By Tereza Hubkova, M.D.
In October of 2006, I had the amazing opportunity to accompany as the group’s physician the Thirteen Indigenous Grandmothers on their trip to India. There they were to hold Council and have a private audience with His Holiness the Dalai Lama. The Thirteen Indigenous Grandmothers are, as their name suggests, a group of elder women from all over the world that have dedicated their lives to the spiritual improvement of “Mother Earth and all Her inhabitants”. Since the grandmothers were all traveling from many diverse and geographically dispersed countries (e.g., United States, Mexico, Brazil, Gabon, Nepal, Tibet, etc.) and their supporters from even a wider range of locales, we all made our own travel arrangements. We agreed to meet in a hotel in Delhi.
I traveled with a friend of mine from the United States. Together we took a fourteen hour flight from Chicago to Delhi. We sat in the middle of a five-seat row—the worst possible spot for such a long flight. Sometime around four o’clock in the morning, in a dim and quiet cabin, just as I was dosing off, I was startled awake by panicked screaming coming from just behind me. “Munna, Munna!” I quickly turned to see a forty-something year old woman shaking her husband, who was not responding to her at all. I leaned over the back of my seat to get a better look at Munna and saw a pale face with clenched teeth. I reached over to feel his pulse and immediately noticed he was as cold as ice. I would soon realize he also wasn't breathing and had no pulse.
As his wife kept shaking Munna’s body, a group of us managed to lay him down across the chairs and start resuscitation efforts. Someone from behind Munna’s row was leaning over the seat back trying to pry open Munna’s clenched mouth, to open his airway. I started doing chest compressions. Meanwhile the crew brought a defibrillator. As I was attaching the pads of the defibrillator, I saw from the corner of my eye someone’s finger emerging like a laser beam into my peripheral vision. The owner of the finger reached right past me and, with obvious strength, pressed squarely on the spot between Munna’s upper lip and his nose. I didn't see the person doing this, as I was intent on placing the defibrillator pads on Munna’s chest, but I distinctly recall feeling an amazing power of intention concentrated in that finger.
At that very moment, as I switched on the AED (i.e., automatic electronic defibrillator) display to prepare to deliver a shock, with a jolt Munna opened his eyes and started breathing. On the display I could see that his heart rhythm was back as well and he now had a noticeable pulse. I never had to deliver a shock to Munna’s heart, he came back without it. There was no question in my mind that it was the finger that saved his life. I turned around to see who the mysterious healer was, but there was nobody there. Because I was still occupied getting a medical history from Munna’s wife and Munna, who was now able to talk while holding an oxygen mask to his face, I quickly put the mystery out of my mind. Munna’s blood pressure was okay and his heart was beating fine. He didn't look too good though, still a bit clammy and with red sunken eyes. Somewhat to my relief, he refused an emergency landing in Pakistan and insisted instead to continue to Delhi, where he would, only after much convincing, agree to present to a hospital. He didn't want an ambulance waiting for him, and insisted that he would be fine.
I never discovered what had become of Munna, but having seen more than my share of dead or dying people, I knew this man was essentially brought back from dead. It wasn't until years later that I learned that human DNA is constantly releasing photons of coherent light, very much like a laser. This likely happens as energetically charged (i.e., excited) electrons return to their baseline state—more so in people who are capable of storing and passing on greater energy, such as gifted energy healers. The amount of energy released from a healer’s hands can be scientifically measured and even photographed with a technique similar to Kirlian photography—as well as using newer energy measuring technology such as GDV (or Gas Discharge Visualization). It is no longer speculation, but an easily proven and repeatable fact.
We arrived in Delhi, and my friend and I checked into our hotel. As we waited in the reception area for our rooms to be made ready, three Mexican women approached us. “Were you the woman on that plane who saved that man’s life?” one of them asked. Knowing full well that I had done little to bring Munna back I stated, “No, I wasn’t. There was someone else who saved his life; someone who put their finger right here.” I showed them the spot on my face. The woman smiled knowingly and pointed at her humble companion. “That was Carmen,” she said. The moment I looked directly at this woman I knew it was true. She stood there in her Mexican poncho, with warm eyes, and a beautiful, loving energy.
