NUTRITION: Mind Body & Soul, Power Reliant = Soul Essence

“NOT MY MAMA’S RECIPE”

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Broiled Tilapia with Fine Chopped Broccoli and Celery; Apple Slices, A Butterhead Lettuce Leaf and a Cherry

Editor’s Note:  Am Angela Afrikan/Black PresTech-Blog Unapologetically Does NOT Edify Europeans or Anyone of European Mindset.


Thanksgiving 2002, my youngest sondear and I were fast-paced packing to visit home.   These were fantastic mini-vacations.  My vacation days were swallowed up as sick days, due to periodic hospital “maintenance” stays to treat Crohn’s dis-ease flare-ups.   The drive was about three and a half hours.  I would stay in a hotel even though we were welcome to stay at mama’s house.  I enjoyed giving my son the-closet-thing to a vacation.  It was best that I worked third shift.  Mornings were the worst with nausea and it would take all day to physically and mentally prepare to work an eight hour shift.  I found third shift a perfect fit; accommodating side-effects of medications and symptoms of the dis-ease during the day and transcribing medical reports at night on site at Marion General Hospital.  I loved it!  Illness was new to me having been diagnosed at the age of 32.  Extremely difficult to accept taking pills and constantly having doctor appointments.  I coped well having come from a strong and supportive family.

We arrived safe and sound in Indiana.

Grandear (my mother’s mama), my mother and myself have no sisters.  Whenever the three of us were together, we had the best of times.  Those times are the sunshine in my heart today.  Funny that three generations of women:  mama, Grandear and myself had no natural sisters.  Mama’s Thanks-giving dinner was fabulously delicious.  We returned to our hotel room and went to bed  at a reasonable time that Thanksgiving night.

Awakened in the wee-hours with nausea, I got up and went to the restroom to throw up.  There was nothing on my mind.  Nausea and throwing up meals were symptoms I had become used to for I was diagnosed in 1993.  Stumbled to the commode somewhat still in-my-sleep; sure enough I threw up the complete Thanksgiving dinner I had earlier that evening at mama’s house.

What came over me instantly after vomiting; I do not know.  A fit-of-tears, quietly moaning and groaning (not to awake sondear who was sleeping in his bed) for I had a double bed hotel room.  I stood in the corner of the hotel bathroom.  Standing there (deep sigh)  covering my mouth with my hands and my hands wet with tears as I slid down the corner of the bathroom walls to a sitting position.  Hurt and devasted all I could think was “Freakin’ Crohn’s!”  Here I am giving my all to be content and fight this health-battle with a smile and I found no smiles in that moment of loosing my mother’s Thanksgiving meal she lovingly prepared.

IT WAS TOO MUCH!  Breathing became difficult with thoughts of despair.  I worked myself up into a hysterical quiet (not to awake sondear) crying fit.   Here I was on my ass in a fabulous hotel room’s bathroom, corner floor with my knees to my chest and face buried in my arms.  Felt like hours passed.

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Green Tea with Four to Five Cherries Sliced Around The Cherry Pits for Full Flavor,          (also small amounts of) Lemon Juice and Orange Juice

Like lightening, suddenly I thought:  That’s Not My Mama’s Recipes.  Spirit whiplashed my thoughts to-the-fact that everything mama prepared to nourish me all of my life was not her recipes.  You see, my mama and ancestors made a meal out of trash! Whose Trash? The slave master’s trash!  Started wiping my tears and sniffing-my-snot; LOL, coming back to myself.  Clarifying what I knew was true.  There were Irish, Italian, Portuguese, Spaniards’ children who had their mother’s recipes which were handed down generation-to-generation and these recipes were from their motherland.

Utterally a disgrace,  I was not eating anything my mother would have gotten out of her Afrikan-garden or meat that Afrikan-hunters brought back to the village.  A recipe with healthy ingredients for her children that was handed down from generation-to-generation made in the land of Afrika.

