Читать книгу The Edgar Cayce Handbook for Health Through Drugless Therapy - Harold J. Reilly - Страница 24

I recall one case in particular. Mr. Cayce had referred the president of a large advertising agency, a man of great wealth with large property holdings in Florida, which were to make him even wealthier—the kind of person who is used to giving orders, not taking them.

He had developed dangerously high blood pressure, and the reading warned that “unless there are some measures taken to make the corrections, they may of a sudden cease to perform their functioning . . . or the pressure that is a part of the disturbing conditions upon the arteries may become so intense that the very walls may give way or allow seepages.”

This was the remedy that Cayce proposed:

Not taking drugs, but rather activities . . . in the open . . . walking, golfing, riding—all such should be at some time a part of the activity; or as combined with the hydrotherapy ... and massage, also the handball, the electric horse, the bicycle, as a part of the exercise.

In the diet keep away from fried foods, or large quantities of fats that are not easily assimilated. (1684-1)

I believe that most cardiac specialists would agree that the advice was sound. We gave him oxygen baths and light massage, as Cayce instructed.

For years he had been having very heavy massage and manipulation. He came to me four or five times and got light massage for relaxing. He protested, “I am used to having a good heavy vigorous massage. I miss that. If I can’t get it here, I will have to stop coming.”

I told him, “You can’t get it here because I don’t want to be a pallbearer, in fact, at the beginning I would only give you the hydrotherapy and light massage. You came in with a Cayce reading that warns you about that. What’s the use of wasting time if you are going to seek advice and not follow it? I guess you’d better go back to your routine, but I don’t know how long you are going to last.”

He did go back to heavy massage elsewhere and he dropped dead of a stroke three or four months later.

Sometimes even those nearest and dearest to Cayce could not benefit from his guidance and remedies. This was so with his dearest friend, David Kahn, who probably was the source of more Cayce clients than almost any other single person. Despite his great faith in the Cayce treatments and the fact that the Kahn family and friends consulted the seer religiously, when David had a reading for what turned out to be an obstruction in the intestine, Cayce recommended surgery.

“Is there no other way?” Kahn asked.

“Yes, but you would not do what is necessary,” Cayce responded while in trance.

I should like to comment on two aspects of this reading. Note that in the diet, Cayce specified that in adding the egg to the malted milk only the yolk be included—not the white. This is quite remarkable, for at the time the reading was given in 1933, research had not yet established that raw egg white destroys biotin, an important component of vitamin B, and this in turn affects the entire B chain of nutrition.

—H.J.R.

Sometimes even those nearest and dearest to Cayce could not benefit from his guidance and remedies.—H.J.R.

I treated Tom for years, including the time he spent writing There Is a River. / often told him, “Tom, I doubt whether you would be the author you are if you were not forced to sit down,” teasing him about his restlessness. When he took therapy regularly, he showed some improvement, and after a year and a half of three-times-a-week treatment I had his arms loosened up so that he could shave and feed himself.—H.J.R.

Another example was the case of Cayce biographer Thomas Sugrue. Tom had been a classmate at college of Cayce’s eldest son, Hugh Lynn, and was regarded as another member of the family. Yet, when he developed crippling arthritis, the Cayce magic was no match for the dashing young journalist’s Irish impatience. The treatments Cayce recommended were long and arduous, and in addition to daily manipulation, exercise, and hydrotherapy, included the wet-cell appliance, which sends low-voltage electrical impulses into the system. Cayce said that the wet-cell battery could take seven years to completely change the system.

Instead, Sugrue tried the new and experimental high-fever therapy, which burned out all his nerve endings, leaving him paralyzed and immobile for the rest of his life. Later he tried cortisone treatments, and the prolonged use of the drug undermined his kidneys.

I treated Tom for years, including the time he spent writing There Is a River. I often told him, “Tom, I doubt whether you would be the author you are if you were not forced to sit down,” teasing him about his restlessness. When he took therapy regularly, he showed some improvement, and after a year and a half of three-times-a-week treatment I had his arms loosened up so that he could shave and feed himself.

I didn’t like him to miss treatments, and when he received an assignment from Harper to go to Israel, I said I would train someone to continue the treatments on the trip. The publisher was sending one of their young editors along with Tom, and I taught Tom’s companion-to-be to give the massage and manipulation and passive exercises that kept him from stiffening up again. Unfortunately, the young editor was a diabetic and on the way over he went into shock on the ship and had to be sent home. Tom went on alone. In an incredible adventure, he had himself pushed in his wheelchair between the Israeli and Arab armies to arrange his interviews. The Arabs thought the wheel-chaired man was a booby trap and it’s a wonder that they didn’t shoot him on sight. Despite his handicap, the trip was very successful and resulted in his book Watch for the Morning, the story of Israel’s struggle to achieve independence. Tom had previously written Starling of the White House and Stranger in the Earth.

Cayce had sent Tom to live in Clearwater Beach, Florida, where the gentle sea water seemed to help him. Tom tried cobra venom—a treatment quite new then—to no avail, and he chafed with impatience. Although he was productive, Tom wanted, more than anything else, to be free of the wheelchair. He heard of a new operation, experimental at that time, which entailed implanting a new hip. I was fearful that he could not stand the operation, for his kidneys had been weakened by the cortisone therapy. But I said nothing, because I did not want to put any negative thoughts into his head. Tragically, his kidneys did not function properly after the operation and he died of uremic poisoning. He was only forty-six years old.