

This isn’t just some mystical talk anymore: it’s subtle physics.

So, what do you choose to feed yourself with today?
Words of love, gratitude, light?
Or judgments, regrets, bottled-up anger — like dirty stagnant water inside your guts?

We are conscious oceans.
And if the water in us reacts, then our whole health, our whole energy, is influenced.

Take care of your thoughts.

They shape your inner world way more than you think.

Focus on the positive!

When I think of water, I always remember Dr. Masaru Emoto’s experiment.

The protocol: take two jars with cooked rice and water.
Every day, for about a month, the first jar gets negative words and emotions, while the second receives positive, kind ones.
One jar bathed in hate, the other in love and gratitude.

The result is shocking: the first turned black and rotten, the second stayed intact and pure.
It’s like the rice absorbed the energy sent to it — reminding us that every vibration matters, and love preserves, even at the most subtle level.

Another scientific experiment that connects with these spiritual teachings is the double-slit experiment.
It shows that photons, those tiny particles of light, behave differently when they’re observed.
The observer changes the result.

Apply this to our lives, and you see: thought itself is a form of observation.
Every look at reality, every thought aimed at it, changes the outcome.
Whether we know it or not, we’re actively shaping the flow of what we live.

So yes, it’s smarter to learn to structure our thoughts than to let them run wild.
Because if water reacts, if light reacts, our whole life reacts.
Our thoughts aren’t just inner echoes: they’re creative forces.

What We Put In: Food Awareness

Our times are flooded with processed, industrial food, stripped of all vitality.
Fast food, sodas, ultra-processed junk overload the body and mess with our inner signals.

And still, the body takes it.
It cleans, neutralizes, compensates.
For a while.
But sooner or later, the overflow shows up.
Fatigue, inflammation, chronic pain, more serious diseases.

But intention still matters most.
A meal shared with joy, even if not “perfect”, will be better absorbed than organic food eaten in fear or guilt.

The body’s alchemy is subtle.
It recognizes energy more than molecules.

Rethink Your Relationship With Food

Today, we’re literally drowning in a flood of contradictory info about food.
Every week, some video or article claims to have the truth: this food is a miracle, that one is dangerous…
Who to believe?
How to tell truth from hype in this media chaos?

What if we stopped listening to outside noise and turned inward?
Because honestly, our body knows.

Our cells, our digestive system, our organs carry a silent wisdom, way sharper than trendy diets or nutrition rules.

Example: food aromatherapy.
Blindfolded, you smell foods — and your body reacts instantly. Some smells attract you, others repel you.
That’s a clear sign: your body knows what it needs, right here, right now.

Instead of eating by the clock — lunch at noon because “that’s the time”, steak and fries because it’s quick — why not ask the organ most concerned?

Ask your stomach:

Do you want something heavy or light?
Hot or cold?
Meat or veggies?
Dense energy or refreshing food?

You’d be surprised at the answers.
Often, the stomach says it’s not hungry… while the mind is screaming “eat!”.

That’s the gap: it’s not always the body calling the shots, but the brain, overloaded with ads, habits, and social conditioning.

Fun fact:
Fat doesn’t make you fat — sugar does!
Your brain is fat.
Your cells are fat.
Your hormones are fat.
THEY took fat out of your food, then replaced it with sugar.
Result: an obesity epidemic that costs — and earns — billions in treatments.

For thousands of years, humans ate meat.
Without cancer, diabetes, heart problems, or obesity.

We sometimes forget something simple: we have canines.
Yeah, carnivore teeth.
Not just molars like cows.
So why stop eating meat just to follow the wave of half-eco, half-vegan, half-save-the-planet “good guys”?

Don’t get me wrong.
It’s noble, it’s healthy, it often comes from a good place.
But sometimes, it turns into dogma.
And that’s where it gets tricky.

I’ve seen vegans exhausted, malnourished, secretly dreaming of steak.
They denied what their body was screaming, convinced they’d save the world with steamed broccoli.
My daughters, for example.
They tried.
First vegetarian, then vegan.
Ten years of veggies, tofu, beliefs… and then: revelation.
They finally said “Fuck off!” to dogmas.

Their bodies told them something else: “Hey, I need meat sometimes.
For my hormones.
For my blood.
For my energy.”

And they listened.
Now they eat everything, but consciously.
Result: never sick, always in shape, my girls.

Moral of the story: it’s not about trends, it’s about listening to your body.
It’s the real master.
Not the gurus, not the hashtags.

So why not try another way?
Listen to your body, listen to your stomach, listen to that raw, simple feeling.

Test it: with practice, you’ll find your body guides you with crazy precision.

Maybe that’s the real food revolution: getting back in touch with yourself, instead of drowning in other people’s opinions.

Personally, I found real peace doing this.

Before, like everyone, I ate 3 times a day, just following the norm.
If I skipped a meal, I was scared of losing weight (my strong-man muscles had to look pumped and visible) or afraid of getting weak.