You know, people do their ancestory.  My daddy was born in Mobile, Alabama.  My Uncle travels to Afrika every other year and a few summer’s ago; I learned from him exactly where my father’s people came from in Afrika.  Am not faking myself out! I am a child with what they call a “slave gene.”  When we were young children (I am the oldest of three brodears) daddy and mama (they were married thirteen years) took us on a drive to Mobile, Alabama every summer.  When I was probably five or six, daddy was showing me the Slave Market Site.  A plaque stands there stating how the slave trade ended in 1808, the law was violated  in Mobile, Alabama until 1860.  A child, I remember thinking to myself for this is a vivid memory.  We were sight-seeing and I loved learning.   When daddy was telling me about the plague representing slavery.  I did not tell him, but I immediately thought…  “Man, how does daddy live knowing he comes from such a horrible city.  I am glad I was born near Notre Dame because Notre Dame is my sight-seeing place of where I was born.”  I felt ashamed for him and he was not ashamed, he was not proud either.

There you have it.  The straw that broke the camel’s back.  Throwing up mama’s Thanksgiving dinner afterwards having a hysterical-crying-fit.  The night, I became angry enough about slavery and my ancestors having to eat trash that the white master throwed away.  Not having my mother’s genuine recipes.  Sure, her lemon meringue pie was probably the closet thing to a handed down recipe.  The straw went deep when it broke this camel’s back speaking as a metaphor, the straw being slavery and the camel’s back being food.   The axist which pivoted my will power to change what I ate.   Astonishing over time, weeks turned into months, months turned into years and now…  I despise the whites diet or whatever you call it that they fed to the slaves and still manufacture food that is intolerable and not fit for hue-man consumption.  I digress.

PresTech-Blog Upcoming Topics

The Rasaurian Calendar of Our Ancestors:

I want to blog regarding how having a Gregorian Calendar Year of 365 days affect Afrikans who had a Calendar Year of 360 days.  I will be using a quote of Dr. David Imhotep:  “They Stole Our Time.”  I find this a curious phenomen because the sky is a 360 degree circle.  Are not all circles 360?  How did Europeans defy logic and the cosmos by making a 365 Calendar year?

Sound/Vibration Healing Frequencies:

Am sharing a phenomenal experience I had with sound and vibrations of the body. Will explore why Afrikan medicine treats the body as a whole unit unlike European medical practices which treat the body in sections.  Example:  A arm, a leg, a back, ect.  Also blogging how Afrikan medicine doctors could listen to the sounds of one’s body and determine what physical alignments (with sound) needed to be done.  Am using the following quote from Mr. Mzimkhulu of Azania:  “By the way, what do they know about War Chants, Drums, Horns and CIRCULATION of energy (CHI-PEMBERE)?  We definately defined all of those Sacred Rituals.  NIGERIA-KEMET/AFURAKA CHI-PEMBERE 432mhz frequency 2 vs ICELAND/VICKING GERMANIC 440mhz frequency 0.”

PresTech-Blog Official Song 

Title:  Ffun

Author:  Con Funk Shun

Love In and Peace Out,

Your SoulSista aka Angela aka Afrikan aka Activist

Power Reliant = Soul Essence, Uncategorized

ROCKS/SHELLS HEALING POWER

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Editor’s Note:  Am Angela Afrikan/Black PresTech-Blog Unapologetically Does NOT Edify Europeans or Anyone of European Mindset.

How magnificent, am publishing PresTech’s first blog post on Friday the 13th and the newspaper reads:  A snarling orange Trump baby blimp flies over British parliament.  When one commits to learning and applying ancestral ways to their life; unique experiences occur.  When I purchased the book SKIN: A MATTER OF RACE IN AMERICA written by A.P. Brooks.  I emailed her and she kindly, emailed me back with a beautiful and encouraging sentence I must share.  Her first sentence was…  “People who study Afrikan history are with enormous insight, grace and sophistication.”   I loved her for that sentence.   Unlike any other culture, once I share that I am studying/teaching Afrikan history; I am looked upon as if I lost my mind.  Especially with people who are employed in corporate Amerikkka; it is difficult to earn from the system and have insight of the system’s horrible deeds.  Ma’Lady A.P. Brooks elegantly, stated the traits of those who know and continue to learn of Afrika.  Three powerful words she used to describe us:  insight, grace and sophistication.  The insight is definitely “enormous” because it takes a keen insight, using more than one’s eyes to see this society of dehumanization.  I feel the featured photo of this blog details how the eye sees and there is another sight which is of the mind. The vision of what is happening to Afrikan/Black people is deplorable and cankerous; making it hard to accept.  Freed my mind when I stopped purchasing commercialized products and brand names.   My pantry had no junk food, GMO foods or soda.  This was not done overnight.  Nevertheless for me it was crucial that I separated my deeds, nutrition and finances from the USA.

