that I ordered the same thing. I figured if it was good enough for the
shaman it ought to be good enough for me.
“Aren’t you worried about the cheese and meat and bread?” I
asked him.
“Not at all,” he said.“I have a chili dog every morning for break-
fast. I love this stuff.”
“You do?”
“It’s not the food that is dangerous,” he explained to me. “It’s
what you think about the food.”
I had heard that comment before, but I never believed it. I fig-
ured the solid trumped the thought. But maybe I was wrong.
He went on to explain, “Before I eat anything, in my mind I say
to the food, ‘I love you! I love you! If I am bringing anything into
this situation that would cause me to feel ill as I am eating you, it’s
not you! It’s not even me! It’s something that triggers that I am will-
ing to be responsible for!’ I then go on and enjoy the meal, because
now it’s clean.”
Once again his insights startled me and awakened me. I had
spent so much time reading about health issues and food warnings
that I was so paranoid I couldn’t enjoy a simple hamburger. I decided
to clean on it.When the food arrived, we ate it with gusto.
“This hamburger is the best I’ve ever had,” he announced. He
was so impressed that he went and asked for the cook, and then
thanked him. The cook wasn’t used to people acknowledging his
deep-fried burgers. He didn’t know what to say.
Neither did I.When I gave Dr. Hew Len a tour of my home, including my gym, I
held my breath. I keep cigars in my gym. It seems ironic to work out
in the morning and smoke in the evening, but there you go; that’s my
life. But I worried that Dr. Hew Len might say something about my
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