And most of the time — I knew it deep down, but I had blinders on — I ate without appetite, just to fill myself up, to cover some lack I hadn’t figured out yet…

Now it’s totally different.

I eat when I’m hungry, not when I’m bored.
I don’t need to stuff myself to feel okay.

And after testing several long fasts, I know now my body feels great when I let it breathe, when it’s not busy metabolizing junk all day.
So now, I usually eat twice a day.
And I still train every day, getting leaner — in a good way, in a better way.

Food and my relationship with it were a battlefield for years.
I was always stuck between restriction and indulgence, hoping my body would match society’s beauty standards.
It made me swing like a yo-yo: strict diets, intense workouts… then, unable to keep up, I’d crash into overeating and lose control.

Looking back, I see I never trusted my body.
I never gave it space or voice.
Worse: I judged it constantly, with disdain, never satisfied. Never good enough.

Only in recent years have I started rediscovering its wisdom.
By letting it speak, I reconnected little by little to its signals, to my organs, to those subtle sensations guiding the day — especially hunger.
I noticed that when I restricted myself, I turned food into the enemy, and I obsessed over it.
So I learned to balance: eating what I craved, but being present for every bite, enjoying quality over quantity.

I also saw that whenever I feared gaining weight, my stress spiked. My nervous system went into fight-or-flight, and my body, thinking it had to protect itself, stored more food. Changing my mindset at meals was huge: learning to relax, enjoy, savor fully, while paying attention to the moment my stomach told me it was full.

That’s how I finally reached a body I feel good in, without deprivation, without war inside.
Just by eating when I’m truly hungry, really listening, and reconciling pleasure with self-respect.

Joy as Medicine

What if we stopped treating ourselves like biological machines to service, like some car on a lease?

What if instead of counting calories, steps, gluten grams, or urine acidity levels, we started counting our bursts of laughter, moments of bliss, barefoot dances, and our ability to scream a big, liberating “fuck it” to stress?

Some people live super clean — detox, organic food, yoga, fasting, chakras aligned every morning — and still drop dead at 42 from cancer (true story).

Others, life pirates, run on red wine, sleepless nights, and sweet madness… and make it past 80 with a cigarette in hand and fire in their eyes.

Take Cizia Zykë (look up his books), this wild adventurer, a modern outlaw allergic to rules, boxes, and comfort.
A free man, raw life pulsing through his veins, who valued direct experience over any health advice.

Gold hunter in the Amazon, truck trafficker across African deserts, casino owner on the Canadian border, car smuggler through lawless lands… His life was pure adrenaline, danger embraced, and joyful rebellion.

Adventures like we don’t see anymore — like the world lost the taste for it.

And yet, this man lived in excess all his life: weed, hard drugs, never hiding it.
He admitted it himself: he loved being “wrecked”, always chasing euphoria, miles away from today’s wellness cult.
Drugs, sex, rock’n’roll… and above all, freedom, raw and roaring.

He died at 74, from a sudden heart attack.
Quick — 15 minutes.
No slow agony, no sterile hospital room.

A fitting exit for a man who burned life from every end, without apologies.
His story reminds us of an uncomfortable truth: health isn’t just about medicine or diet.

Some live long and full while breaking all the rules, while others die young despite “perfect” lifestyles.

There’s something bigger at play:
The intensity of life, being true to yourself, aligned with your inner fire.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
Sometimes, that beats everything else.

Why and how is this possible?
Because they are alive.
And their fuel isn’t a monk’s routine: it’s joy.
The joy of a child.

Yes, joy.
That thing we forget, that thing we sacrifice on the altar of seriousness, reason, and what’s “socially acceptable.”

Joy isn’t just a Sunday bonus.
It’s wide-spectrum energy medicine, a cellular elixir, an emotional disinfectant.
When you vibrate joy, your cells sing.
Literally.
And they repair themselves.
This isn’t mystical fluff.
More and more studies confirm it: laugh, love, enjoy the moment — and you trigger hormones that boost your immunity, heal your heart, feed your brain.

But beyond science: you already know this.
When you’re in love, when you’re inspired, when you dance like crazy on a balcony at sunset… you feel invincible.
Because you’re in your right frequency.

So no, this isn’t an invite to live like a rockstar tripping on LSD in Ibiza.
It’s an invite to reconnect with that pulse inside saying: “This is good. This is real. This is me.”

Forget the fake zen mask, bored in lotus position.
Forget the tense monk.

Be that conscious explosion of joy.
That laugh cutting through the dark.
That freedom electrifying the air.

Because if you’re looking for a universal medicine, it’s already here.
It’s called joy.
And it’s prescribed without moderation.