MIND/BODY NUTRITION

“Don’t worry those rocks and shells will not be deemed as idol worship, they are KHEMIT nature’s tools of self healing.”  Mr. Mzimkhulu born and raised in Azania, Afrika advised me of my libation tools.  I had been studying for several years and desired a human connection.  Mr. Mzimkhulu kindly agreed that I could quote him in PresTech blog via a Twitter reply.  He adivsed me of “intuitive knowledge in practice” which I had been doing to heal myself of Crohn’s dis-ease by-way of shells and rocks.  The knowledge Mr. Mzimkhulu and his associates imparted; have propelled me in a “quantum-leap” of mind, body and soul. 

Several weeks ago I was told by my family physician that my hemoglobin was 15.  After a diagnosis of Crohn’s dis-ease in 1993; I cannot count how many times I have had iron/blood infusions.  Now I am sitting in my doctor’s office listening to her tell me my hemoglobin was 15.  At first, I did not respond.  Dr. Ziboh of Nigeria, turned her swivel office chair around, looking at me repeated, “Ms. Houston your hemoglobin is 15.”  Suddenly, I caught on to what she was telling me.  I stood up and paced in circles repeating 15, 15, 15, 15, 15 for my hemoglobin usually was 6 to 8 and hardly ever in a double digit range.  A week later I realized I had stopped biting my fingernails which I had done all my life.  Presently, as I am typing my fingernails are still growing.  Biting my fingernails just stopped without any plan.  I recall telling my neighbor back in the winter that I was actually getting dressed in the morning.  You see, since I could no longer work (2007) and dealt with much abdominal pain, I would put on a fresh gown every morning.  I could not stand to have anything touching my stomach.  Thus, I decided to post a Tweet of this fabulous news and afterwards I thought…  You know, Angela post a blog; it will be a way to remember learning that you will never need a iron or blood infusion again.  I had a port placed (2007) by Dr. Kamanda of Nigeria due to having small veins.  Whenever I had to get a stick for IV’s, it was always difficult.  I recall once during a 21-day-hospital stay at Ohio State University Hospital in Columbus, Ohio (2002). The attending physician when I was first admitted, ordered me to have liquid morphine to relieve abdominal pain as three nurses tried to get a IV in my vein without success.  He was wise because then nurses could stick all they wanted to for my abdominal pain was gone.  I would not flinch when nurses tried to get an IV because I knew how difficult it was; I would be still.

When I posted on Twitter of healing shells, I received a reply that simply said, “Yes, they do.”  This reply came from an associate of Mr. Mzimkhulu:  Nubia Watu.  Thrilled beyond words, I then received a reply from Mr. Mzimkhulu and after his reply, I asked him “may I quote you in my blog”.  Mr. Mzimkhulu gave me permission to do so and this was the beginning of my now present state of quantum-leap of mind, body and soul.  Mr. Mzimkhulu and Mr. Nubia Watu’s replies were as follows.

“Trees are alive.  Hug a tree receive information.  Family Tree!”  Mr. Nubia Watu.

“Spot on that’s a FACT believe you me my AFURANKANTU.  They do possess HEALING, that’s the reason behind our people ABUNTU affectionately refer to themselves as KHEMIT (WHOLELISTIC) Eternity -of-Nature.”  Mr. Mzimkhulu.

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I was ecstatic to learn (not surprised) there was literature on actions I was doing because of sickness. Thirteen pills a day was my first treatment which was for several years.  During this time I would meditate with the shell you see in the photo as a guide to a healing source of nature.   I would hold the shell with the rocks (the rocks I brought home from California while visiting granddaughters) inside and cup my hands about them.  Then I would walk around the house, shaking my hands.  The shells made the purest Afrikan sound I ever heard.  The click-clack-clicking of the shells and rocks sounds; vibrated throughout my mind and body.  At this time I was sickly and would speak out loud healing converse while holding up the shells and rocks to every corner of my dwelling.  This kept me from having terrible bouts of depression.  The brain and gut are connected.  Battling Crohn’s for years had taken a toil on my psychological state.  I knew within me was a source that was more powerful than any obstacle I could face.  The pulse of power’s propensity is undeniable.  Power pulsed through my veins and cured me of depression while I searched within and studied my African heritage.