It turned out Carmen was a native healer from Mexico—also in India to be with the Indigenous Grandmothers. What a privilege it was for me to have the opportunity to speak to her and learn about some of the techniques she uses for healing. When somebody in our group would get sick—there were over a hundred people travelling with the Grandmothers—and I felt empty-handed as a western physician in the middle of the Himalayan Mountains (without my western devices, laboratory, and pharmaceuticals), I would ask Carmen for help. She always had her healing tools with her—her hands and her energy—and she would always be able to help with that. The one thing I was good for was distributing antibiotics to those of our group afflicted with Traveler’s Diarrhea—who not coincidentally were the same folks that didn't heed my advice about taking preventative probiotics.
There was another Mexican healer in the group, Maria, also very humble, not standing out of the crowd in any way. She would pick up plants and herbs wherever we went, always storing some that she recognized into her pockets. One day, after a difficult climb up the stairs in this already high altitude of the Himalayan Mountains, one of the grandmothers wasn't feeling well. She looked like she was going to faint. They called me to help, and once again, I stood there feeling naked, with not much to offer except a chair to sit in, unbuttoning her shirt, bring her legs up, and giving her a glass of water. I quickly asked somebody to call both of the Mexican healers. Carmen started massaging a few acupuncture points and Maria reached into her pocket for some herbs that she had just picked up earlier that day, thinking that they might come in handy. She rubbed them between her fingers and placed them under the grandmother’s nose and at the back of her head. Soon afterward the grandmother was feeling better. I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to western medicine. What good was all my fancy and expensive education next to these two powerful women? Where did we lose the connection to the healing power of nature, and our own energy?
While in Dharamsala our group had the opportunity to visit the Tibetan Medical Institute where we had a private tour through the museum of Tibetan medicine by one of their doctors. It was truly fascinating. The Tibetans find out what illness one has by talking to the patient (like western medicine where we too get most of our information from talking to the patient, obtaining the history of his present illness as well as past illnesses, family, social history, etc.). The second major facet of the Tibetan approach to diagnosing a patient is examination of his or her urine. We do that in the west too, but by via a urinalysis in a laboratory. The Tibetans don’t need a laboratory. They look at the urine visually, swish it around in a cup, and look at the viscosity, color, bubbles it may or might not make, and they smell it. It is as much art as science. Then the patient’s pulse is checked. Analogous to Eskimo’s many words to describe snow, Tibetan doctors have roughly thirty qualities to describe a person’s pulse; not simply fast or slow, weak or strong. Corresponding to different energy meridians of the body, they also measure the pulse in several places on both arms. From these three tests they can make an accurate diagnosis that could make western doctors envious.
The medicines that these Tibetan healers made for various illnesses were made from Tibetan herbs and minerals. The herbs were collected with great respect from the Himalayan Mountains, and with great care that too many herbs not be collected from any one area—so the population of herbs would be able to recover and continue growing there. I only wish we were taught with that much consciousness within our own medical schools.
When I returned to the United States it was time for me to renew my license for advanced cardiopulmonary resuscitation. During the classroom portion I informed the class and teacher of my experience on the plane to Delhi. I wanted to teach them about the revival acupuncture point. Although they had enough patience to listen to the story, it was clearly evident they didn't believe in it enough to care about the point. Besides, as it is not approved by the American Heart Association, they were feeling uneasy about using it as a technique. As modern health care providers, we've grew so paranoid about potential law suits in this country that we are even afraid of touching the upper lip of somebody who just dropped dead, for fear that we could be accused of causing them more harm. Would our ancestors look at us as having advanced the science of medicine?
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