I was always drawn to extremes, thinking it was all about passion.
But looking back, I see it wasn’t always heart’s fire: it was often a lack of joy in my daily life.
I had turned joy into a reward, a bonus that came after — after chores done, after everything was tidy, after my life looked like the “healthy” image I wanted to show.
I believed joy came from achievement and discipline.
And yet… I was dying inside.

Three years ago, I made a brutal shift.
For ten years I was vegetarian, meditating daily, chasing spiritual elevation.
On paper, I had everything aligned.
But inside, I was bored to death.
So I swung to the opposite: moved to a mountain village where parties, excess, drugs, and adrenaline ruled.
And I let myself dive into that world I had always judged.
I tried it all, explored it all, sometimes to the point of losing myself.

I remember calling my dad, telling him about my excesses, explaining my logic: I needed to find joy, no matter where it was hiding.
Little by little, I dropped drugs, but I keep a strange gratitude for them: they forced me to see what I was missing wasn’t more discipline, but more release.
I needed to let my instincts breathe, loosen my tight mind, let my body experiment freely.

That’s how I learned joy isn’t a prize at the end of the road.
It’s not something you earn.
It’s already here, raw and immediate, as soon as you dare to make space for it.

The Mother Cell: Forgotten Sacred Jewel

What if, instead of running after chemical pills from TV ads, we remembered that inside us… lies a cellular treasure?

Yes, a mother cell.
The very first one.
The one that one day said: “Let’s go!” and split to create your body.

That cell isn’t gone.
It’s not dead.
It’s still there, somewhere inside you, alive and vibrating.

Picture it like a silent priestess, hidden in a secret sanctuary, deep in your heart or tucked in a subtle fold of your consciousness.

It doesn’t speak.

It waits.
It waits for you to remember it.

This cell holds your source code.
Your original DNA.
Your perfect information, untouched by fear, pollution, or lies.

It knows.

It remembers your lungs before city smog.
It remembers your joints before injuries, your liver before excess, your heart before betrayals.

And it can rebuild.
But for that… you need to talk to it, to ask.

Not like reciting a prayer out of habit.

No. You have to send an intention.
Clear.
Vibrant.
Charged with awareness.

Tell it:
“My original cell, I call you. Reproduce. Send a perfect copy of yourself where my body needs it.”

And visualize it.

Feel it activate.
Feel it drop like a drop of light into your liver, kidney, or aching joint.

Imagine it settling, merging, teaching the sick cells around it.

This is vibratory science.
This is quantum physics.

And above all, it’s intelligent love.

It’s not magic.
It’s organic.
But it takes presence, repetition, and trust.

Modern medicine will call this nonsense.
But modern medicine forgot the soul.
It only speaks of numbers, stats, molecules.
It doesn’t speak of the infinite intelligence in every strand of DNA.

You do.
You have that key.
It can’t be bought.
It wakes up.

And if you decide to try, day after day, you’ll see.
Pain fades.
Blocks release.

Cells listen.
They’re just waiting for you to remember your power.

Back when I was about 45, my right knee started seriously betraying me.
Two years of nagging pain — constant, annoying, always there.
Me, always sporty, dynamic, mobile… suddenly limping like a retired pirate.

I thought: “Well, I pushed too far this time.”
So, like a good citizen still a bit naïve, I went to see a doctor.
Scans.
MRI.
X-rays.
The whole arsenal.
And the verdict, like a guillotine:
“Sorry sir, your knee is done. Almost no synovial fluid left between bone and cartilage.”

Thanks, goodbye.

I walked out limping, bummed out, feeling like I lost more than I gained.
But something in me refused that diagnosis.
I couldn’t believe it.
I’m made to move, to dance, to run, to climb, to live in a working body.

So I switched methods.
Every day, I talked to my mother cell, that little sentinel of light in my heart, like a living jewel.
I spoke to it.
Honestly.
“Send me new cells.
Strong ones.
Guide them to my knee.
Clear the dead ones.
Help it repair.
Regenerate.
Be itself again.
Please.”

And I kept living.
I let go.
I trusted.

That’s key: trust the body, without obsessing, without checking every micro-symptom.
Plant the seed, and don’t dig it up every morning to see if it grew.
Don’t turn a pebble into a mountain…

Weeks passed.
Two, maybe three months.
And without thinking about it… I started noticing improvement.
Ease.
Mobility coming back.
One day, I knelt down without thinking.
No pain.
It was back.
Naturally.
Magically.

A year later, I couldn’t even remember the pain.
It had vanished from my memory… like it was never there.
But that’s not all.
Because behind every symptom, there’s often an emotional or energetic cause.
The knee, symbolically, speaks of “I–We”, especially in family or relationships.

It also speaks of rigidity, refusal to bend.

And at that time… I was a single dad.
Raising my girls with too much discipline, doing my best but without softness.
Running it all with an iron hand, thinking that was the way.
But that rigidity came back… in my knee.

So yes, there was the body, yes there was awareness, but above all, it was an invitation to soften inside.

To forgive. To let go. To listen.