Surprising to me as I started to edit PresTech blog by adding Mr. Mzimkhulu’s quotations.  I realized, it could not be done in a few hours.  Although, I knew Mr. Mzimkhulu’s quotations were valid; am no longer learning as taught in USA public schools:  regurgitation and indoctrination.   Professor Kaba Hiawatha Kamene taught me six steps on learning:

  1. Knowledge  2. Understand  3. Apply  4. Analyze 5.  Synthesize  6.  Evaluate

Egg was on my face for I gave Mr. Mzimkhulu a earlier publish date of PresTech blog.  Confident in Spirit, I told him of the delay and he understood.

THE SHELL

Living in Marion, Ohio 2001 employed at Marion General Hospital as a homebased medical transcriptionist.  I called my Grandear (my mother’s mama) and asked her to pray that soon the hospital would send the tech-person to my dwelling to start transcribing at home.  The first three years I worked on site.  Later, I was approved to transcribe at home, however a couple months had went by since the approval.    It was a beautiful summer Saturday and I listened while she prayed and she said, “Angela every shell of God’s is loaded.”  This was my Grandear’s saying after any time she read (shell) in the bible.  She was a hip lady and a sanctified preacher.   A couple hours later, my youngest sondear (age 7) came in the house excited.  “Mama, I found a rock, it’s dirty though…  Can I bring it home?”  I replied, “Sure we will clean up.”  He leaves and returns with the shell.  Is Thing On?  He came home with the shell.  Immediately, recalling to mind what Grandear told me; I knew I would be transcribing at home without delay.   Believe you me, the tech-person came within a week.  I transcribed at home for three years thinking I would not have flare-ups because I did not commute.  WRONG!   Look at me now, am experiencing the joy of observation.  Am having Ffun as in Confunkshun Ffun!  When I received the shell it was whole and not in three pieces.  The most gorgeous shell and sand fell out of it often until finally, there was no sand in the shell.  I knew better than to worship a shell.  Am from the earth:  water, fire, wind and dust.  I innately knew, the shell and rocks were items of connection for me to heal from inside-out.  There was a span of 10 years that I only had the shell.  The rocks were added in 2014 and I have three of those rocks you see in photos throughout my future blogs.  However, the third rock is misplaced in fountain with other rocks.  The rock is still distinguishable in my-mind’s-eye.  The event of my sondear bringing the shell home will forever be a mystery to me.  We did NOT live by a beach.  There was no beach for miles and miles.  Sondear said he found the shell by the basketball court, he saw it sticking up out of the dirt.  The shell was not dirty when sondear brought it home.  He was calling sand… dirt.  There are no more words on the subject in this blog post. 

TREES

LA, DE-DAH!  Exactly what I thought to myself when I saw the reply with the figure of a tree.  I had to transfer that tree image.  Sondear attended college after graduating high school in 2012.  My mother transitioned in 2010.  Driving was causing havoc on my health; I gave my car to sondear to have on campus.  Intentions were that I would drive again, nevertheless Spirit was moving me to stop driving.  LOL, I almost typed…  Spirit was driving me to stop driving.  Thus, the love of tress which I have always loved.  I imagine, there is not a hue-man being that does not love trees.  Yippie-I-A, in print I see content regarding trees and healing.  The last three places I have lived, all had a tree border and on dead end streets.  Healing ran through my veins consistently and even now for I am in constant communication with trees.  Yes, I typed that!  I walked and rode the trolley for three years.  Delightful, Uplifting, Solitude…  How giving up my car for three years, healed me more is beyond words.

There is much more to come.  Am grateful for my Twitter family.  The women have showed ingenuity/solidarity and the gentlemen have done the same.  I needed to communicate more with my family-B1.  My immediate family communication is ever loving and I am having Ffun.  After much reading, researching, stretching, consecration, illness, love, joy finally:  Am Whole!

Love In and Peace Out,

Your SoulSista aka Afrikan aka Activist aka Angela

Power Reliant = Soul Essence

Start Where You Are!

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I desired to uplift our youth in my Black community.  The Peterson’s Projection map, Shabaka Stone image and other supplies I had on my list, yet I was eager to begin.  A woman of means having raised two sons; the youngest in grad school studying to be a physician assistant and my eldest a truck driver, loving father to two beautiful daughters.  I knew the withal was within me to live my dream of instilling the legacy of our “complete” history into the youth and also give them a listening ear to their weekly endured microaggressions at public schools.

I began where I was.