And today, if I can run, dance, kneel — maybe it’s because I also learned to bend inwardly, without breaking.

Today, you play padel every day, you swim, you walk, you bike… and I’ve never heard you complain about your knee, or any other part of your body (except a headache or two after a party… haha).

It’s always nice to hear these stories from others, but it’s so much more powerful when it comes from our own inner magic.

A friend once lent me a book called “The Great Dictionary of Aches and Illnesses.”

It explores the link between physical issues and the inner conflicts caused by our thoughts, feelings, and emotions.

Mal-à-dire… illness.

I often heard people talk about cysts.
When I had one, I opened that book — and the definition shocked me:
“A cyst may reflect regrets linked to an unfinished project or desire, and an accumulation of unexpressed emotions and thoughts.
It symbolizes blocked vital energy, tied to attachment to the past, refusal to forgive, or rigid mental patterns that protect but also limit growth.
It may come from helplessness, resentment, or a need for recognition, and worsen when emotions are repressed or conflicts avoided.
In extreme fear situations, it can evolve into something more serious.”

Reading that, I realized how much it matched a situation I was stuck in.
That day, I let go, accepted the “injustice” I felt… and finally moved on.

Sports and Sweat: Modern Exorcisms

Movement is key.
The body isn’t made for stillness.
It’s built for action, breath, and liberating tension.

We weren’t born slugs or snakes.
We’ve got 4 limbs, made of segments.
We’re built to move!
Simple as that.

Sports, yoga, martial arts aren’t just physical disciplines.
They’re paths of alignment.
The mind calms down, the breath deepens, energy flows.
Stuck emotions get released.

How many silent tears roll down a runner’s cheeks mid-run?
How many knots get untied in a dojo, stars of exhaustion in the eyes?
How many shadows dissolve on a yoga mat?

Tools at our disposal: reconnect body, calm the mind

In this era of endless info, notifications, “infinite scroll,” and nonstop stimulation, our minds are like hyper kids on three candy bars.
Running everywhere, jumping from one idea to the next, imagining problems, replaying, overthinking, panicking — all in a few seconds.

So what to do?
Tame it.
Put it back in its place.
And for that, we’ve got powerful, simple, often ancient tools.
Practices that can quiet the storm inside, restart energy flow, and reset our inner temple.

Yoga, for example.
True art of inner peace — it’s not just touching your toes or breathing gracefully, no, it’s mainly about coming back to yourself, calming the ego, making space between thoughts.
Yoga works like an energetic reset.
You walk in stressed, tense, wired, and you walk out… with a quiet, deep, almost sacred peace.
A healthy addiction, really.

And as a bonus, practicing yoga gives you the sense of joining a thousand-year-old tradition, a spiritual path from Hindu or Tibetan sages.
That alone already lines up the chakras a bit, right?

But let’s be real.
Yoga classes are sometimes full of ego-on-a-mat: people moving in slow motion like zen masters, smiling too hard, speaking with voices soft as a guided meditation app…
We love them, but we spot them quick.
And honestly, they’re a mirror for us: we too can fall into performative spirituality.

Another jewel in the toolkit: martial arts.
Now we’re talking.
Discipline, precision, grounding.
The body becomes a moving temple.
The mind has no choice: follow or shut up.
Because one wrong move, and you hit the mat.

Martial arts teach us self-mastery, respect, humility… and paradoxically, the stronger you get, the less you need to prove it.
That’s real power.

For me, martial arts literally saved my ass. Radically.
I went from a scared 20-year-old zombie, obsessed with social approval, smiling too hard to make friends, hiding sweatpants under jeans to look more muscular… to a guy who stepped barefoot on a tatami, and boom — revelation.

The art of “the way.”
Walking barefoot on a floor filled with respect, posters of zen masters staring down, that Japanese teacher with silent charisma…
Wow.
I instantly felt a vibration.
A real one.
Not just goosebumps — a gut resonance.

Seven years later, black belt on my waist, I discovered a quiet strength in me… and an ego crazy to show off that belt.
Always visible, never hidden. My trophy, my ticket to finally some recognition.
And I had dreamed of it so long.

Of course, classic trap: spiritual ego, tatami version.
I came to train as much to shine as to grow.
And I knew it.
But damn, that little hit of recognition felt good.

Time passed.
The need softened.
A second Dan was handed to me, like a wink from the universe, but more than that, an inner shift began.

One day, I didn’t need to fight anymore.

Didn’t need to repeat the same moves endlessly, no matter how perfect.
Something else was calling.

A new dojo.
An inner one.

And without realizing it, I began laying down arms.
Finally.
I started feeling peace.

And then there’s sports in general.
Any kind.
Sweating, moving, firing up metabolism, waking sleeping cells, flushing toxins, rebooting body dynamics.

You don’t need to be an athlete.
What matters is consistency, willpower, that little flame pushing us not to sink into the couch, hypnotized by Netflix or Instagram.

In this digital age, our biggest battle is against modern laziness.
The kind dressed up as comfort, entertainment, convenience.
But that slowly kills our senses, energy, sacred fire.

It’s time to put some willpower back into our days.
Some discipline.
A bit of sweat.
Not to become a Shaolin monk, but to take back inner sovereignty.

Moving your body is also waking up your soul.

So… yoga mat or boxing gloves?
Pick your way.
The key is to move, breathe, reconnect to the simple joy of living in a vibrant, awake body.

I lost count of how many times sports literally saved me.
Not just physically. But emotionally, mentally, existentially.

How many times did I run while crying, heart heavy, breath short, not even knowing why?
Tears just flowing, like a spring waiting too long to burst.

That’s the magic of the moving body.
The mind goes on standby, or at least loosens its grip.
It stops looping, analyzing, controlling, holding.
It makes space for something else.
For deeper wisdom.
For raw emotion.
For release.
For healing.

When I run, I’m that free kid again, that wild horse sprinting on the beach, mane in the wind, heart pounding with the waves.
Running anchors me in the present.
It’s like screaming without sound.
It’s saying what I can’t put into words.

And then comes this strange alchemy…
Thoughts fade with the breath.
Tensions melt in body heat.
And suddenly, a quiet peace settles in.
Calm.
Healing.
Restoring.

That moment when, after the workout, you’re drenched in sweat but light as air.
A feeling of private victory, of reconnecting with yourself.
It’s like the soul finally found a channel to breathe through the body.

For me, with a past heavy with wounds life threw my way, I’ve always felt this raw call to move, to sweat, to let it out.
It’s not a whim, it’s a need.
A ritual.
A medicine.
A prayer in motion.

And if I can run on the world’s most beautiful beaches, then it’s ecstasy.
The meeting of breath and elements.
My sweat mixing with the sea’s salt, my fire blending with the sand’s vibration, and I become pure movement, pure instinct, pure present.

Today, past 60, I can’t imagine a day without this life rush.
(my new passion: padel)
My body asks for it, my mind blesses it, my soul celebrates it.
I must sweat.
I must move this energy in me, so it doesn’t stagnate, sink, or die.

It’s not an addiction.
It’s loyalty to myself.
To my need for freedom.
To my joy of vibrating.

My dad always pushed us to move, to do sports, to spend our energy since childhood.
Back then, I sometimes hated him for insisting we find “our” sport, or at least stick to one.
From tennis to gymnastics, circus to climbing, skiing to sailing… I tried almost everything.

And today, I’m deeply grateful.
Challenge, discipline, effort, then the release after training, that feeling of achievement even through pain… all of that shaped me.
Those lessons stayed with me way beyond sports, in every part of life.

Now I know moving my body isn’t a phase, it’s a commitment.
And I’ll keep honoring that bond, nurturing that strength, for the rest of my life.

Pain, Suffering… and Cancer: When the Body Screams What the Soul Hides

In our modern societies, so quick to "relieve" everything with chemistry, it’s almost impossible to hit rock bottom anymore.
To really go down there, where it scratches, where it cries, where it screams inside.
At the first ache, the slightest discomfort, out comes the pill.
At the first drop in mood, boom, the magic prescription.
But in that reflex so common, we forget something essential: pain has a voice.
And it has a message.

We’re no longer given the space to hear that message.
The depressed aren’t allowed to descend into the depth of their night to find their sacred fire.
They’re fed antidepressants that numb everything — the tears, but also the light.
The alcoholic, after three days on IV drips, leaves with a cleaned-up liver, but a soul just as lost.
Treated… on the surface.

Pain isn’t there to punish us.
It’s an alarm.
A call to introspection.
It tells us something is off — in our lifestyle, our choices, our relationships, our thoughts, our direction.
It’s not our enemy, it’s our ally.
It invites us to slow down.
To listen.
To change.

And if we don’t listen?
Boom! Straight into the wall at 120 km/h.

Picture your body as a huge railway system.
Energy runs through it like trains: smooth, rhythmic.
Except chronic stress, repressed emotions, toxic beliefs… all that creates knots.
Stations where energy stalls.
And when it piles up, it heats.
It swells.
It blocks.
That’s where pain shows up.
Not by accident, but with meaning.

The knee, for example.
It often symbolizes our relationship to “us” in a couple.
“I-us.”
And also our ability to bend, to show humility.
Knee pain?
Maybe you refuse to yield in some situation — or to yourself.

The back? Even simpler: you’re carrying too much, period.
Too many loads, too much weight in your life.
So the spine screams, and pain shows you where.

But conventional medicine? It only sees bone, tendon, inflammation.
It prescribes a painkiller.
And you’re relieved… for a few days.
The symptom is masked, but the root is still there, alive and kicking.

So what if we flipped the logic?
What if we welcomed pain as a sacred message?

We could just say: "Thank you. I understand something in me needs to be seen, heard, loved. I’m listening."
And then let the body do its work.
Because yes, the body knows how to repair itself.
Often, you just have to let it.

“And the best way is often to fast. I’ll talk about that later…”

But careful… focusing obsessively on pain only makes it grow.
Energy follows attention.
The more you think about what’s wrong, the more you feed it.
But if you shift your thoughts toward peace, flow, healing… guess what happens?
You change the vibration.
And the body follows.

And what about cancer?
Let’s talk about it.

Cancer has become Big Pharma’s jackpot.
A cash cow.
A massive goldmine.

A cancer patient brings in an average of €35,000.
No wonder they’re pushed into chemo on autopilot, even when hope is slim.
Doctors get their cut.
The industry too.
Everyone gets rich — except the patient, who gets poorer, weaker, and often dies in pain.

And let’s dare to say out loud what many whisper: chemo is poison.
The word itself doesn’t hide it.

And yet, here we are in 2025, still pumping in highly toxic substances like it’s the only option.
When we know today cancer isn’t just a body disease.
It’s a disease of the soul.
A deep disharmony.
A silent cry of the “I” that can’t stand betraying its truth anymore.
Too many compromises, too many masks, too many buried feelings.
For too long.

And there are so many moving stories of people who, after brushing death, finally understood.
Who changed.
Who healed.

Like Anita Moorjani (look her up), this Indo-Mauritian woman who died from a so-called incurable cancer… and came back with a luminous message. She realized in the light that her illness came from fear, from submitting to a life that wasn’t hers, to a religion that didn’t feed her.
Once she embraced that truth, she healed upon returning to her body.
Immediately.
No chemo.
Just by reconnecting to her essence.
Her miracle.

So yes, there are other forces at play.
Forces bigger than us.
Forces our limited consciousness can’t even imagine.
But they’re here.
And they speak through our body.

Through our pain.
Through our silence.

Listen to them.

I know a woman with a rough path.

Born into a broken family, she grew up in abuse, heavy silences, misplaced looks.
Several men in her family crossed the line of innocence.
The male figures meant to protect her all failed her.
And her mother was just a shattered echo of herself: unstable, hurt, harsh, unable to love without wounding too.

To survive, this woman had no choice but to build an inner fortress.
Cold, solid, almost admirable.
She locked her wounds deep inside, sealed tight.
Talking? Never.
Feeling? Impossible.
Loving? Too dangerous.

So she learned to live without.
Without love, without trust, without openness, without real joy.
Her life froze at the dawn of her maturity.
An existence on hold.
Years passed, always the same.
No big laughs, no crazy sparks that make the heart race.

But emotions, even buried, don’t disappear.
They stagnate.
They ferment.
They become invisible mud in the depths of the belly.

And one day, her body spoke.
Louder than her.
Cancer.

Of course it makes sense.
When you don’t let pain out, it ends up striking from within.

She fought.
With strength.
With tears.
With poison treatments, hospital stays, isolation.
She beat the disease… on the surface.
She was declared cured.

But me, I’m not sure she really is.
Because the words still haven’t been spoken.
The tears still haven’t fallen.
The ghosts still haven’t been faced.

And as long as pain hasn’t found its words, nothing is ever truly over.

Another obvious example: people caught in their endless “race” for money (or against time)… and who forget themselves.

I know two guys with serious health issues.

One is a “bull,” grounded in matter, who spent his life building.
Businesses, now houses.
All for one goal: money.
Now his back hurts so bad he wants to get his vertebrae fused, because — guess what — that’s what medicine offers him.
Sure, it’ll temporarily stop the pain, but honestly… he’s just carrying too much.
On his shoulders.
Too many loads, worries, responsibilities — and when it’s too much, the body screams.

The other is a pure “Gemini.”
For 20 years he’s been creating companies for people, juggling social work and paperwork, happily managing dozens of clients.
Bad luck for him, he also married a woman who seriously complicates his life.
Now? Stones in his gallbladder.
Ring a bell?
Yeah, he’s been “making bile” for years, not listening, not slowing down, and his body had enough.
He admits it, he’s been suffering for ages.
And does nothing, changes nothing.

Result: he too is heading for surgery.

Damn… things could be so much simpler!

Amélie’s Story: Reincarnating the Trial

Some souls recreate forgotten scenarios.
Cancer then becomes a rite.
A sacred trial.
A doorway to transformation.

Amélie – my first and beautiful wife – once an aspiring priestess in ancient Egypt, failed her initiation trial back then, a long, long time ago...
Coming back into this life with a high spiritual level pushed her, unconsciously, to replay that scene.
This time, through leukemia.
The incomprehension of doctors, the discomfort of loved ones, the doubts of those around her — none of that could erase the deeper truth.
Amélie had chosen this passage.
To try again for elevation.
To heal an old loop.
She did not survive.
But she understood.
And in that understanding, she planted a light.

Let me tell you her story:

Once Upon a Time…

Back in the days of the Pharaohs, in ancient Egypt, a beautiful young woman dressed in white, an apprentice vestal, was preparing to face a test.
The ultimate trial.
She had worked and prepared for this moment for years.

There were about ten of them who had made it this far, through years of training and challenges.
The temple was searching for a new diviner.
If she succeeded, she would be named priestess.
If she failed, she would die.
The trial: to remain sealed inside a sarcophagus for four days.

No air.
No food.
No help.
If she came out alive, she was priestess.
If she didn’t, she had failed — dead.

The young woman slid into the cold marble coffin.
Several assistants closed the heavy granite lid over her body and sealed the sarcophagus.
Four days passed…

The coffins were reopened.
Bodies were found motionless, breathless.
Most of the aspiring priestesses were dead.

Amélie was one of them.

Amélie, who would later be found in the year 2005, married and mother of two.
My beloved ex-wife.

She had lived many lives since those ancient times, lives she had forgotten.

In this life, she had joined a circle of light healers.
They were called the Essenes.
She followed a guide, she learned, and she loved it fiercely.
She shone more and more each year, becoming a beacon.
She climbed step by step within the group, and soon became assistant to the priestess.

That’s when her consciousness whispered a powerful, irresistible suggestion.

At her ascension stage, she was unconsciously recreating the same intensity of emotions and vibrations she had once known in another life.
But she didn’t know it yet.

Life is a big game. Would she dare to play…

All the triggers were there — thought-forms, consciousness, soul — everything was pushing her to replay that once-failed trial.

And her body recreated her ancient sarcophagus.
Cancer.
Acute leukemia.
Boom…

That’s the word the doctor-robots used when they examined her.

She didn’t drink or smoke, she meditated, she practiced love through light, she healed others, she did yoga every day… and yet she got cancer?
Seriously, would you believe it?
Impossible!
How could that be?

Except her destiny was greater than the sum of all our earthly beliefs.
In truth, she had recreated her ultimate trial, the one she once failed.
So crucial for her soul.
To play.

Having once again reached a high spiritual vibration, she unconsciously set herself the chance to finally reach her Holy Grail.
To achieve the final goal her soul had been secretly craving for lifetimes upon lifetimes…
To finally become a great priestess.

And so she lay in bed, weak, facing her deepest fear — death.
Re-death.
Her family, clueless about the why and how, pouring waves of fear onto her, all coming straight from the Matrix.

And the medical system, these so-called life-saving robots, pouring into her the infamous poisonous liquid, meant to “change her blood,” as if the cause was there…

She fought.
Long and hard.
Alone with her consciousness, trying to understand why.
Asking why the Gods would send her this trial.

She only understood near the end, during her many out-of-body experiences, realizing that her physical shell could no longer contain the vastness of her soul trying to reintegrate it. She would soon have to leave it for good.

She left, taking her secret with her.
She had failed again.

Leaving humans with their pain, while she sailed toward another karma, another life where — without a doubt — she will once again set the stage to face this ultimate trial chasing her across lifetimes.

She went high, very high, into the upper layers of the light hierarchy, to help dissolve heavy negative egregores weighing on Earth.
See you soon, my dear Amélie, we’ll meet again before long.

This is a story that escapes all rationality.

And yet, when you read it with your heart, you grasp the sheer magnitude of it, how our lives are bound to a forgotten past, and how we cannot escape certain divine laws that science on Earth ignores or denies.

Reading this story, I remember a dream I had years ago.

In that dream, a man — my partner, my love — stabbed me in the lower back.
Right where I have a large birthmark, like spilled wine on a table.

I’ll never forget his gaze: he looked at me with painful intensity, then held me tight.
I knew he wasn’t doing it out of cruelty, but because he had to.
Like we’d been discovered, like our fate was already sealed.
I felt the shock, the betrayal — and at the same time, this strange certainty that his act was protecting me from something even worse.

I don’t know if that dream was an old memory.

I don’t claim to know what comes after death, or to prove that reincarnation is real.
But I know that in the unknown sometimes lie messages, fragments that soothe and comfort the soul.

And maybe that’s also what my mother Amélie’s story teaches: that some trials which seem absurd or cruel gain a deeper meaning when seen within a much larger continuity.

Maybe our scars, our dreams, our birthmarks, our intuitions… are the imprints of those forgotten stories still trying to speak through us.

Damn right!
I say: why not?

We’ve all seen those medieval movies where Vikings or raiders storm a castle, and to spare his wife torture, rape, and humiliation, the prince or lord kills her himself in his arms, just as the door of the keep bursts open under enemy blows…

To save her from a horrible end.

I like your story!
And your wine-stain birthmark on your back… nobody ever gave us a better or more “folkloric” explanation than this one.
Knowing how much you’re tied to Love in this life, waiting with passion and purity for your true lover…

Why not…

Modern Medicine and Its Limits

Today’s medicine is powerful, yes.
High-end surgery, precision imaging, antibiotics, transplants, emergency care.
It can save a life in minutes.
Get an accident victim back on their feet.
Extend life in spectacular ways.
It’s undeniable progress… but incomplete.

Because this medicine treats symptoms.
It patches.
It soothes.
It suppresses.
But it doesn’t always heal in the deepest sense.
It rarely goes to the root.
It looks at “where it hurts,” rarely at the “why it hurts.”

It relieves us, often… but it also disempowers us.
It implants the idea that salvation will come from outside.
From a magic pill.
From a doctor in a white coat.
From a standardized protocol.
It pushes us to forget that we hold within us a force of self-healing, an innate wisdom, a body-and-emotion intelligence far stronger than we think.

And let’s say it as it is: modern medicine is also, above all, an industry.
A sprawling economic empire.
Billion-dollar labs, hospital chains, massive financial flows.
Millions of jobs, patents, lobbies, market shares.

Can we seriously believe the priority in this system is to heal you quickly and permanently?
Let’s be real: a cured patient is a lost client.
But a patient kept stable with recurring treatments? That’s a long-term subscription.

That doesn’t mean we should throw it all out.
No.
Modern medicine has incredible strengths.
It excels in emergencies, in mechanics, in surgery.
But it forgets the rest: the living, the emotional, the energetic, the connection between body, soul, and spirit.

Imagine a medicine that didn’t just cut away what sticks out or numb the pain, but asked why your back locks, why your liver is clogged, why your skin screams with eczema.
A medicine that listened to your words… to hear your wounds.

Imagine a humble, fertile collaboration between today’s technology and ancestral wisdom.
Between scalpel and prayer.
Between scanner and intuition.
Between molecule and vibration.

Yes, modern medicine could become magnificent.
Breathtaking even.
If only it dared admit the body is more than a machine.
That health isn’t just the absence of symptoms, but a subtle balance between inner and outer life.
Between what we live, what we feel, what we digest (emotionally), what we think, and what we believe.

We don’t need to choose between approaches.
We need to connect them.
To reconcile them.
To give the patient back their sovereignty.
And medicine… back its humanity.

I wanted to be a surgeon when I grew up.
I always had that desire to help, to heal, to save.
But when my mother had cancer, I discovered hospitals from the inside.
I followed the tests, the protocols, the diagnoses… and I was struck by the cruel lack of colors, emotions, humanity.
Everything felt cold, sterile, mechanical.

I don’t blame the doctors, quite the opposite.
I know how overwhelmed they are, overworked, emotionally drained.
How can you offer a listening ear when you’re juggling emergencies and carrying the pain of dozens of patients every day?
That’s not my judgment.

But that experience made me understand something essential: as my father expressed, modern medicine and ancient healing shouldn’t oppose each other, but complement each other.
One excels in urgency, in technique, in immediate rescue.
The other explores the deeper roots of illness, the psyche, the emotional, the unseen causes.

Toward Integrative Medicine

One day will come when doctors prescribe silence, breathing, moments of solitude.
When hospitals will also welcome energy healers, soul midwives, heart-repairers.

One day will come when illness won’t be treated as an enemy to kill, but as a message to hear.
An opportunity to realign, not a fate to run from.

Because the body isn’t just a machine.
It’s a subtle ecosystem.
It needs nutrients, yes, but also inner peace, nourishing dreams, healthy relationships, emotional coherence.

When all that is in place… it becomes capable of regeneration.
Of harmonization.
Of miracles.

Conclusion: Relearning to Live in Your Body

Loving your body is honoring life.
It’s listening to its messages.
Respecting it.
Feeding it.
Moving it.
Resting it.

It’s also talking to it.
Trusting it.
Thanking it.

In a world pushing us to look outside ourselves for solutions, it’s time to come back inside.
Where everything begins.
Where everything heals.
The body isn’t an obstacle.
It’s an ally.
A guide.
A portal to the soul.
And it only asks to be seen for what it is: a living miracle.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Integration – one step at a time…

Don’t try to understand everything all at once.
This isn’t an exam.
This isn’t a race.
Real awakenings settle slowly, sometimes silently, like seeds planted in the night.
They’ll sprout when the time is right.
Give yourself the freedom to be moved without needing to grasp.

Accept not “knowing” right away.
It’s in the gray zones that the biggest revelations often hide.
The mind will want to sort, categorize, explain.
But your deeper self needs to feel, to vibrate, to let it sink in.
So… drink plenty of water these next few days…

Close your eyes.
Listen to what your body whispers.

And if all this still feels blurry, foggy, or even uncomfortable… good.
It means something is moving.
Many of us are waking up, each at our own pace.

And sometimes, letting it rest… is moving forward.

☟